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〃What do you see； Mishka？〃
〃A lot of people； Oleg Gregoriyevich； mainly Russians； some foreigners； all well…dressed。 Some Chinese； look like two diplomats dining with two Russians…they look like official types。 Looks cordial enough；〃 Reilly thought。 He'd eaten here with his wife three or four times。 The food was pretty good； especially the fish。 And they had a good source of caviar at the Prince Michael of Kiev； which was one of the best things you could get over here。 His wife loved it； and would have to learn that getting it at home would be a lot more expensive than it was here。 。 。 。 Reilly'd done discreet surveillance for so many years that he had trained himself to be invisible。 He could fit in just about anyplace but Harlem； and the Bureau had black agents to handle that。
Sure as hell； that Suvorov guy was looking in the same place。 Casually； perhaps； and using the bar's mirror to do it。 He even sat so that his eyes naturally looked at the same place as he sat on his bar stool。 But people like this subject didn't do anything by accident or coincidence。 They were trained to think through everything； even taking a leak。。； it was remarkable； then； that he'd been turned so stupidly。 By a hooker who'd gone through his things while he was sleeping off an orgasm。 Well； some men； no matter how smart； thought with their dicks。。。。 Reilly turned again。。。； one of the Chinese men at the distant table excused himself and stood； heading for the men's room。 Reilly thought to do the same at once； but。。； no。 If it were prearranged； such a thing could spook it。。。 Patience； Mishka； he told himself； turning back to look at the principal subject。 Koniev/Suvorov set down his drink and stood。
〃Oleg。 I want you to point me toward the men's room；〃 the FBI agent said。 〃In fifteen seconds。〃
Provalov counted out the time； then extended his arm toward the main entrance。 Reilly patted him on the shoulder and headed that way。
The Prince Michael of Kiev restaurant was nice； but it didn't have a bathroom attendant； as many European places did； perhaps because Americans were uneasy with the custom； or maybe because the management thought it an unnecessary expense。 Reilly entered and saw three urinals； two of them being used。 He unzipped and urinated； then rezipped and turned to wash his hands； looking down as he did so 。 。 。 and just out of the corner of his eye； he saw the other two men share a sideways look。 The Russian was taller。 The men's room had the sort of pull…down roller towel that America had largely done away with。 Reilly pulled it down and dried his hands； unable to wait too much longer。 Heading toward the door； he reached in his pocket and pulled his car keys part of the way out。 These he dropped just as he pulled the door open； with a muttered； 〃Damn；〃 as he bent down to pick them up； shielded from their view by the steel divider。 Reilly picked them off the tile floor and stood back up。
Then he saw it。 It was well done。 They could have been more patient； but they probably both discounted the importance of the American； and both were trained professionals。 They scarcely touched each other； and what touching and bumping there was happened below the waist and out of sight to the casual observer。 Reilly wasn't a casual observer； however； and even out of the corner of his eyes； it was obvious to the initiated。 It was a classic brush…pass； so well done that even Reilly's experience couldn't determine who had passed what to whom。 The FBI agent continued out； heading back to his seat at the bar； where he waved to the barkeep for the drink he figured he'd just earned。
〃Yes？〃
〃You want to identify that Chinaman。 He and our friend traded something in the shitter。 Brush…pass； and nicely done；〃 Reilly said； with a smile and a gesture at the brunette down the bar。 Good enough； in fact； that had Reilly been forced to sit in a witness stand and describe it to a jury； a week…old law…school graduate could make him admit that he hadn't actually seen anything at all。 But that told him much。 That degree of skill was either the result of a totally chance encounter between two entirely innocent people… the purest of coincidences…or it had been the effort of two trained intelligence officers applying their craft at a perfect place in a perfect way。 Provalov was turned the right way to see the two individuals leave the men's room。 They didn't even notice each other； or didn't appear to acknowledge the presence of the other any more than they would have greeted a stray dog…exactly as two unrelated people would act after a happenstance encounter with a total stranger in any men's room anywhere。 But this time as Koniev/Suvorov resumed his seat at the bar； he tended to his drink and didn't have his eyes interrogate the mirror regularly。 In fact； he turned and greeted the girl to his left； then waved for the bartender to get her another drink； which she accepted with a warm； mercial smile。 Her face proclaimed the fact that she'd found her trick for the night。 The girl could act； Reilly thought。
〃Well； our friend's going to get laid tonight；〃 he told his Russian colleague。
〃She is pretty；〃 Provalov agreed。 〃Twenty…three； you think？〃
〃Thereabouts； maybe a little younger。 Nice hooters。〃
〃Hooters？〃 the Russian asked。
〃Tits； Oleg； tits；〃 the FBI agent clarified。 〃That Chinaman's a spook。 See any coverage on him around？〃
〃No one I know；〃 the lieutenant replied。 〃Perhaps he is not known to be an intelligence officer。〃
〃Yeah； sure； your counterintelligence people have all retired to Sochi； right？ Hell； guy； they trail me every so often。〃
〃That means I am one of your agents； then？〃 Provalov asked。
A chuckle。 〃Let me know if you want to defect； Oleg Gregoriyevich。〃
〃The Chinese in the light blue suit？〃
〃That's the one。 Short； about five…four； one fifty…five； pudgy； short hair； about forty…five or so。〃
Provalov translated that to about 163 centimeters and seventy kilos； and made a mental note as he turned to look at the face； about thirty meters away。 He looked entirely ordinary； as most spies did。 With that done； he headed back to the men's room to make a phone call to his agents outside。
And that pretty much ended the evening。 Koniev/Suvorov left the restaurant about twenty minutes later with the girl on his arm； and drove straight back to his apartment。 One of the men who'd stayed behind walked with the Chinese to his car； which had diplomatic plates。 Notes were written down； and the cops all headed home after an overtime day； wondering what they'd turned up and how important it might be。
CHAPTER 20
Diplomacy
Well？〃 Rutledge took his notes back from Secretary Adler。
〃It looks okay； Cliff； assuming that you can deliver the message in an appropriate way' SecState told his subordinate。
〃Process is something I understand。〃 Then he paused。 〃The President wants this message delivered in unequivocal terms； correct？〃
Secretary Adler nodded。 〃Yep。〃
〃You know； Scott； I've never really landed on people this hard before。〃
〃Ever want to？〃
〃The Israelis a few times。 South Africa；〃 he added thoughtfully。
〃But never the Chinese or Japanese？〃
〃Scott； I've never been a trade g