The Bear and the Dragon - Tom Clancy [151]
Sure as hell, that Suvorov guy was looking in the same place. Casually, perhaps, and using the bars mirror to do it. He even sat so that his eyes naturally looked at the same place as he sat on his bar stool. But people like this subject didnt do anything by accident or coincidence. They were trained to think through everything, even taking a leak.., it was remarkable, then, that hed been turned so stupidly. By a hooker whod gone through his things while he was sleeping off an orgasm. Well, some men, no matter how smart, thought with their dicks … Reilly turned again … one of the Chinese men at the distant table excused himself and stood, heading for the mens room. Reilly thought to do the same at once, but.., no. If it were prearranged, such a thing could spook it … Patience, Mishka, he told himself, turning back to look at the principal subject. Koniev/Suvorov set down his drink and stood.
"Oleg. I want you to point me toward the mens room," the FBI agent said. "In fifteen seconds."
Provalov counted out the time, then extended his arm toward the main entrance. Reilly patted him on the shoulder and headed that way.
The Prince Michael of Kiev restaurant was nice, but it didnt have a bathroom attendant, as many European places did, perhaps because Americans were uneasy with the custom, or maybe because the management thought it an unnecessary expense. Reilly entered and saw three urinals, two of them being used. He unzipped and urinated, then rezipped and turned to wash his hands, looking down as he did so … and just out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other two men share a sideways look. The Russian was taller. The mens room had the sort of pull-down roller towel that America had largely done away with. Reilly pulled it down and dried his hands, unable to wait too much longer. Heading toward the door, he reached in his pocket and pulled his car keys part of the way out. These he dropped just as he pulled the door open, with a muttered, "Damn," as he bent down to pick them up, shielded from their view by the steel divider. Reilly picked them off the tile floor and stood back up.
Then he saw it. It was well done. They could have been more patient, but they probably both discounted the importance of the American, and both were trained professionals. They scarcely touched each other, and what touching and bumping there was happened below the waist and out of sight to the casual observer. Reilly wasnt a casual observer, however, and even out of the corner of his eyes, it was obvious to the initiated. It was a classic brush-pass, so well done that even Reillys experience couldnt determine who had passed what to whom. The FBI agent continued out, heading back to his seat at the bar, where he waved to the barkeep for the drink he figured hed just earned.
"Yes?"
"You want to identify that Chinaman. He and our friend traded something in the shitter. Brush-pass, and nicely done," Reilly said, with a smile and a gesture at the brunette down the bar. Good enough, in fact, that had Reilly been forced to sit in a witness stand and describe it to a jury, a week-old law-school graduate could make him admit that he hadnt actually seen anything at all. But that told him much. That degree of skill was either the result of a totally chance encounter between two entirely innocent people—the purest of coincidences—or it had been the effort of two trained intelligence officers applying their craft at a perfect place in a perfect way. Provalov was turned the right way to see the two individuals leave the mens room. They didnt even notice each other, or didnt appear to acknowledge the presence of the other any more than they would have greeted a stray dog—exactly as two unrelated