“One moment, sir.” The clerk turned to check the pigeonholes behind him, and after a few seconds turned back again holding a white envelope. “Mr. Norman Pacey, Room 3527?” Pacey showed the clerk his key. The clerk passed over the envelope.
“Thanks.” Pacey moved a short distance away to open the envelope in a corner by the Eastern Airlines booth. Inside was a single sheet of paper on which was handwritten:
important that 1 talk to you immediately. Am across lobby. Suggest we use your room for privacy.
Pacey frowned, then looked up and from side to side to scan the lobby. After a few seconds he picked out a tall, swarthy man in a dark suit watching him from the far side. The man was standing near a group of half a dozen noisily chattering men and women, but he appeared to be alone. He gave a slight nod. Pacey hesitated for a moment, then returned it. The man glanced casually at his watch, looked around, and sauntered toward the arcade that led through to the elevators. Pacey watched him disappear, and then walked back to where Lyn was sitting.
“Something just came up,” he told her. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I have to meet somebody right away. Give Gregg my apologies, would you?”
“Want me to tell him what it’s about?” Lyn asked.
“I don’t know myself yet. I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
“Okay. P11 be fine just watching the world go by. See you later.”
Pacey walked back across the lobby and entered the arcade just
in time to miss a tall, lean, silver-haired and immaculately dressed figure turning away from the reception desk after collecting a room key. The man moved unhurriedly to the center of the lobby and stopped to survey the surroundings.
The swarthy man was waiting a short distance from the elevators when Pacey emerged a minute or so later on the thirty-fifth floor. As Pacey approached him, he turned silently and led the way to 3527, then stood aside while Pacey unlocked the door. Pacey allowed him to enter first, then followed and closed the door behind them as the other turned on the light. “Well?” he demanded.
“You may call me Ivan,” the swarthy man said. He spoke in a heavy European accent. “I am from the Soviet Embassy here in Washington. I have a message that I have been instructed to deliver to you in person: Mikolai Sobroskin wishes to meet with you urgently concerning matters of some considerable importance which, I understand, you are aware of. He suggests that you meet in London. I have the details. You may convey your response back to him through me.” He watched for a few seconds while Pacey stared back uncertainly, not knowing what to make of the message, then reached inside his jacket and drew out what looked like a folded sheet of stiffened paper. “I was told that if I gave you this, you would be satisfied that the message is genuine.”
Pacey took the sheet and unfolded it. It was a blank sample of the pink, red-bordered document wallet used by the UN for confidential information. Pacey stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up and nodded. “I can’t give you an answer on my own authority right at this moment,” he said. “I’ll have to get in touóh with you again later tonight. Could we do that?”
“I had expected as much,” Ivan said. “There is a coffee shop one block from here called the Half Moon. I will wait there.”
“I may have to take a trip somewhere,” Pacey warned. “It could take awhile.”
Ivan nodded. “I will be waiting,” he said, and with that, he left.
Pacey closed the door behind him and spent a few minutes walking thoughtfully back and forth across the room. Then he sat down in front of the datagrid terminal, activated it, and called Jerol Packard’s private home number.
Downstairs in the alcove to one side of the lobby, Lyn was thinking about Egyptian pyramids, medieval cathedrals, British dreadnoughts, and the late-twentieth-century arms race. Were they all parts of the same pattern too? she wondered. No matter how much more wealth per capita improving technology made possible, always there had been something to soak up the surplus and condemn ordinary people to a lifetime of labor. No matter how much productivity increased, people never seemed to work less, only differently. So if they didn’t reap the fruits, who did? She was beginning to see lots of things in ways she hadn’t before.