"So how's she shaping up?"

"Better than I thought." Hetold Massey about Popov's experience and Massey smiled.

"He ought to have known better.Maybe he's getting old."

"How was Paris?"

Massey told him about the arrangements inParis and Helsinki. "We'll use Lebel's girlfriend's dacha when you two getto Moscow. It's ideal-remote and safe."

"You think it's right gettingLebel's friend involved?"

"She won't be. If things goaccording to plan, as soon as Anna and you arrive in Moscow, Irena and she willleave on Lebel's train. Then you'll have the place to yourself."

Massey went over the details and thenStanski looked across at him. "You look like you've got something on yourmind, Jake."

Massey drank his bourbon and put down theglass and stood. "Remember what I told you about Max Simon and his littlegirl'? I think I've found who did it. A man who uses the name Kurt Braun. Oneof Moscow's hired killers. And he's in New York as an illegal."

"What's he doing in New York?"

"God only knows, but he can't be upto much good."

Stanski half smiled. "Why do I sensesomething coming?"

"From what I've heard of Braun, he'sthe worst scum you could meet. He's a psycho, Alex. He was serving time formanslaughter and rape in a German prison before the Germans got desperate formen and put him in an SS penal battalion. The Russians captured him inforty-five. They gave him a choice. Work for them or freeze to death in aSiberian camp. Not surprisingly, he chose the first option."

"So what are you going to do?"

Massey crossed to the window and lookedback, a look of anger on his face. "Branigan wants me to forget abouthim."

"-",But You have other plans,right?"

"I checked with immigration. Braunarrived using a West German passport in the name of Huber three months ago.I've got his address. An apartment in Brooklyn. I want to pay it a visit. Ifit's him, I'm going to settle the score."

"What about the Russians?"

"There's nothing they could do aboutit. Braun's an illegal and they can't even acknowledge he exists. And hopefullyhe won't @after we're finished."

"And Branigan?"

"He needn't ever know if we do itproperly."

"we ?" Massey said hopefully,"I was kind of expecting you'd come along for the ride. Just the two ofus. I'll need someone watching my back. Anna can stay here with Vassily."

"You're sure you know what you'redoing, Jake?"

Massey nodded and Stanski said,"When?"

"Tomorrow."

It was almost seven when Massey andStanski left for New York the next morning, but Demitri Popov had risen earlyand left at six to drive back to Boston.

It was ten minutes later when Popov sawthe Packard with New York license plates overtake him at speed. Five minuteslater he saw the same Packard parked off the road, the driver kicking the frontnearside wheel in anger.

The man waved him down and Popov pulledin and rolled down the window. "What's the problem?"

"I hit a fucking pothole in thesnow. I ask you, mister, is this what we pay our taxes for?" The man heldup a wheel jack. "The tire's warped as a bent nickel and my jack's broken.You got one I could borrow?"

Popov grunted and stepped out of the car.the little fat man with the thin mustache looked useless, all blubber with aNew York accent and gold rings on his pudgy fingers. Popov found the jack inthe boot and brought it over to the man, then pushed him aside and said,"Here, let me."

"Hey, thanks, mister, you're anangel."

The tire looked undamaged but as Popovbent down to examine it he felt the crushing blow of something metallic on theback of his skull and then another before he keeled over.

Then a foot slammed hard into his crotchand before he could yell in agony he heard the rush of feet from out of nowhereand the fat man's voice saying, "Get the fucking hick into the car.

Then something sharp jabbed into his armand he went under.

New York. February 22nd It was just afterone and raining hard as Massey pulled up outside the apartment block inBrooklyn. It was an old redbrick tenement building with a fire escape at theback, and the place looked seriously in need of attention. "How do youwant to handle it?"

"The simplest way is always thebest." Massey smiled and held up a piece of headed paper with the seal ofthe US government. "Internal Revenue come to have a friendly chat, Braun'sapartment is on the top floor at the back. You go up the fire escape and coverme, while I go in the front. Once I'm inside, we take him."

Stanski tossed his cigarette out of thewindow and took out a Tokarev pistol with a silencer, then slipped it into hiswaistband under his coat. "You're sure you know what you're doing,Jake?"

Massey removed a snub-nosed Smith andWesson .38 from the glove compartment and checked the chamber before slippingit into his pocket.

"Trust me."

Feliks Akashin was tired. There were darkrings under his eyes from lack of sleep and as he turned from the bedroomwindow of Braun's apartment he looked at Popov's body slumped in the chair.

Two of Lombardi's men had delivered him,and the ropes around the big man were tied securely, but Akashin knew there wasno need. The man was barely conscious from the drug and hardly capable ofmoving.

Akashin lit a cigarette and came backfrom the window. He stared down at Popov's bruised face, at the trickle ofblood running from his mouth down his beard, then his hand reached over andlifted the man's chin. "You're really making this very difficult. Don'tyou think it would be a lot easier if you told me what Massey is up to at thelake?"

Popov grunted and his eyes flickered,then his head rolled in Akashin's hand and slumped to one side. Akashinsi-he'd. He and Braun had spent an hour trying to make the man talk and he hadbarely uttered a word.

His wallet lay on the table. His name wasDemitri Popov, which told him nothing except he was Russian or Ukrainian. Nodoubt one of the immigrant the Americans used. There was a hypodermic syringeon the table and a phial of scopolamine, the truth drug, Akashin's last resort.As he reached for them he heard the knock on the door and turned, slightlyalarmed.

He was about to reach for the Waltherpistol on the coffee table when he heard the voice.

"I really wouldn't, not unless youwant to lose your fingers.

The blond man who stood behind him held asilenced Tokarev pistol in his hand and the window that led to the fire escapewas open, the curtain blowing in the breeze. Akashin paled when he recognizedStanski.

, Just drop the gun on the table, then bea good boy and open the front door, nice and easy."

Akashin did as he was told, placing theWalther on the table, breaking out in a cold sweat as he crossed to the door.His face dropped when he saw who stood there.

As Massey came in, Stanski said quietly,"Jake, I think you'd better take a look at who our friend's got in thebedroom."

Massey sat in the chair opposite Akashinand said in a hard voice, "You'd better tell me what the hell is going onhere, and fast."

Akashin smiled nervously. "I couldvery well ask the same. It would be interesting to know what you're up to. ButI ought to tell you I'm an accredited diplomat with the UN Soviet Mission andas such immune from law."

"Wrong. It makes your situation allthe more difficult, so cut the crap." Massey held up the gun in his handand clicked back the hammer. "Five seconds and I'm counting."