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gonna want—the President is going to expect —some help, at least on the intelligence side.” Greg was irritated, and he broke the rules of the game by speaking so frankly. Pavel just arched his eyebrows. “Come on, Pavel. I don’t have time for this shit. I need something.”
    Filipov took another sip of his wine, a furrow deepening between his brows. “We have problems, Greg, of which you are only dimly aware. There are people in my country, people like General Zorin, who view things differently than you and I. They see U.S. troops in Eastern Europe and in the Sea of Japan and think it is a part of some vast Western conspiracy, a continuation of our countries’ historical enmity.”
    â€œDon’t give me that horseshit about—” Greg stopped mid-sentence. He was too tired and too impatient to play the game, and he had almost made the mistake of hearing only what Pavel had said and not its meaning. So it was Zorin who talked to the North Koreans, Greg thought. That makes sense. They’re cut of the same cloth. Pavel took another sip of his wine, the glass covering his mouth but the amusement evident in his eyes. He loves the game, Greg thought for the hundredth time.
    â€œWell,” Greg said, “I hope for both our countries’ sakes that Zorin—these hard-line types—can be kept on the reservation.” Pavel said nothing, and Greg’s patience again began to wear thin. “So . . . what? Are you saying that Razov needs the supply lines through North Korea so badly that he and Zorin agreed to let the North Koreans slip the leash and invade the South just five months short of reunification? Just after we completed withdrawal of our troops at the insistence of the North? That your old boss Razov is up to his eyeteeth with Zorin in this?”
    Filipov didn’t bite. It was Irina who blurted out the response. “General Razov hates General Zorin!”
    â€œIrisha,” Pavel said.
    â€œBut it’s true! General Razov is friend of America. We could not have been victorious without America’s aid in the last Chinese war, and Pavlik might not be here tonight if America would not have helped.” She was wilting under Pavel’s gaze, knowing she should not have interrupted, so she just lowered her head and finished what she had to say. “Zorin is all the time wandering off his reservations.”
    Pavel leaned forward. “Okay, I know you’re busy. In answer to your question about”—he looked around, and continued in a whisper—“aboutGeneral Zorin, all I can say is steps are being taken.” He held up his hands as if to say, “There!”
    â€œIs STAVKA going to sack him?”
    â€œThe High Command,” Irina whispered to Jane, who nodded, and the two turned to listen. Pavel again said nothing.
    â€œChrist, Pavel, don’t tell me there could be trouble in Moscow,” Greg said. “That’s the last thing we need right now, and you too, for that matter, with the way things are going in China.” All eyes were on Pavel, and Greg waited in silence for his response.
    There was a chirp from the portable phone in Greg’s jacket pocket. He pulled the phone out. “Lambert.”
    â€œWhite House switchboard, Mr. Lambert,” the operator said. “Please stand by.” Everybody watched as Greg listened to the faint tones and a pop over the phone. “Please repeat,” the cool electronic woman’s voice of the voiceprint identification system said, “astrologer.”
    â€œAstrologer.”
    The waiter appeared behind Pavel. “Colonel Filipov? Telephone, sir.”
    â€œPrecocious,” the computer said, not matching on the first try. “Precocious,” Lambert said, enunciating the word carefully. “Voice-print authenticated,” the computer said, and there was a click as Greg watched Pavel excuse himself. “Please hold