Two
That was quite an assignment, I thought. Go to Russia, where they had my picture and my fingerprints, and find a master spy who had supposedly died—had certainly vanished—more than twenty years ago.
“Thanks,” I told the General dryly. “I guess I’ll see you at the camp.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. He gave me an equally dry smile and glanced toward the bedroom door. “Enjoy yourself, my boy.” He picked up his briefcase and marched out of the suite.
Well, that was my boy. I’d known him for more than twenty years and he’d always been the same. I shrugged and went over to check the dresser. I had to admit that they did a good job. The identification was as complete as it was possible to be. I put everything in my pockets. The g*n was as good as he’d said. I put it in my holster. Then I ad
