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might own under another identity？ Provalov was sure he'd have more of those； and they'd all be very carefully crafted。 The Koniev ID certainly was。 KGB had trained its people thoroughly。
The sergeant in the driver's seat started up the van's motor and got on the radio。 Two other police cars were in the immediate vicinity； both manned by pairs of experienced investigators。
〃Our friend is moving。 The blue rental car；〃 Provalov said over the radio。 Both of his cars radioed acknowledgments。
The rental car was a Fiat…a real one made in Turin rather than the Russian copy made at Togliattistad； one of the few special economic projects of the Soviet Union that had actually worked； after a fashion。 Had it been selected for its agility； Provalov wondered； or just because it was a cheap car to rent？ There was no knowing that right now。 Koniev/Suvorov pulled out； and the first tail car formed up with him； half a block behind； while the second was half a block in front； because even a KGB…trained intelligence officer rarely looked for a tail in front of himself。 A little more time and they might have placed a tracking device on the Fiat； but they hadn't had it； nor the darkness required。 If he returned to his apartment； they'd do it late tonight； say about four in the morning。 A radio beeper with a magnet to hold it onto the inside of the rear bumper； its antenna would hang down like a mouse's tail； virtually invisible。 Some of the available technology Provalov was using had originally been used to track suspected foreign spies around Moscow； and that meant it was pretty good； at least by Russian standards。
Following the car was easier than he'd expected。 Three trail cars helped。 Spotting a single…car tail was not overly demanding。 Two could also be identified； since the same two would switch off every few minutes。 But three shadow cars broke up the pattern nicely； and； KGB…trained or not； Koniev/Suvorov was not superhuman。 His real defense lay in concealing his identity； and cracking that had been a bination of good investigation and luck…but cops knew about luck。 KGB； on the other hand； didn't。 In their mania for organization； their training program had left it out； perhaps because trusting to luck was a weakness that could lead to disaster in the field。 That told Provalov that Koniev/Suvorov hadn't spent that much time in field operations。 In the real world of working the street； you learned such things in a huffy。
The tailing was conducted at extreme range； over a block； and the city blocks were large ones here。 The van had been specially equipped for it。 The license…plate holders were triangular in cross…section； and at the flip of a switch one could switch from among three separate pairs of tags。 The lights on the front of the vehicle were paired as well； and so one could change the light pattern； which was what a skilled adversary would look for at night。 Switch them once or twice when out of sight of his rearview mirror； and he'd have to be a genius to catch on。 The most difficult job went with the car doing the front…tail； since it was hard to read Koniev/Suvorov's mind； and when he made an unexpected turn； the lead car then had to scurry about under the guidance of the trailing shadow cars to regain its leading position。 All of the militiamen on this detail； however； were experienced homicide investigators who'd learned how to track the most dangerous game on the planet： human beings who'd displayed the willingness to take another life。 Even the stupid murderers could have animal cunning； and they learned a lot about police operations just from watching television。 That made some of his investigations more difficult than they ought to have been； but in a case like this； the additional difficulty had served to train his men more thoroughly than any academy training would have done。
〃Turning right；〃 his driver said into his radio。 〃Van takes the lead。〃 The leading trail car would proceed to the next right turn； make it； and then race to resume its leading position。 The trailing car would drop behind the van； falling off the table for a few minutes before resuming its position。 The trail car was a Fiat…clone from Togliattistad； by far the most mon private…passenger auto in Russia； and therefore fairly anonymous； with its dirty off…white paint job。
〃If that's his only attempt at throwing us off； he's very confident of himself。〃
〃True；〃 Provalov agreed。 〃Let's see what else he does。〃
The 〃what else〃 took place four minutes later。 The Fiat took another right turn； this one not onto a cross…street； but into the underpass of another apartment building； one that straddled an entire block。 Fortunately； the lead trail car was already on the far side of the building； trying to catch up with the Fiat； and had the good fortune to see Koniev/Suvorov appear thirty meters in front。
〃We have him；〃 the radio crackled。 〃We'll back off somewhat。〃
〃Go！〃 Provalov told his driver； who accelerated the van to the next corner。 Along the way； he toggled the switch to flip the license plates and change the headlight pattern； converting the van into what at night would seem a new vehicle entirely。
〃He is confident；〃 Provalov observed five minutes later。 The van was now in close…trail； with the lead trail car behind the van； and the other surveillance vehicle close behind that one。 Wherever he was going； they were on him。 He'd run his evasion maneuver； and a clever one it had been； but only one。 Perhaps he thought that one such SDR…surveillance…detection run…was enough； that if he were being trailed it would only be a single vehicle； and so had run that underpass； eyes on the rearview mirror； and spotted nothing。 Very good； the militia lieutenant thought。 It was a pity he didn't have his American FBI friend along。 The FBI could scarcely have done this better； even with its vast resources。 It didn't hurt that his men knew the streets of Moscow and its suburbs as well as any taxi driver。
〃He's getting dinner and a drink somewhere；〃 Provalov's driver observed。 〃He'll pull over in the next kilometer。〃
〃We shall see；〃 the lieutenant said； thinking his driver right。 This area had ten or eleven upscale eateries。 Which would his quarry choose。。。？
It turned out to be the Prince Michael of Kiev； a Ukrainian establishment specializing in chicken and fish； known also for its fine bar。 Koniev/Suvorov pulled over and allowed the restaurant's valet to park his vehicle； then walked in。
〃Who's the best dressed among us？〃 Provalov asked over the radio。
〃You are； rade Lieutenant。〃 His other two teams were attired as working…class people； and that wouldn't fly here。 Half of the Prince Michael of Kiev's clientele were foreigners； and you had to dress well around such people… the restaurant saw to that。 Provalov jumped out half a block away and walked briskly to the canopied entrance。 The doorman admitted him after a look…in the new Russia； clothing made the man more than in most European nations。 He could have flashed his police ID； but that might not be a good move。 Koniev/Suvorov might well have some of the restaurant staff reporting to him。 That was when he had a flash of imagination。 Provalov immediately entered the men's lavator