Free Threat Level Black by Jim DeFelice Page A

said the European when the trade was offered. But he made the deal, trading his entire pack for three Marlboros. He lit up immediately.
    “Where?” he asked as he exhaled. “Buy them? Where did you find them? American, right? I didn’t know you could get them here.”
    “Should I tell him where I got them?” Chin Yop asked Dr. Park as he deciphered the question.
    Dr. Park shrugged. Cigarettes were available throughout the city, though they had bought theirs from a black-market vendor near the hostel at a considerable discount.
    Was this man really a Russian policeman, checking on them?
    “You tell him,” said Chin Yop.
    “Me?”
    “Yes.”
    “But I don’t know.”
    “You’re the senior man. Go ahead, it will seem odd if you don’t reply.”
    Dr. Park looked at the European and then at his minder. Probably the minder was simply worried about his English, but perhaps this was part of an elaborate trap: Dr. Park would be arrested for buying forbidden items, then thrown into a Russian jail.
    “Is he a policeman?” asked Dr. Park in Korean.
    “You think so?” answered Chin Yop. “No. Too confused. Look, he’s a geek like you.”
    “Maybe it’s a trick.”
    The minder looked at the European and laughed.
    If it was a trick, Dr. Park decided, the minder wasn’t in on it.
    “Go ahead and tell him,” said Chin Yop. “He’s harmless. A nicotine addict.”
    Dr. Park had trouble smiling, still unsure if he would be arrested for answering.
    “I have heard that you can get them near Kolomev Street,” said Dr. Park, naming the street where their hostel was located. He had to repeat it twice before the foreigner understood.
    “Oh.” The man nodded. “I heard there are shops in Arbatskaya.”
    Dr. Park felt the blood leave his head as he finally understood who the man was and what he was doing. The Americans were quite clever after all.

Chapter
15

    After the excitement of the Hawk flight, Howe found the rest of his week rather mundane. The girl in the aircraft was okay—physically, at least: Her father had had a heart attack and died as she watched. Howe, who had lost his own father when he was young, knew she would never truly get over that.
    He had missed lunch with Blitz and they kept missing each other as they tried to reschedule, but otherwise he got the full-court treatment, VIPs at every meal. He phoned home once and sometimes twice a day, talking to his mom and occasionally his younger sister, who lived nearby and stopped by the house every so often. They were terribly impressed.
    So was his friend Jimmy Bozzone, who kept calling him a big-shot muckety-muck and asking if he’d be able to get him tickets to all the sporting events now.
    “What would that do for you, Jimmy?” asked Howe as Jimmy ragged him that night after dinner.
    “Well, like, you know, you talk to the powers that be and get an executive box and I come along as your aidede-campo.”
    “Campo?”
    “Whatever. As long as I get a free beer. Listen, they’re having the Final Four down in New York City this month. Get us some tickets.”
    “Right.” Howe shook his head and lay back on the bed. He yawned.
    “Sorry if I’m keeping you up,” said Jimmy.
    “All this wining and dining is hard work.” Howe hadn’t told Jimmy how much money was involved. He knew if he did, Jimmy would yell at him, call him a fool for even hesitating.
    Would he, though? Jimmy valued his independence, and that was something you couldn’t really put a price tag on. As head of the NADT, Howe would be answering to all sorts of people at the Pentagon, the White House, Congress. He’d have to deal with contractors, blue suits, Navy people, the GAO—everyone in the world.
    That was why they would pay so much money.
    “You watching Syracuse?” asked Jimmy. “They’re ahead.”
    “I may turn on the TV just to see them get their asses kicked,” Howe told him.
    “Screw yourself. And don’t forget, I want tickets to the finals at Madison Square