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tanks and carriers； mainly moving from one to another； turning over the diesel engines and cleaning the metal surfaces； which was necessary because of water seepage through the stone roof。 The 〃Never Depot；〃 it was called on classified maps； one of several such places close to the main rail line that went from Moscow to Vladivostok。 Cunningly hidden； partially in plain sight； it was one of the aces that General…Colonel Bondarenko had hidden up his sleeve。
As were the men。 They were mostly in their thirties； confused； and more than a little angry at having been called away from their homes。 However； like good Russians； or indeed good citizens in any land； they got their notices； figured that their country had a need； and it was their country； and so about three…fourths of them went as summoned。 Some saw familiar faces from their time in the conscript army of the Soviet Union…these men were mainly from that time…and greeted old friends； or ignored those less happily remembered。 Each was given a preprinted card telling him where to go； and so the tank crews and infantry squads formed up； the latter finding their uniforms and light weapons； plus ammunition； waiting in the assigned motor…carrier。 The tank crewmen were all small men； about 167 centimeters in height… about five feet six inches to an American…because the interiors of the old Russian tanks did not permit tall men to fit inside。
The tankers returning to the steeds of their youth knew the good and bad points of the T…55s。 The engines were made of roughly machined parts and would grind off a full kilogram of metal shavings into the oil sumps during the first few hours of running； but； they all figured； that would have been taken care of by the routine turning…over of the engines in the depot。 The tanks were； in fact； in surprisingly good shape； better than the ones they'd used on active duty。 This seemed both strange and unsurprising to the returning soldiers； because the Red Army had made little logical sense when they'd been in it； but that； for a Soviet citizen of the 1970s and '80s； was not unexpected either。 Most remembered their service with some fondness； and for the usual reasons； the chance to travel and see new； different things； and the radeship of men their own age…a time of life in which young men seek out the new and the exciting。 The poor food； miserable pay； and strenuous duty were largely forgotten； though exposure to the rolling equipment brought back some of it with the instant memory that acpanied smells and feels from the past。 The tanks all had full internal fuel tanks； plus the oil drums affixed to the rear that had made all of the men cringe when thinking about a battlefield…one live round could turn every tank into a pillar of fire； and so that was the fuel you burned off first； just so you could pull the handle to dump the damned things off when the first bullet flew。
Most agreeably of all； those who pressed the start buttons felt and heard the familiar rumble after only a few seconds of cranking。 The benign environment of this cavern had been kind to these old； but essentially unused； tanks。 They might have been brand new； fresh from the assembly lines of the massive factory at Nizhnyi Tagil； for decades the armory of the Red Army。 The one thing that had changed； they all saw； was that the red star was gone from the glacis plate； replaced with an all…too…visible representation of their new white…blue…red flag； which； they all thought； was far too good an aiming point。 Finally they were all called away from their vehicles by the young reserve officers； who； they saw； looked a little worried。 Then the speeches began； and the reservists found out why。
〃Damn； isn't she a lovely one；〃 the FSS officer said； getting into the car。 They'd followed their subject to yet another expensive restaurant； where he'd dined alone； then walked into the bar； and within five minutes fixed upon a woman who'd also arrived alone； pretty in her black； red…striped dress that looked to have been copied from some Italian designer。 Suvorov/Koniev was driving back toward his flat； with a total of six cars in trail； three of them with light…change switches on their dashboards to alter their visual appearance at night。 The cop riding in the number…two car thought that was an especially clever feature。
He was taking his time； not racing his car to show his courage； but instead dazzling the girl with his man…of…the…world demeanor； the investigators thought。 The car slowed as it passed one corner； a street with old iron lampposts； then changed direction； if not abruptly； then unexpectedly。
〃Shit； he's going to the park；〃 the senior FSS guy said； picking up his radio microphone to say this over the air。 〃He must have spotted a flag somewhere。〃
And so he did； but first he dropped off what appeared to be a very disappointed woman； holding some cash in her hand to ease the pain。 One of the FSS cars paused to pick her up for questioning； while the others continued their distant pursuit； and five minutes later； it happened。 Suvorov/Koniev parked his car on one side of the park and walked across the darkened grass to the other； looking about as he did so； not noticing the fact that five cars were circling。
〃That's it。 He picked it up。〃 He'd done it skillfully； but that didn't matter if you knew what to look for。 Then he walked back to his car。 Two of the cars headed directly over to his flat； and the three in trail just kept going when he pulled in。
He said he felt suddenly ill。 I gave him my card；〃 she told the interrogators。 〃He gave me fifty euros for my trouble。〃 Which was fair payment； she thought； for wasting half an hour of her valuable time。
〃Anything else？ Did he look ill？〃
〃He said that the food suddenly disagreed with him。 I wondered if he'd gotten cold feet as some men do； but not this one。 He is a man of some sophistication。 You can always tell。〃
〃Very well。 Thank you； Yelena。 If he calls you； please let us know。〃
〃Certainly。〃 It had been a totally painless interview； which came as rather a surprise for her； and for that reason she'd cooperated fully； wondering what the hell she'd stumbled into。 A criminal of some sort？ Drug trafficker； perhaps？ If he called her； she'd call these people and to hell with him。 Life for a woman of her trade was difficult enough。
He's on the puter；〃 an electronics specialist said at FSS headquarters。 He read the keystrokes off the keyboard bug they'd planted； and they not only showed up on his screen； but also ran live on a duplicate of the subject desktop system。 〃There； there's the clear…text。 He's got the message。〃
There was a minute or so of thoughtful pause； and then he began typing again。 He logged onto his e…mail service and started typing up messages。 They all said some variant of 〃contact me as soon as you can；〃 and that told them what he was up to。 A total of four letters had gone out； though one suggested forwarding to one or more others。 Then he logged off and shut his puter down。
〃Now； let's see if we can identify his correspondents； shall we？〃 the senior investigator told his staff。 That took all of twenty minutes。 What had keen routine drudgery was now as exciting as watching