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thought about it, the worse it got. An Event might occur anyplace, anytime; but even if they came up with a contingency plan, security would not permit its implementation until the Event happened. And so they shelved that one, too, and with a sense of relief got down to organizing themselves.
    It was agreed that all intelligence on any missing plane would be flashed to Arcasso. From his seat in Air Intelligence he could easily cover all U.S. and NATO aircraft, civil and military. The CIA would report all it learned of other nationalities; Langbaum would establish mouth-to-mouth contact with the KGB and seek its cooperation. And on the side, Alvin Malin for the FBI offered anything the bureau might turn up. There the meeting broke up.
    *
    Next morning, Langbaum flew to Vienna, meeting by arrangement Arcasso’s London contact. Naturally, both covered their true identities, not wishing to cause a major flutter in the international intelligence hen house.
    Joseph Langbaum, known on the committee as “CIA Joe” became “Smith”; the Russian remained “Lebedev.” They met in a cafe on the Ringstrasse, and “Smith” had a hard time concealing his surprise. He knew a great deal about the KGB organization, and he recognized Lebedev — a relatively new star in the uncertain KGB firmament, but already rated among its ten most powerful men. He had risen with extraordinary speed to the very top of an outfit numbered not in thousands but in hundreds of thousands. Lebedev was first chief directorate, responsible for KGB interests in North America — and he had dropped everything and come running for this meeting with no notice at all. It was obvious that the Russians weren’t playing games.
    They exchanged amenities. Waiting for coffee, both men glanced casually about them. Smith knew very well that the cafe was as good as Soviet territory, but this was no time for protocol. At least he was certain that the table the Russian had selected was unbugged. He noted too that while the cafe was only half full, large men predominated, and no table in their immediate vicinity was occupied. Of course, some of the men were his, just as others were certainly Lebedev’s.
    The Russian caught his gaze and smiled. “Satisfactory, Mr. Smit?”
    “Sure,” said Smith. “Look … ” He explained what he wanted.
    Stirring his coffee, Lebedev listened. He said, “You are prepared to reciprocate?”
    Smith smiled gently. “We are wide open — but if you need it … ”
    Lebedev smiled back, revealing some gold-filled teeth. “It would save time.”
    Smith nodded. “Okay. We’re treating ICARUS as Top Secret plus; I imagine it’s the same with you. To give you an idea what that means to us, only ten people in the U.S.A. are cleared for this material.”
    “So many?” replied Lebedev politely. “For us it is seven.”
    “Democracy has its faults.”
    Both men laughed unconvincingly. Smith said, “I suggest we pass material through our stations right here in Vienna. Prefixed ICARUS it will reach me in a matter of — well, very quickly.”
    Lebedev nodded. “Agreed.”
    Smith was impressed. In his experience a Soviet man, no matter how high up the tree, usually needed time to refer back to home base.
    For all intents and purposes, the meeting was over, but Lebedev snapped his fingers and brandy was served. Smith sensed the Russian had something on his mind, but failed to prompt him, and the moment passed. They drank a formal toast and parted.
    Intent upon the details of ICARUS, he had not been sufficiently receptive. Lebedev had wanted to say something, but he had needed encouragement, understanding. He was desperate to talk to someone out of the Soviet orbit, to say things that if discovered would inevitably ruin his life, land him in a KGB mental hospital, classified instantly as “schizophrenic.”
    In the long run it would not matter, but at that point CIA Joe had certainly missed a trick.
    After ten days of intensive work, the