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und them in a muted roar。 They could see nothing clearly but themselves。
Akiko rubbed him against her wet opening with the delicacy of a courtesan。 She begged him not to tease her； yet her hands continued to tease them both； increasing the tension and the pleasure until it became unbearable for them。
With a burst of exhaled breath Nicholas tore himself from her gentle grasp and slowly moved into her。 Akiko gasped and； shaking uncontrollably； arced herself up against him。 She rubbed her wet flesh against his； reveling in the scrub of his hair against her body。
He hilled her and she felt connected to the universe。 She felt all weight leave her heart； all hate melt like snow in the burgeoning heat of the first spring day； all blackness disappear from her sight。
She floated in the rain and the thunder like a slender reed on the riverside。 Birds flew； calling； above her； the wind rippled all about her； the rain struck her and she bent willingly before its force。 Water rushed by beneath her and small burrowing insects tickled her roots。 She was part of the river； the forest； the sea shore； the depths of the world。
She plummeted and rose at the same time； night became day； then reversed itself。 The cosmic clock beat in her ear； turning seconds into centuries； minutes into eons。 Her breathing was the growth of bedrock； the metamorphosis of carbon into diamond； of fossil detritus into fuel。
She sighed and the seasons changed； she shuddered and new islands sprang into being across the bosom of the Pacific。 She convulsed； crying out wildly as he shot and shot into her； as their loins ground together； as orgasm followed orgasm； and the world winked out in the blink of an eye。
The Blue Monster had changed cars three times on his way up north。 The first time had been in Miami when Route 1 became 195。 The second time had been in Savannah when the bastard and Alix Logan stopped to get a bite to eat。 The third time had been just outside Beaufort； South Carolina。 The Phonix cipher machine was on a locking slide mount and was easy to move from vehicle to vehicle。 Right now the Blue Monster would have felt naked without it。
The bastard drove like a sonuvabitch and the Blue Monster had to be doubly careful because this was strictly solo and there was absolutely no margin for error。 If he lost them now it was all over for him； he knew that neither he nor anyone else would be able to find them quickly again。
He bided his time。 He smoked unfiltered Camels and was patient； allowing the harsh tobacco bite to keep him awake。 He took no pills。
The Blue Monster was far better than Croaker had anticipated and he arrived outside the hotel four…and…a…half minutes after Croaker and Alix Logan had disappeared inside the stone and glass lobby。 It was an eastern chain hotel just outside Raleigh with an enormous tri…level shopping arcade across the six…lane highway off which its drive curled in a macadamed crescent。
Jesse James； the Blue Monster； pulled his cream…colored Aries K car off Highway 70。
He had spotted what he suspected was their car…a late…model maroon Ford four…door…and had made the turn from the middle lane； causing both voiced ire and the screeching of brakes and horns from those vehicles to the left of him as he slid across their bows； speeding toward the egress。
He lofted a rigid middle finger in their direction。 After the incident five miles back he had no patience for any of these south…em North Carolina hicks。 The goddamned pimply kid in the dusty pickup with the straw cowboy hat and denim jacket； James thought as he rolled up into the parking lot。 Probably wasn't even seventeen and sure as shit didn't know how to drive。
James spat out his open window。 The kid was how he had e to lose the maroon Ford。 Imagine。 To e all this way on that bastard's tail only to lose him at a goddamned stoplight because a candy…assed kid wouldn't pull over to let me pass。 James still seethed inside at the thought。
Then his keen eye had picked out the maroon Ford sitting in the hotel's parking lot and he had made his move。 He pulled into a space three cars down from the Ford and ambled out； stretching his legs。 No point in hurrying now； he told himself pragmatically。 Either this was their vehicle or he had lost them for sure。
His pulse rose as he saw the license plates。 Florida。 He came and stood next to the car； put the flat of his hand on the hood。 Still warm。 It was them all right。
He knelt down as if tying a shoelace and wiped the accumulation of mud that wily bastard had smeared across the plates； making a note of the letter…number bination。 Then he rose and went up the stepped concrete path toward the hotel's side entrance。
The young lieutenant's name was Russilov； and the more Pro…torov saw of him the better he liked him。 The man had initiative。 The problem with most of the soldiers ing up through the strictly controlled Soviet system； Protorov thought； was that they lacked just that。 Initiative。
They were all right if you gave them a blueprint。 They'd follow it down to the letter or die trying。 You couldn't fault that kind of dedication。 Unless you were in Viktor Protorov's line of work。 Then that kind of robotic thinking could blow a network； destroy a potential defector ing over from the other side； or expose the mouse in someone else's house。 Protorov had too many mice in other people's houses to be satisfied with the grade of soldier that would normally be assigned to him。 Bureaucrats were； of course； out altogether。
It galled him that he had to take this raw and basically unthinking talent and make it over。 Beneath his skillful hands the clay of Mother Russia was reformed into individuals useful to the Ninth Directorate。
To that end he was headmaster of a school in the Urals。 It was much smaller than the one the KGB itself ran…the one filled with American streets； American money； milk shakes and hot dogs； talk of the Yankees and the Dodgers； the Giants and the Dallas Cowboys。 That was fairytale stuff and； besides； it had proven to be potentially dangerous。 Too many Russian sleepers assimilated into American life via that school had failed to respond to their wakeup call。 Life in the West presented a siren call apparently too seductive to resist for all but the most hardened personality。
Protorov preferred to keep the Soviet ethos very much alive at his academy while he expanded the minds of his pupils； broadened their outlook。 In short； taught them to think independently。
The old bureaucrats in the Kremlin； had they known what he was up to； would no doubt have closed him down summarily。 But the truth was they were afraid of the Ninth Directorate and afraid； especially； of Viktor Protorov。 Besides； he brought them too many third world victories。 It was too convenient for them to swell upon his most recent successes in Argentina； snaring England into an idiotic and draining war； and in El Salvador； egging the hawkish American administration on into what could easily bee another Vietnam。 They were not adept at examining their fears； anyway。
Pyotr Alexandrovitch Russilov was a graduate from Protorov's Ural academy。 But he was special in many ways。 For one； he had graduated at the top of hi