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By Root 1173 0

of the Soviets, they were poised between two political and economic worlds, teetering, not quite balanced, not quite sure which way they would go. And that made their political situation dangerously vulnerable to what? Jack asked himself.

Damned near anything.

SPINNAKER said Narmonov was being pressured to make a deal with the military, which, he said, was part of the Forward-to-the-Past mob. Group One. The danger existed, he said, that the Soviet Union would revert to a quasi-military state that repressed its progressive elements; that Narmonov had lost his nerve.

"He says he's had one-on-one meetings with Andrey Il'ych," Mary Pat pointed out. "Intel doesn't come any better than that."

"Also true," Jack replied. "It is worrisome, isn't it?"

"I'm not really concerned about a reversion to Marxist rule What worries me -"

"Yeah, I know. Civil war." Civil war in a country with thirty thousand nuclear warheads. There's a cheery thought.

"Our position has been to cut Narmonov as much slack as he needs, but if our guy is right, that might be the wrong policy."

"What's Ed think?"

"Same as me. We trust Kadishev. I recruited him. Ed and I have seen every report he's ever sent in. He delivers. He's smart, well-placed, very perceptive, a ballsy son-of-a-gun. When's the last time he gave us bad stuff?"

"I don't know that he ever has." Jack replied.

"Neither do I, Jack."

Ryan leaned back in his chair. "Christ, I just love these easy calls I don't know, MP. The time I met Narmonov that is one tough, smart, agile son-of-a-bitch. He's got real brass ones." Jack stopped. More than you can say for yourself, boy.

"We all have our limitations. Even the brass ones go soft." Mrs Foley smiled. "Oops, wrong metaphor. People run out of steam. Stress, hours, time in the saddle. Reality grinds us all down. Why do you think I'm taking time off - Being pregnant gives me a great excuse. Having a newborn isn't exactly a picnic, but I get a month or so of the fundamentals, real life instead of the stuff we do here every day. That's one advantage we have over men, doc. You guys can't break away like we women can. That may be Andrey Il'ych's problem. Who can he turn to for advice? Where can he go for help? He's been there a long time. He's dealing with a deteriorating situation, and he's running out of gas. That's what SPINNAKER tells us, and it is consistent with the facts."

"Except that we haven't heard anything like this from anyone else."

"But he's our best guy for the inside stuff."

"Which completes the circularity of the argument, Mary Pat."

"Doc, you have the report, and you have my opinion," Mrs Foley pointed out.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack set the document on his desk.

"What are you going to tell them?"

"Them' was the top row of the executive branch: Fowler, Elliot, Talbot.

"I guess I go with your evaluation. I'm not entirely comfortable with it, but I don't have anything to counter your position with. Besides, the last time I went against you, turned out I was the one who blew the call."

"You know, you're a pretty good boss."

"And you're pretty good at letting me down easy."

"We all have bad days," Mrs Foley said, as she got awkwardly to her feet. "Let me waddle back to my office."

Jack rose also and walked to open the door for her. "When are you due?"

She smiled back at him. "October thirty-first - Halloween, but I'm always late, and they're always big ones."

"You take care of yourself." Jack watched her leave, then walked in to see the Director.

"You'd better look this over."

"Narmonov? I heard another SPINNAKER came in."

"You heard right, sir."

"Who's doing the write-up?"

"I will," Jack said. "I want to do some cross-checking first, though."

"I go down tomorrow. I'd like to have it then."

"I'll have it done tonight."

"Good. Thanks, Jack."

This is the place, Gunther told himself halfway into the first quarter. The stadium accommodated sixty-two thousand seven hundred twenty paying fans. Bock figured another thousand or so people selling snacks and