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〃We decided to use the Indonesian archipelago；〃 Klein said。 〃The internal chaos in that region has pretty much closed off all ining and outgoing traffic。 There are no tourists left； and Jakarta has banned foreign media from the country。 Our play is that there have been sporadic outbreaks of smallpox； leading to the possibility that the virus can multiply and spread if left unconfined。 Thus the need for such a large amount on such short notice。〃
Smith considered。 〃I like it；〃 he said finally。 〃The current Indonesian regime is a pariah in the eyes of most governments。 But there will be panic when word leaks。〃
〃Can't be helped；〃 Mein replied。 〃Whoever has the smallpox will put it to use very soon… a matter of weeks； if not days。 As soon as we identify and take down the conspirators… and recover the virus… we can spin the story to indicate that the initial diagnoses and reports were wrong。 It wasn't smallpox after all。〃
〃God willing that will be the case。〃
Smith turned as Major…General Kirov； dressed in mufti； entered the room。 He was startled by the Russian's appearance。
The fit； middle…aged Kirov had morphed into a slightly seedy…looking individual in a well…worn； off…the…rack suit。 His tie and shirt…front were dotted with food and coffee stains； his thin…soled shoes were as badly scuffed as his cheap briefcase。 His hair… now a wig… was long and unruly； a touch of makeup… expertly and judiciously applied… added an alcoholic's redness to his eyes and deepened the dark crescents under them。 Kirov had re…created himself in the image of a man who was unfortable for the eye to dwell on。 He reflected failure； dissolution； and hopelessness… the attributes of a failing salesman that the smart set； living and working in the chic area around Dupont Circle； wouldn't care to acknowledge。
〃My pliments on your makeover； General；〃 Smith said。 〃Even I had to look twice。〃
〃Let's hope the same is true for Beria；〃 Kirov replied somberly。
Smith was glad to have the burly Russian by his side。 After the debacle at Bioaparat and Moscow； Kirov had convinced the Russian president to send him to the United States to help with the hunt for Ivan Beria。 Klein had thought that Kirov； who had spent a year in Washington and knew the ethnic districts well； would be invaluable。 He had argued as much to the president； who had concurred with Potrenko and allowed Kirov to e over。
But in Kirov's hard； bright eyes Smith saw the real reason why the general was here。 Kirov had been betrayed by a woman he'd loved and trusted； who had been corrupted by unknown forces linked to a killer he'd let slip away。 Kirov badly needed to make amends； to regain his honor as a soldier。
〃How do you want to proceed； Jon？〃 Kirov asked。
〃I need to stop at home；〃 Smith replied。 〃After you get settled in； we can go to Dupont Circle。〃
Since no one at the Russian embassy was aware of Kirov's presence in the city； Smith had suggested that the general stay with him and use the Bethesda house as the base for their hunt for Beria。
〃Are you sure you don't want long…range cover？〃 Klein asked。
As much as Klein trusted Kirov's abilities and instincts； he was still reluctant to put both men out in the field without cover。 True； Smith had gone to Houston to find a trail that Treloar might have left behind。 But his real intention had been to touch the tendrils of the web that still linked Treloar to the conspirators； his controllers。 By letting them know that he was ready to investigate the very heart of where Treloar had lived and worked； Smith hoped to provoke a response that would force the controllers to e after him。。。。 Which meant bringing Beria out of his hole。
〃We can't take the chance that Beria would spot the cover； sir；〃 Smith replied。
〃Mr。 Klein；〃 Kirov said； 〃I understand… and share… your concern。 But I promise you I will not let anything happen to Jon。 I have a distinct advantage over any cover you might provide。 I know Beria。 If he's wearing a disguise； I'll see through it。 There are characteristics and mannerisms that he won't be able to hide。〃 He turned to Smith。
〃You have my word。 If Beria is out there； if he es for you； he is ours。〃
Ninety minutes later； Smith and Kirov arrived at Smith's ranchstyle home in Bethesda。 As Smith walked him through the house； Kirov noted the paintings； wall hangings； and objets from cultures around the world。 The American was indeed a well…traveled man。
While Smith showered and changed； Kirov made himself fortable in the guest bedroom。 They met in the kitchen where； over coffee； they pored over a large…scale map of Washington； focusing on the multiethnic neighborhood around Dupont Circle。 Since Kirov was already familiar with the area； a plan came together quickly。
〃I know we didn't talk about this with Klein；〃 Smith said as they got ready to leave。 〃But。。。〃 He held out a SIG…Sauer pistol。
Kirov looked at it then shook his head。 He went into the bedroom and came back with what looked like an ordinary black umbrella。 He held it at a forty…five degree angle； moved his thumb along the handle； and suddenly； a one…inch blade popped out of the tip。
〃Something I brought along from Moscow；〃 Kirov said conversationally。 〃The blade has a fast…acting animal tranquilizer… Acepromazine。 It can bring down a hundred…kilo boar in seconds。 Besides； if for some reason your police were to stop me； I could explain away an umbrella。 A gun would be much harder。〃
Smith nodded。 He might be the bait； but Kirov would be the one doing the close…in work。 He was glad that the Russian wasn't going to face Beria unarmed。
Smith slipped the SIG…Sauer into his shoulder holster。 〃All right； then。 I'll give you forty minutes lead time； then follow you in。〃
Moving along the streets like a wraith； Kirov studied the human traffic swirling around him。 Like other areas close to Washington's core； Dupont Circle had undergone a revival。 But tucked in between trendy cafés and designer boutiques were the Macedonian bakeries； Turkish carpet shops； Serbian emporiums filled with beaten brass and copper planters； Greek restaurants； and Yugoslav coffeehouses。 Kirov knew how strong the pull of the familiar would be to a man operating in an unfamiliar environment； even if that man was a vicious killer。 This ethnic mix was just the kind of environment that Ivan Beria would gravitate to。 There he could find familiar food； listen to music he had grown up with； overhear accents he recognized。 Kirov； who could eavesdrop in many Slavic languages； was also perfectly at home there。
Turning into an open…air quadrangle bordered by shops and stalls； Kirov took a seat in the shade of an umbrella…topped table。 A Croat woman who spoke only halting English took his order for coffee。 The Russian held back a smile as he overheard her running invective at the proprietor。
Sipping the thick； sweet coffee； Kirov surveyed the foot traffic； noting the women's colorful blouses and skirts and the men's baggy pants and leather jackets。 If Beria came here； he would wear the rough； practical clothing of a Yugoslav working man… maybe a cap； too； to cast a shadow over his features。 But Kirov had no doubt that he would recognize him。 In his exper