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d from that knowledge determine if the unfortunate had died in Golovko's place； or perhaps had possessed enemies of his own。 Rage had not yet supplanted the shock of the event。 Perhaps that would e later； Golovko thought； as he took a step toward his private washroom； for suddenly his bladder was weak。 It seemed a horrid display of frailty； but Golovko had never known immediate fear in his life； and； like many； thought in terms of the movies。 The actors there were bold and resolute； never mind that their words were scripted and their reactions rehearsed； and none of it was anything like what happened when explosives arrived in the air without warning。
Who wants me dead？ he wondered； after flushing the toilet。
The American Embassy a few miles away had a flat roof on which stood all manner of radio antennas； most of them leading to radio receivers of varying levels of sophistication； which were in turn attached to tape recorders that turned slowly in order to more efficiently use their tapes。 In the room with the recorders were a dozen people； both civilian and military； all Russian linguists who reported to the National Security Agency at Fort Meade； Maryland； between Baltimore and Washington。 It was early in the day； and these people were generally at work before the Russian officials whose munications they worked to monitor。 One of the many radios in the room was a scanning monitor of the sort once used by American citizens to listen in on police calls。 The local cops used the same bands and the exact same type of radios that their American counterparts had used in the 1970s； and monitoring them was child's play … they were not encrypted yet。 They listened in on them for the occasional traffic accident； perhaps involving a big shot； and mainly to keep a finger on the pulse of Moscow； whose crime situation was bad and getting worse。 It was useful for embassy personnel to know what parts of town to avoid； and to be able to keep track of a crime to one of the thousands of American citizens。
〃Explosion？〃 an Army sergeant asked the radio。 His head turned。 〃Lieutenant Wilson； police report an explosion right in front of Moscow Center。〃
〃What kind？〃
〃Sounds like a car blew up。 Fire department is on the scene now； ambulance。。。〃 He plugged in headphones to get a better cut on the voice traffic。 〃Okay； white Mercedes…Benz； tag number …〃 He pulled out a pad and wrote it down。 〃Three people dead； driver and two passengers and。。。 oh； shit！〃
〃What is it； Reins？〃
〃Sergey Golovko。。。〃 Sergeant Reins's eyes were shut； and he had one hand pressing the headphones to his ears。 〃Doesn't he drive a white Benz？〃
〃Oh； shit！〃 Lieutenant Wilson observed for herself。 Golovko was one of the people whom her people routinely tracked。 〃Is he one of the deaders？〃
〃Can't tell yet； ell…tee。 New voice。。。 the captain at the station； just said he's ing down。 Looks like they're excited about this one； ma'am。 Lotsa chatter ing up。〃
Lieutenant Susan Wilson rocked back and forth in her swivel chair。 Make a call on this one or not？ They couldn't shoot you for notifying your superiors of something； could they。。。？ 〃Where's the station chief？〃
〃On his way to the airport； ell…tee； he's flying off to St。 Petersburg today； remember？〃
〃Okay。〃 She turned back to her panel and lifted the secure phone； a STU…6 （for 〃secure telephone unit〃）； to Fort Meade。 Her plastic encryption key was in its proper slot； and the phone was already linked and synchronized with another such phone at NSA headquarters。 She punched the # key to get a response。
〃Watch Room；〃 a voice said half a world away。
〃This is Station Moscow。 We have an indication that Sergey Golovko may just have been assassinated。〃
〃The SVR chairman？〃
〃Affirmative。 A car similar to his has exploded in Dzerzhinskiy Square； and this is the time he usually goes to work。〃
〃Confidence？〃 the disembodied male voice asked。 It would be a middle…grade officer； probably military； holding down the eleven…to…seven watch。 Probably Air Force。 〃Confidence〃 was one of their institutional buzzwords。
〃We're taking this off police radios … the Moscow Militia； that is。 We have lots of voice traffic； and it sounds excited； my operator tells me。〃
〃Okay； can you upload it to us？〃
〃Affirmative；〃 Lieutenant Wilson replied。
〃Okay； let's do that。 Thanks for the heads…up； we'll take it from here。〃
Okay； Station Moscow out；〃 heard Major Bob Teeters。 He was new in his job at NSA。 Formerly a rated pilot who had twenty…one hundred hours in mand of C…5s and C…17s； he'd injured his left elbow in a motorcycle accident eight months before； and the loss of mobility there had ended his flying career； much to his disgust。 Now he was reborn as a spook； which was somewhat more interesting in an intellectual sense； but not exactly a happy exchange for an aviator。 He waved to an enlisted man； a Navy petty officer first…class； to pick up on the active line from Moscow。 This the sailor did； donning headphones and lighting up the word…processing program on his desktop puter。 This sailor was a Russian linguist in addition to being a yeoman； and thus petent to drive the puter。 He typed； translating as he listened in to the pirated Russian police radios； and his script came up on Major Teeters's puter screen。
I HAVE THE LICENSE NUMBER； CHECKING NOW； the first line read。
GOOD； QUICK AS YOU CAN。
WORKING ON IT； RADE。 （TAPPING IN THE BACKGROUND； DO THRE RUSSKIES HAVE PUTERS FOR TIS STUFF NOW？）
I HAVE IT； WHITE MERCEDES BENZ； REGISTERED TO G。 F 。 AVSYENKO； （NOT SURE OF SPELLING） 677 PROTOPOPOV PROSPEKT； FLAT 18A。
HIM？ I KNOW THAT NAME！
Which was good for somebody； Major Teeters thought； but not all that great for Avsyenko。 Okay； what next？ The senior watch officer was another squid； Rear Admiral Tom Porter； probably drinking coffee in his office over in the main building and watching TV； maybe。 Time to change that。 He called the proper number。
〃Admiral Porter。〃
〃Sir； this is Major Teeters down in the watch center。 We have some breaking news in Moscow。〃
〃What's that； Major？〃 a tired voice asked。
〃Station Moscow initially thought that somebody might have killed Chairman Golovko of the KG … the SVR； I mean。〃
〃What was that； Major？〃 a somewhat more alert voice inquired。
〃Turns out it probably wasn't him； sir。 Somebody named Avsyenko …〃 Teeters spelled it out。 〃We're getting the intercepts off their police radio bands。 I haven't run the name yet。〃
〃What else？〃
〃Sir； that's all I have right now。〃
By this time； a CIA field officer named Tom Barlow was in the loop at the embassy。 The third…ranking spook in the current scheme of things； he didn't want to drive over to Dzerzhinskiy Square himself； but he did the next best thing。 Barlow called the CNN office； the direct line to a friend。
〃Mike Evans。〃
〃Mike； this is Jimmy；〃 Tom Barlow said； initiating a prearranged and much…used lie。 〃Dzerzhinskiy Square； the murder of somebody in a Mercedes。 Sounds messy and kinda spectacular。〃
〃Okay；〃 the reporter said； making a brief note。 〃We're on it。〃
At his desk； Barlow checked his watch。 8：52 local time。 Evans was a hustling reporter for a hustling news servic