Hank Kuran could feel impotent anger rising inside him. He was off balance. “I get it, but I don’t like it.”
“None of us do,” Sheridan Hennessey said sourly. “Do you think any of us do?” He must have pressed a button.
From behind them the major’s voice said briskly, “Will you come this way, Mr. Kuran?”
* * * *
In the limousine, on the way out to the airport, the bright, impossibly cleanly shaven C.I.A. man said, “You’ve never been behind the Iron Curtain before, have you Kuran?”
“No,” Hank said. “I thought that term was passé. Look, aren’t we even going to my hotel for my things?”
The second C.I.A. man, the older one, said, “All your gear will be waiting for you in London. They’ll be sure there’s nothing in it to tip off the KGB if they go through your bags.”
The younger one said, “
