“I’ll drop you off at the airport,” he said, programming the GPS. “You want Euro C, right?”

“Let’s drive there,” said Gregor. “It will only take us a few hours. We can scout it out.”

“No, I have to get back to Berlin,” said Nuri. “There are a few more things to check out up there.”

“Drop me off at a rental place, then,” said Gregor.

Had she guessed what he was up to and called his bluff? Or was she really intending on going there herself?

Either way, he couldn’t take the chance of her interfering.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to just drive around the estate,” said Nuri. “Don’t you have to clear your activities with your Rome office?”

“Not on this. My boss gave me carte blanche.”

Nuri wracked his brain for ways to keep her at bay. He drew a blank.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Gregor. “I’ll go with you to the airport and rent the car there. You have to turn this one in, right?”

“What would you do?”

“I give them a credit card—”

“What would you do with Moreno?” snapped Nuri.

“I’ll just talk to him,” she said.

“No one will ever see you again,” said Nuri.

“I’ve dealt with these types of cases before,” said Gregor. “And with people like Moreno. They’re so full of themselves that they’re easy pickings. They think the law doesn’t apply to them, so they ignore the most basic precautions.”

“I’d figure a guy like this would have his guards shoot first and ask questions later,” said Nuri.

“They’re not going to shoot a lost tourist.”

“Maybe I will go,” he said, finally giving up. “Just to see what the hell his place looks like.”

“I thought you had a lot to do,” said Gregor with mock innocence. It wasn’t bad enough that she won—she had to rub it in.

“Yeah,” said Nuri. “See if you can program the address into the GPS so we can at least find out what highway to take.”

9

Kiev, Ukraine

“Purpose of visit?”

“Tourism.”

“How long are you staying?”

“A week.”

The Ukrainian customs official inspected Danny’s passport, flipping it back and forth in his hand to make sure the holographic symbols were displayed. Danny and the others were traveling with standard passports rather than using diplomatic cover, trying to maintain as low a profile as possible.

Sally McEwen had warned him that their entry at Boryspil Airport, about eighteen miles east of Kiev, would almost surely be recorded by the Ukrainian secret service, which was still run like an offshoot of the KGB. A video camera above the passport control desk was undoubtedly taping him, while the clerk’s computer was running a check against his name. The Ukrainian technology was relatively old, however, and even if Danny was flagged as a suspicious American, it would take weeks for a file to be prepared with his photo. By then the operation would be over.

It was possible they would tell the Ukrainians that they were here. But for the moment the Ukrainians weren’t to be trusted. No one was. It was the old CIA prejudice—we don’t exist, and if we do exist, which we don’t, you never heard of us.

Danny’s own prejudice was the opposite: be honest and tell people what was going on. It was a military mind-set.

“Enjoy Ukraine,” said the customs clerk, handing his passport back.

Danny saw McEwen and Hera waiting a short distance beyond the stations.

“How’d you guys get through so fast?” he asked.

“You have to pick the right line,” said McEwen. “But it helps to look like a little old lady.”

“The secret to your success,” said Hera.

“Don’t be jealous, dear.”

There were two rentals waiting for them at Hertz, so-called mid-sized Fords, which would have been considered subcompacts back in the States. Hera rode with McEwen, while Danny followed. McEwen might have been old, but she drove with a lead foot—he lost her before they’d gone two miles, and had to use MY-PID’s GPS to find the hotel. By the time he got there, the two women had already checked in.

“Ready for a tour?” McEwen asked as Danny finished registering.

“Love to,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

The hotel was in an old building in the business district. While the facade was boring and plain, the interior had been renovated recently and the place still smelled of paint. The design mixed old-style plaster details with occasional chrome and sleek marble. It wasn’t retro and it wasn’t modern, but it somehow caught Kiev’s spirit, at least as espoused by the chamber of commerce: “The future building on the past, moving ahead with expediency.”

More than three million people lived in Kiev, making it one of Europe’s largest cities. Besides being the capital of Ukraine, it was looked on as the center of opposition to the Russian bear, both politically and culturally, the counter to Moscow’s notoriously heavy hand. That had both good and bad aspects—while it helped draw a vibrant class of artists and entrepreneurs, it also made it the focus of Russian resentments. There was a sizable Russian spy network in the city, McEwen warned; they should always proceed under the theory that they were being watched or about to be watched.

The city was slightly cooler than Washington had been, though not unpleasantly so; the average high for May was just under 70 Fahrenheit, and though it was still only mid-morning, the temperature had just topped 72. Danny could have gone around in shirtsleeves, but took his light leather jacket, where it was easier to keep his MY-PID.

The NATO meeting was to be held in the Kiev Fortress, a historic complex near the center of the city. A good portion of the fortress had been turned into a museum, open to the public; the rest consisted of government buildings. McEwen started there, taking them on a quick tour of the general area, driving Lesi Ukrainky Boulevard, a thick artery that paralleled the Dnieper River on the city’s western half.

The road had just been paved, and unlike most of the city’s streets, was smooth and pothole free. It was tree-lined, with an island through much of the middle; driving down it, Danny got the impression of an area that was sophisticated but slightly sleepy, as if it still belonged to the early nineteenth century. This was in contrast to the rest of the city, which over the past two or three years had undergone rapid growth. New buildings were everywhere along the river.

McEwen was surprised by the amount of change that had occurred in the past twelve or thirteen months; she kept marveling at the different buildings she said had sprung up since she last visited.

“We can take a tour of the fort tomorrow,” the CIA officer recommended. “It’ll be better to see the general layout of the city first, and set up some of the logistics. We need a place to operate out of.”

“What’s wrong with the hotel we just checked into?” asked Danny.

“What’s the expression, Colonel?” said McEwen. “You don’t shit where you live.”

Hera laughed. “Do you kiss your grandkids with that mouth?”

“I don’t have any grandkids. Or children, for that matter. We’re going to want a place convenient to the museum where you can have people coming and going,” added McEwen. “Someplace where a half-dozen Americans wouldn’t seem odd.”

“Minnesota would be perfect,” said Hera.

“That might be a little far,” said Danny. He hadn’t remembered Hera being so jovial on their last mission, and she was downright taciturn at home. But she’d clearly taken a liking to McEwen.