Robert McCall and Ben Silver arrived to the surveillance headquarters at almost the same time, Trent's house engulfed in flames nearby. McCall arrived first, and by the time Ben stepped through the door, McCall had almost thrown Ludwig through the window. Ben had to physically restrain McCall from thrashing Ludwig within an inch of his life. "You made the gas evacuation optional? My god, man, you could have pulled them out by force, if necessary," McCall spat through clenched teeth, pointing out what was so clearly obvious to the senior operatives.
As Ben pulled McCall and Ludwig apart, he pointed out their immediate predicament. "We've got to roll up the surveillance package immediately. If the Russian security forces find any of us, we'll be in prison for a long time."
Silver grabbed the radio and directed the other agents to safe houses nearby until the situation had cooled off. To Ludwig, he stuffed an open plane ticket into his hand and pointed him to the airport. "Get on the first flight out of the country and head to Bermuda. Now." Silver knew that operating as foreign agents in the USSR was dangerous enough, but now they had three civilian casualties on their hands as well. There would be a Soviet investigation, and the best thing they could do now was go to ground until the situation had cooled off.
Arthur Trent had been described by his associates as cold and calculating. Growing up, he was always at the top of his class. He was introspective, keen, even brilliant, but he also seemed devoid of the ability to empathize with others, owing in part to an icy and unemotional family life and in part to a curious but detached personality. Trent tried things, said things, did things as experiments, just to see what the reaction would be. As a boy he had done it with animals; as an adult, he had done it with people. But when he met his wife, she and their two small boys had kindled new emotions in him – sympathy, empathy, and love. She had been a psychologist, and she had helped him redirect much of his energy into more useful pursuits. Together, they had published articles in several scientific journals, leading innovation and experimentation in mind and brain research.
Until he had met his wife, Trent hadn't been entirely devoid of kindness, but his wife and children were undoubtedly the threads that kept him clinging to humanity. When those threads were severed, so terribly in the fire that destroyed his house, those last threads of humanity had snapped. Before that incident, he had guarded a quiet love for his small family. Now, what little love had been harbored in his soul was replaced with a cold fury, a dark and burning desire to hurt those that had severed the last shreds of love he had truly known.
He had thought, after all he had been through, that at least his wife's family would come to visit him, but because of the serious allegations against him, even they shunned Trent. From the crisp note they had sent him in prison, it seemed they might even blame him for the deaths of his wife and sons. His wife's relatives told him not to call, not to write. Now he had no one to turn to, nothing left, only the fury inside his mind.
Trent had seen the smoke and the flames before he even reached his house. When he arrived to the smoking remnants of his home, Soviet security forces had to forcibly hold him from rushing into the already doomed building. They had arrested him on the spot and turned him over to the KGB.
Now, as he sat in a KGB cell, his mind had crystalized a lens-like clarity on a new task: to fulfill a bottomless well of revenge. He wanted to cause the same agony that had been caused to his family – an extended sensation of pain. If he could free himself from his current bondage, he would find who was responsible for his arrest, his persecution at the hands of his former employers, and the agony of his family. In his questioning by the KGB, he had already heard one name connected with his arrest: Robert McCall. It was seared into his brain. The KGB had also peppered him with questions about the location of the files. Apparently, the KGB hadn't set the fire that had killed his family; the Americans had set it. The Americans had also turned over evidence against him. During his prolonged questioning, Trent had also seen a photo in his file of Control meeting with Brish. These two Americans – Robert McCall and Control - were responsible for his capture and the operation that had killed his family. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth. But first, he would need to survive the KGB. He had heard the KGB agents talking about the American agents with venom, and he knew he might be able to use their hatred of the Americans to get him out of his present predicament.
An agent named Piotra was in charge of questioning Trent, and Brish sometimes visited for updates on Trent's progress. Piotra entered Trent's cell once again. "Hello Arthur," came the heavily accented voice.
"Look, I told you," Trent glared back at the KGB agent, "I don't know anything about what you are asking me. What did the Americans give you as evidence? It couldn't have been much, since I didn't do it. They have always hated me since I moved here and married my wife. Can't you see they are trying to set me up? What did they say, exactly? How definitive was their proof? It can't have been very good since I didn't do it."
Piotra tossed the wolf card McCall had given Brish onto a table in front of Trent. "What do you know about this?"
Trent shrugged, looking genuinely confused. He knew his life depended on his acting ability in the next few minutes. "A wolf? How is this supposed to link me to the murder of a bunch of KGB agents?"
"Where did you take your boat two Sundays ago?"
Trent threw up his hands, "I take my boat out every day." He gambled that the Soviets had already seen the log book. "You can check the log books, if you like. You'll see, every day I take it out. It helps me think." He knew the American must have gotten ahold of the card while it was still on the boat, and he knew he had already wiped the boat clean of anything that could link him to the murders. "Search the boat, I will take you to it myself."
Piotra contemplated this information in silence, letting Trent talk himself out.
Trent knew Piotra had some lingering doubts about the Americans, he just needed to carefully cultivate them. "I have been living here for years now. I refused to take any more jobs for the Americans years ago. I don't know what happened with this incident you are talking about, but it seems pretty convenient that they find me – of all people – to dump this on. A card?" He picked up the wolf. "I've planted better evidence than this. And you just take their word for it? Did you find a gun, any fingerprints, any actual evidence? Or are you just taking their word for it all - these guys who you know lie and kill anyone sympathetic to your cause? I moved to the Soviet Union years ago now, and you wonder why they might set me up as a fall guy? I thought you were smarter than these guys, but you are walking right into their trap."
Piotra frowned. It was true that the evidence given by Robert McCall was very limited. It was helpful – if true – but there was no guarantee that the Americans hadn't taken the file themselves, realized that it was simply outdated nuclear information and destroyed it themselves. Rather than taking the heat, they would need to pin it on someone, and they had found just enough evidence to convince the Soviets that it was Trent. Conveniently, the Americans had burned Trent's house, so there was no way to verify exactly what Trent had been doing either for the KGB or for the Americans, and the actions of the Americans had killed three Soviet citizens.
Regardless of Trent's loyalties, Piotra thought, if Trent had done independent jobs for the Americans, he would have useful information inside his brain, information that they wanted, even if it was stale. He would take this information to Brish for a decision on Trent's fate. Trent's execution date was just around the corner, and the Americans had been invited to witness his demise for their assistance in capturing him. But if what Trent said was true, the KGB might be shooting itself in the foot by executing him. And with the killing of his family, Trent could easily be manipulated into action against the Americans. He might just be a more valuable resource alive than dead.
Control flew into Leningrad to meet with Ben, a telegram tucked into his pocket. He didn't look forward to the meeting they were about to have. Pushing open Ben's door, he soon found a cat winding its way around his ankles and asked, "What's this?"
Ben appeared from around the corner, laughing heartily, "Her name is Milli. I knew we'd hit it off when she brought me not a mouse but a dead Northern Viper as a gift the other night. She only brings me gifts worthy of my attention. Last night it was a giant mole rat, almost her size. I fully expect her to turn up one night with half a hand."
Control eyed the feline beast, not quite knowing whether to trust Ben's story or not, given Ben's propensity to exaggerate. "I'll try not to get on her bad side." He glanced at his watch, "I'm afraid I can't stay Ben. I've got a date with the KGB at the prison in an hour."
Ben nodded, "An invitation to an execution from the KGB isn't that unusual – we just usually aren't sitting out in the audience." Silver had been doing cleanup on the Trent fiasco since it had happened, and there hadn't been an hour since the fire that it had been far from his thoughts.
Control inclined his head, "There hasn't been much that has been usual about this operation. Anyway, we did ask for some verification on what happens to Trent, so we can close out our files on those other jobs we suspect he had a hand in over the last few years. The invitation is a little thank you for the information McCall provided and our assistance in destroying the file."
"Just be sure you don't get on the wrong end of that firing squad," Ben motioned him toward a seat. "You don't think they'll try to pin that fire on us, do you?"
Control remained standing. "What fire?" he said, his face serious.
"Come on," Ben snorted, "they aren't stupid. They know exactly who set that fire."
"No, they aren't stupid, and neither are we. Officially, it is an unsolved arson, and they don't have any evidence on who started it. They know the file was destroyed, but we won't admit how, and they will overlook the fire because they don't have to admit anything, let alone why 14 KGB agents were sitting around playing cards with that particular file in an unsecured location. That information was rather nicely packaged and awaiting transport to a third party country when it was taken. Having to admit they were willing to trade that information to another country would undoubtedly kill off the arms treaty negotiations."
Ben rubbed his eyes, "Well, be careful, will you? Anyway, I don't think you came her to meet my cat, and you don't have the look of a man who wants to pop open a port and banter war stories back and forth tonight, and I know you didn't swing by just to say hello. What is it?"
Control fingered the telegram. "Speaking of setting the fire, what did happen?" he asked quietly.
Ben frowned, rubbing his chin. "Ludwig is new; you know that. He was under pressure; he thought he had the clearance, and he didn't see an alternative. I wish I'd have been there; it wouldn't have happened the way it went down. But what's done is done - and he did have the clearance for collateral damage. You authorized it."
"You should have been there, Ben." Control snapped back, his anger rising. "Where were you?"
Silver blinked at him. He didn't expect that Control was going to come down on him for this. The kid was green, and he'd shown a major error in judgment, but they had destroyed the files, and that's what counted. "It was an accident," he could see his friend's agitation rising. "It was just an accident." Ben would be damned if he was going to take the fall for a new agent's mistake.
"Where were you?" came the question, again, colder now.
"I was with my contact, all right!" Ben replied, his voice rising now. "It was important!" He saw Control take out a paper from his pocket which he was slowly crushing. "What's in that telegram, anyhow? Are you going to fire me over this?"
"No," Control said coldly, burying his emotions behind a tight mask. He tossed the telegram to Silver, trying again to contain his anger.
Ben looked at Control while unfolding the telegram. He skimmed it quickly. "What the hell?" he buried the telegram in a fist, "I'm being transferred to a desk job?" He stared incredulously at Control. "You've got to be kidding me. I've been one of the best agents out here - you can't take away my field status just because you're pissed over what Ludwig did."
Control's eyes were still smoldering over Ben's absence during the Trent mission. He had meant to break the news about Ben's transfer softly, until he had heard what happened with Trent. The fact that Silver had been with his lover while three civilians had been killed by the actions of one of his junior agents made Control's blood boil. At this moment, he didn't particularly care if the news struck a raw nerve or not. "We know about Jasoslava. You and Jasoslava. Everything."
This news immediately extinguished Ben's anger, replacing it with reticence. He looked at Control with a wary look in his eyes, glancing at the telegram again.
After rumors of Jasoslava and Ben's relationship had been passed up the Company chain of command, Washington had sent a message directing Control to terminate Ben, and Control had, in fact, intervened on Ben's behalf. He had seen how Ben talked about Jasoslava, and he could tell the man was desperately in love, even if he hadn't yet admitted to their relationship. Control had received the same report confirming his assessment from other agents that worked with Silver. Ben's intentions clearly weren't traitorous, and his life with the Company was his whole world. He had excelled at being a field agent, and leaving the Company would have destroyed him. So Control had cajoled his superiors, pointing out Ben's expertise, training, and the time and money the Company had invested in him. He detailed the ways Ben could still be of use, noting that Ben was superb field agent with excellent local knowledge and the ability to get the other side to talk to him; his effectiveness could be bridled in another job. Finally, reluctantly, the Company had sent another message. They had downgraded their assessment of Ben's situation. He could stay on, but he would have to transfer back to Washington. It would be a desk job where he could do little harm. There were no alternatives. Jasoslava would still defect, but the Company wouldn't make any other decisions about Jasoslava until her debriefing, and Langley would make the final decision. Control signed Ben's transfer papers. His signature was on the transfer telegram Ben now held.
"Don't do this," Ben said, sullenness setting in as he looked over the transfer papers. He began to plead. "Please, don't do this. I'll take any field job - send me to Siberia, just not a desk job."
"This is the best offer you are going to get," Control said, coldly, turning on his heel.
"Can't we talk about this?" Ben called after him, clinging to a shred of hope.
"We're done talking about this," Control snarled over his shoulder, leaving Ben to contemplate his retreating footsteps and the sound of the door slamming shut.
The only salve for Ben's wounds was that if the Company had agreed to transfer him and they already knew about Jasoslava, he would likely be able to get an asylum visa for her after her defection and debriefing by the Company, and their child would be born in the United States. If he was forced to choose between his advancing career and his romance, he would choose his new life with Jasoslava. As a double agent, she was currently in a great deal of danger, and helping her defect to the United States would quell many of his fears over her safety. But still, being transferred, especially at the hands of an old friend, stung bitterly.