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is Doxa watch。 The dial read 11：55。 Since he had never slept more than nine hours in his life； he rightly assumed that it was the following morning。
A minute later he leaned over the basin and splashed cold water on his face。 The single towel was coarse and hardly absorbed the moisture。 He went over to the wardrobe； pulled it open； and found a khaki shirt and pants on a hanger and a pair of sandals。 Before he put them on he removed several bandages over wounds that were already beginning to scab； and flexed the newfound freedom of movement。 After he dressed； he tried the heavy iron door。 The latch was still locked； so he pounded on the thick metal panel； causing a hollow boom to reverberate around the concrete walls。
A boy who looked no older than nineteen and wearing Soviet army fatigues opened the door and stood back； aiming a machine pistol； no larger than an ordinary household hammer； at Pitt's midsection。 He motioned down a long hall to the left； and Pitt obliged。 They passed several other iron doors； and Pitt wondered if Gunn and Giordino were behind any of them。
They stopped at an elevator whose doors were held open by another guard。 They entered and Pitt felt the slight pressure against his feet as the car rose。 He glanced at the indicator above the door and noticed that it showed lights for five levels。 A good…sized layout； he thought。 The elevator came to a stop and the automatic doors glided open。
Pitt and his guard stepped out into a carpeted room with a vaulted ceiling。 The two side walls held shelves stacked with hundreds of books。 Most of the books were in English and many of them were by current best selling American authors。 A vast map of North America covered the entire far wall。 The room looked to Pitt to be a private study。 There was a big； antique carved desk whose marble top was strewn with current issues of the Washington Post； the New York Times； the Wall Street Journal； and USA Today。 Stacked atop tables on each side of the doorway were piles of technical magazines； including puter Technology； Science Digest； and the Air Force Journal。 The carpet was burgundy red with six green leather chairs spaced evenly about its thick pile。
Maintaining his silence； the guard reentered the elevator and left Pitt standing alone in the empty room。
Must be time to observe the monkey； he mused。 Pitt didn't bother to probe the walls for the lens to the video camera。 There was little doubt in his mind that it was concealed in the room somewhere； recording his actions。 He decided to try for a reaction。 He swayed drunkenly for a moment； rolled his eyes upward； and then crumpled onto the carpet。
Within fifteen seconds a hidden door； whose edges perfectly matched latitude and longitude lines of the giant wall map； swung open and a short； trim man in an elegantly tailored Soviet military uniform walked into the room。 He knelt down and peered into Pitt's half…open eyes。
〃Can you hear me？〃 he asked in English。
〃Yes；〃 Pitt mumbled。
The Russian went over to a table and tilted a crystal decanter over a matching glass。 He returned and lifted Pitt's head。
〃Drink this；〃 he ordered。
〃What is it？〃
〃Courvoisier cognac with a sharp； biting taste；〃 the Russian officer answered in a flawless American accent。 〃Good for what ails you。〃
〃I prefer a richer； smoother Remy Martin；〃 said Pitt； holding up the glass。 〃Cheers。〃
He sipped the cognac until it was gone； then rose lightly to his feet； found a chair； and sat down。
The officer smiled with amusement。 〃You seem to have made a quick recovery； Mr。 。 。〃
〃Snodgrass； Elmer Snodgrass； from Moline； Illinois。〃
〃A nice Midwestern touch；〃 the Russian said； ing around and sitting behind the desk。 〃I am Peter Velikov。〃
〃General Velikov； if my memory of Russian military insignia is correct。〃
〃Quite correct；〃 Velikov acknowledged。 〃Would you care for another cognac？〃
Pitt shook his head and studied the man across the desk。 He judged Velikov to be no taller than five foot seven； weighing about a hundred and thirty pounds； and somewhere in his late forties。 There was a fortable friendliness about him； and yet Pitt sensed an underlying coldness。 His hair was short and black with only a touch of gray at the sideburns and receding around a peak above the forehead。 His eyes were as blue as an alpine lake； and the light…skinned face seemed sculptured more by classic Roman influence than Slavic。 Dress him in a toga and set a wreath on his head； Pitt imagined； and Velikov could have posed for a marble bust of Julius Caesar。
〃I hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions；〃 said Velikov politely。
〃Not at all。 I have no pressing engagements for the rest of the day。 My time is yours。〃
A look of ice glinted in Velikov's eyes for an instant and then quickly faded。 〃Suppose you tell me how you came to be on Cayo Santa Maria。〃
Pitt held out his hands in a helpless gesture。 〃No sense in wasting your time。 I might as well make a clean breast of it。 I'm president of the Central Intelligence Agency。 My board of directors and I thought it would be a great promotional idea to charter a blimp and drop redeemable coupons for toilet paper over the length of Cuba。 I'm told there's an acute shortage down here。 Unfortunately； the Cubans didn't agree with our marketing strategy and shot us down。〃
General Velikov gave Pitt a tolerant but irritated look。 He perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose and opened a file on his desk。
〃I see by your dossier； Mr。 Pitt Dirk Pitt； if I read it right that your character profile mentions a drift toward dry wit。〃
〃Does it also tell you I'm a pathological liar？〃
〃No； but it seems you have a most fascinating history。 A pity you aren't on our side。〃
〃e now； General； what future could a nonconformist possibly have in Moscow？〃
〃A short one； I'm afraid。〃
〃I pliment your honesty。〃
〃Why not tell me the truth？〃
〃Only if you're willing to believe it。〃
〃You don't think I can？〃
〃Not if you adhere to the munist mania of seeing a CIA plot under every rock。〃
〃Seems you have a high disregard for the Soviet Union。〃
〃Name one thing you people have ever done in the last seventy years to earn a humanity award。 What is baffling as hell is why the Russians have never wised up to the fact they're the laughing stock of the world。 Your empire is history's most pathetic joke。 The twenty…first century is just around the corner and your government operates as though it never advanced past the nineteen…thirties。〃
Velikov didn't bat an eyelid； but Pitt detected a slight redness in his face。 It was clear the general wasn't used to being lectured by a man he looked down upon as an enemy of the state。 His eyes examined Pitt with the unmistakable gaze of a judge who was weighing a convicted murderer's life in the balance。 Then his gaze turned speculative。
〃I'll see that your ments are passed on to the Politburo；〃 he said dryly。 〃Now if you're through with the speech； Mr。 Pitt； I'd be interested in hearing how you came to be here。〃
Pitt nodded toward the table with the decanter。 〃I think I'd like that cognac now。〃
〃Help y