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.Her face had a slightly oriental cast to it that made her seem exotic in the light of the artificial fire glowing electrically in the artificial fireplace.Over dinner she explained that, since the Soviet Union was one of the founding members of the International Peacekeeping Force, it was impossible for the USSR to overtly support Libya."When Colonel Qaddafi was finally assassinated, everyone thought that Libya would return to being a quiet country that produced oil instead of terrorists."Pavel sipped his hot borscht and listened, trying to keep his eyes off her red blouse.One of the buttons had come undone and it gaped invitingly."But Rayyid is more rabid than Qaddafi ever was, as you know from your briefings.He is not the kind of man we would have chosen for an ally, but the inexorable forces of history have thrown us into the same bed—so to speak.Therefore, any attempt to undermine him must be stopped by us, with force, if necessary.""But quietly," Pavel added, "so that the world does not know the Soviet Union has supported a madman."She smiled at him."Only the madman will know, and feel more dependent on us.And, of course, we will discreetly inform certain others who must be made to realize that the Soviet Union protects its friends—without the kind of stupid publicity that the Americans go in for.""I can see why it is desirable to crush a band of mercenary soldiers," Pavel said, "but I still don't see why we support a nation that sends terrorists around the world.Wasn't Rayyid responsible for blowing up that Czech airliner last year? Two hundred people were killed!"The chief briefing officer smiled again at Pavel."Yes, it is true.And regrettable.But international politics is very complicated.Sometimes it is necessary, as I said, to get into bed with someone you do not love."Pavel thought of the word whore, but did not speak it.She saw that he was unconvinced.She spent the rest of the night explaining things to him.And he allowed her to, not daring to refuse and—later, when they were both wrapped in the imitation tiger skin—not wanting to refuse.Alexander started the motor again and the little boat leaped across the waves once more.Just as the sun was starting to dry me out, Pavel thought sourly, squinting into the spray.They rounded a cliff that tumbled from the wooded ridge line far above straight down into the blue sea.Pavel saw a seaplane tucked into the cove formed by a niche in the line of mountains."Home sweet home," shouted Alexander over the drone of the motor.It was as beautiful a piece of work as anything Pavel had ever seen: the clean graceful lines of a racing yacht wedded to the lean swept-back wings of a jet airplane.Big engine pods bulked where the wings met the plane's body.The T-shaped tail leaned back at a rakish angle.The plane was painted sea-blue, although the underside of the wings were a lighter hue, the color of the sky, Pavel saw as they approached.A hatch popped open halfway between the wings and tail, and two men tossed out a rope ladder.Alexander maneuvered the Zodiac to the ladder and hooked a line to it.He gestured Pavel into the plane, then clambered up the ladder after him."This is where I live," he told Pavel."This is home, headquarters, and transportation all wrapped up in one."Tapping a forefinger against Pavel's chest, he added, "Let me give you a piece of advice, friend: never stay in one place long enough for the tax collectors to find you!"Pavel saw that they were in a utilitarian work area, bare metal walls curving over a scuffed and worn metal flooring.It was tall enough for Alexander to stand erect.He was just under two meters, Pavel estimated.The two other men were deflating the Zodiac and bringing it aboard for stowage."My car." he suddenly remembered."All taken care of, don't worry," Alexander said as he wormed out of his yellow slicker.He was wearing a turtleneck shirt and jeans.The uniform of a burglar, Pavel thought.His hair was youthfully thick and full, yet dead white.Another contradiction.Crooking a finger for Pavel to follow him, Alexander strode to the forward hatch and went through.The next cabin almost took Pavel's breath away.It was what he had imagined, as a child, that a plutocrat's yacht would look like.Brass and polished wood.Comfortable cushioned armchairs—with lap belts.Round portholes.Small tables bolted to the deck, which was covered with a thick carpet of royal blue."I've got to go forward for a minute and talk to the pilot," said Alexander as Pavel took in all the luxury."Your bunk is the first hatch on the right, forward of this cabin.You might want to get into some dry clothes before we take off."Even his "bunk" was a well-appointed private compartment, small as a telephone booth yet comfortable, with a foldout desk and a display screen built into the foot of the bed.I should be able to tap into his computer files, Pavel told himself, given a bit of time.As he dropped his bag on the bunk and unzipped it, the plane's engines roared to life.The compartment shuddered.Through the porthole Pavel could see that they were turning seaward."All personnel, please take seats and strap in.Take off in three minutes."Pavel tucked his bag in the drawer beneath the bunk, lay down and buckled the safety strap across his middle and was asleep by the time the plane lifted off the water.It was still daylight when he awoke.Pavel showered and shaved in the coffin-sized bathroom, marveling that he had such facilities all to himself.He dressed in his spare outfit, a loose-fitting maroon shirt and Western jeans, not unlike those Alexander wore.He had only one pair of sneakers: snug and silent.He went out into the passageway and counted eight sleeping compartments.From his memory of the plane's exterior, he judged that there was another big compartment forward, before the control deck.He went through the open hatch and back into the wardroom where he had last seen Alexander.The two men who had pulled in the boat were sitting there at a table laden with sandwiches and coffee cups.The young woman sitting with them noticed Pavel."Might as well come over and have some chow."She was small, rather plain-looking, with red hair cut short, almost boyishly.A freckled face with a small stub of a nose.Her face looked somewhat suspicious as Pavel approached; he saw that her brown eyes watched him carefully."I'm Kelly," she said, getting up and offering her hand."Pavel Krahsnii," he said, making himself smile at her
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