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e chemical hit his system； and they'd tickle the dragon with their new and playful enthusiasm just to experience a little more of the rush； forgetting that the dragon's tail was a lot closer to its mouth than it appeared。 It was foolish to enjoy danger。 Zipping himself back up； he told himself that he hadn't broken training； hadn't stumbled on his reply to her playful observation。 But he had to warn her about dancing in a minefield。 You never really knew where to put your feet； and discovering the wrong places was usually painful。
That's when he realized why it had happened； and the thought stopped him dead in his tracks。 Ming loved him。 She was playful because。。； well； why else would she have said that？ As a game？ Did she regard the whole thing as a game？ No； she wasn't the right personality type to be a hooker。 The sex had been good； maybe too good…if such a thing were possible； Nomuri thought as he resumed walking toward the elevator。 She'd surely be over tonight after saying that。 He'd have to stop by the liquor store on the way home and get some more of that awful Japanese scotch for thirty bucks a liter。 A working man couldn't afford to get drunk here unless he drank the local stuff； and that was too vile to contemplate。
But Ming had just consecrated their relationship by risking her life in front of her minister and her co…workers； and that was far more frightening to Nomuri than her ill…considered remark about his dick and her fondness for it。 Jesus； he thought； this is getting too serious。 But what could he do now？ He'd seduced her and made a spy of her； and she'd fallen for him for no better reason； probably； than that he was younger than the old fucker she worked for； and was far nicer to her。 Okay； so he was pretty good in the sack； and that was excellent for his male ego； and he was a stranger in a strange land and he had to get his rocks off； too； and doing it with her was probably safer to his cover than picking up some hooker in a bar…and he didn't even want to consider getting seriously involved with a real girl in his real life… __but how was this so different from that？ he asked himself。 Aside from the fact that while she was loving him； her puter was sending her transcribed notes off into the etherworld。。。。
It was doing it again soon after the close of regular business hours； and the eleven…hour differential pretty much guaranteed that it arrived on the desks of American officials soon after their breakfasts。 In the case of Mary Patricia Foley； mornings were far less hectic than they'd once been。 Her youngest was not yet in college； but preferred to fix her own oatmeal from the Quaker envelopes； and now drove herself to school； which allowed her mother an extra twenty…five minutes or so of additional sleep every morning。 Twenty years of being a field spook and mother should have been enough to drive her to distracted insanity； but it was； actually； a life she'd enjoyed； especially her years in Moscow； doing her business right there in the belly of the beast； and giving the bastard quite an ulcer at the time； she remembered with a smile。
Her husband could say much the same。 The first husband…wife team to rise so high at Langley； they drove together to work every morning…in their own car rather than the 〃pany〃 one to which they were entitled； but with lead and chase cars full of people with guns； because any terrorist with half a brain would regard them as targets more valuable than rubies。 This way they could talk on the way in…and the car was swept for bugs on a weekly basis。
They took their usual reserved and oversized place in the basement of the Old Headquarters Building； then rode up in the executive elevator； which somehow was always waiting for them； to their seventh…floor offices。
Mrs。 Foley's desk was always arrayed just so。 The overnight crew had all her important papers arranged just so； also。 But today； as she had for the last week； instead of looking over the striped…border folders full of Top SECRET CODEWORDED material； she first of all flipped on her desktop puter and checked her special e…mail。 This morning was no disappointment。 She copied the file electronically to her hard drive； printed up a hard copy； and when that was off her printer； deleted the e…mail from her system； effectively erasing it from electronic existence。 Then she reread the paper copy and lifted the phone for her husband's office。
〃Yeah； baby？〃
〃Some egg…drop soup；〃 she told the Director of Central Intelligence。 It was a Chinese dish he found especially vile； and she enjoyed teasing her husband。
〃Okay； honey。 e on in。〃 It had to be pretty good if she was trying to turn his stomach over this early in the friggin' morning； the DCI knew。
〃More SORGE？〃 the President asked； seventy…five minutes later。
〃Yes； sir；〃 Ben Goodley replied； handing the sheet over。 It wasn't long； but it was interesting。
Ryan skimmed through it。 〃Analysis？〃
〃Mrs。 Foley wants to go over it with you this afternoon。 You have a slot at two…fifteen。〃
〃Okay。 Who else？〃
〃The Vice President； since he's around。〃 Goodley knew that Ryan liked to have Robby Jackson in for strategically interesting material。 〃He's fairly free this afternoon as well。〃
〃Good。 Set it up；〃 POTUS ordered。
Six blocks away； Dan Murray was just arriving at his capacious office （considerably larger than the President's； as a matter of fact） with his own security detail； because he； as the country's principal counterintelligence and counter…terrorist officer； had all manner of information that others were interested in。 This morning only brought in some more。
〃Morning； Director；〃 one of the staff said…she was a sworn agent carrying a side arm； not just a secretary。
〃Hey； Toni；〃 Murray responded。 This agent had very nice wheels； but the FBI Director realized that he'd just proven to himself that his wife； Liz； was right： He was turning into a dirty old man。
The piles on the desk were arranged by the overnight staff； and there was a routine for this。 The rightward…most pile was for intelligence…related material； the leftward…most for counterintelligence operations； and the big one in the middle was for ongoing criminal investigations requiring his personal attention or notification。 That tradition went back to 〃Mr。 Hoover；〃 as he was remembered at the FBI； who seemingly went over every field case bigger than the theft of used cars off the government parking lot。
But Murray had long worked the 〃black〃 side of the Bureau； and that meant he attacked the rightward pile first。 There wasn't much there。 The FBI was running some of its own pure intelligence operations at the moment； somewhat to the disfort of CIA…but those two government agencies had never gotten along terribly well； even though Murray rather liked the Foleys。 What the hell； he thought； a little petition was good for everybody； so long as CIA didn't mess with a criminal investigation； which would be a very different kettle of fish。 The top report was from Mike Reilly in Moscow。。。。
〃Damn 。。 。〃 Murray breathed。 Then an inward smile。 Murray had personally selected Reilly for the Moscow slot； over the objections of some of his senior people； who had all wanted Paul