< previous page page_237 next page >

Page 237
Again Kellner thought: An accident? Never. Then why? The answer was obvious, and it sickened Kellner. Fisk had warned him. What had he said? Spying is no game for amateurs, or something like that. Was it so simple? Had Milstein betrayed himself to the Soyuz right-wingers? To Cherny?
Or had he been betrayed? By someone who had discovered his activities and sold him to the Russian Intelligence Directorate?
He pressed a call button. "Come in here, please, Camilla," he said.
When Camilla came through the door, Kellner was surprised to see that she was dressed to leave the office. Boots, raincoat, gloves, and hat. "Leaving at four?" The event was so rare Kellner felt compelled to remark on it.
"Didn't I mention to you I was leaving early today, Vincent? It's my symphony night at Kennedy Center." Her face seemed more than normally pallid.
"Sit down, Camilla," Kellner said, "I won't keep you long."
Discussions that did not directly apply to work had become increasingly difficult between them in the last six months. Kellner did not know to what he should ascribe this change in their association. Their sexual relationship had ended long ago, but Kellner had always assured himself that they were good and intimate friends. In point of fact, Camilla Varig was the only woman he could call a friend.
He said, "Did you by chance look at today's intelligence estimates?"
"I never do that, Vincent, unless you specifically ask me to." She sat on the edge of her chair, seemingly edgy and anxious to go.
"David Milstein is dead," he said.
Did she flinch? Eyes widen ever so slightly? If she did, it was imperceptible.
"He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?" Her voice was level, apparently only slightly interested.

 
< previous page page_237 next page >