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y the rising budgetary expense of the maximum security sanatorium housing them within a stone's throw of the National Zoo； an enormous sprawling mansion over two hundred years old and designated a National Landmark。 Every year the Smithsonian attempted to get it opened to the public； being ignorant of its real purpose； and every year they were denied。
There were no puter terminals anywhere in Minck's offices； they were strictly verboten。 However； there were a number of printout stations； one of which was in his spacious office。 Two of the walls below the sixteen…foot ceiling were given over to enormous rectangular panels that resembled windows more than anything else。 This was deliberate。 In fact； they were giant projection screens posed of a particular chemical amalgam able to 〃take〃 the rear…projected holograms； so that they blossomed to life with an astonishing reality。 The holograms； of course； changed from time to time but mostly； as now； they were of two views of Moscow： of Dzerzhinsky Square； to be more accurate； the great； open plaza dotted with bundled； astrakhaned pedestrians and； in the street behind them； one black Zil limousine caught as it entered the black； blobby hole in the forbidding facade of the structure known with fear throughout the world as Lubyanka Prison and headquarters for the KGB。
On the other wall was the second view of the square。 Minck knew for a fact that some of the cells within Lubyanka looked out on this other building across the square； where children strolled with their parents； hand in hand； too young yet to know or prehend how close they really were to the one true embodiment of evil left on earth。
Minck was gazing meditatively now at this second edifice。 Once again he opened up his mind； his memories； trying to find any trace of the hatred； the fear he had once experienced upon looking out at this same view。 Oh； not so expansive of course。 The slitted windows in the outer cells in Lubyanka were not those of a hotel。
But Minck remembered。 It had been winter then； the sky grayed with clouds stretched like sinews。 Lights were always on in the vast city as night swept in off the frozen steppes to the north for its eighteen…hour stay。 And everywhere the noise of the city was muffled by the ubiquitous snow； turning even the most normal of sounds strange and unreal； increasing Minck's sense of disasso…ciation。 How he had e to hate the snow； for it had brought him to Lubyanka； his wrists manacled。 Snow had hidden the icy patch in the street on which he had skidded。 He would have eluded them otherwise without doubt； for they were mathematically minded； drilled to precision； but； as with all KGB underlings； lacking the concept of intuition。
Intuition equaled freedom in Minck's mind。 And his intuition would have saved him that chill night in Moscow。 Except for the snow。 Snyeg； the Russians called it。 In any language he hated it。
He continued to stare at the building that had been his last look at Moscow before they pulled him from the holding cell and began the 〃interviews。〃 From then on his home was a windowless space of not more than fifteen square feet； with a plywood cot bolted to the wall and a hole down which to wash his waste products。 The stench was appalling； as was the cold。 Heat was unheard of in the inner cells。
Sightless； like a rat in the dark； Minck fought to retain his senses against the numbing effects his interviewers were inducing in him。 And to that end he conjured up in his mind memories of the view from his holding cell； for a time certain that it was the last sliver of the world he would ever see。
He observed the young Russian couples walking； the families trudging through the last of the spring snows…for these holograms revolved with the seasons…and felt the clear space within him； the embers of passionate hate and terror that consumed him； that； for the instant before he crossed over the border into neutral territory； had caused him to pause； to consider wildly returning and killing them all singlehanded。
And like a careful cowboy on a dry and dusty plain； Minck kicked over these glowing ashes； nurturing the essence of that hate： Protorov。 He gave his whole attention to the crenellated building in the hologram that had e to mean even more to him than its sinister sister structure across the square： the Moscow Children's World department store。
His eyes closed in easy meditation。 His finger depressed one of a series of studs recessed into the left arm of his chair。
〃Tanya；〃 he said softly into the void of the room； 〃two directives。 One： get that Doctor Kidd…what's his Christian name？ Timothy？…on the phone。 If he's not at the Park Avenue office； try Mount Sinai Hospital。 Get him out of rounds。〃
〃What pseudonym shall we use as imprimatur？〃 The voice that emerged from the hidden speaker system was husky； with just a trace of a foreign slur。
〃Oh； let's be ingenious today； shall we？ Use the Department of International Export Tariffs。〃
〃Very good。〃
〃Second；〃 Minck said； 〃since our time seems to be rapidly running out； invade ARRTS and call up the file on Linnear NMN Nicholas。〃
It was Justine's first day on the job and she was unfortable as a cat on a hot tin roof。 For more than three years she had been more or less happily ensconced in her own one…woman pany； delivering free…lance advertising concepts to medium…range accounts。 While she had not amassed a fortune； her talents were such that even in an uncertain economy she had managed to do quite well。
Of course from time to time she had received offers to join agencies； but the fort of working for herself had always outweighed the increased security that working for someone else would give her。
But meeting Rick Millar had begun to change all that。 Just over six weeks ago Mary Kate Sims had phoned Justine in frantic need of a project designer。 Mary Kate worked for Millar； Soames & Robberts； one of the newer agencies with a high profile and even higher net yearly bookings。 Two of their best designers were down with the flu and would Justine be a dear and fill in on the American Airlines project？ It was a rush job； but Mary Kate said she could guarantee Justine a sizable bonus for on…time delivery。
Justine took the project； working on it eighteen hours a day for almost a week。 But ten days later； into three or four of her own projects…one of which was giving her fits…she had forgotten all about Mary Kate and her American Airlines package。
Until the call from Rick Millar； the head of the agency。 Apparently American had loved Justine's idea so much they were turning what had been a New York regional into a national campaign。 The firm of Millar； Soames & Robberts had received a sizable bonus and a long…term contract with American。
Rick said that he had loved Justine's idea before the agency had submitted it to American。 Justine did not know whether or not to believe him。 He made a lunch date with her。
The following week they met at La C？te Basque； a superb French restaurant that Justine had read about several times in Gourmet but had never actually been to。
Yet the delicious food was the least memorable aspect of those several hours because； as it turned out； Millar had m