Hunting the Dissident

"We wouldn't be going to all this effort just to terminate the man. We'd just make sure Moscow knew where to find their major missing dissident and they'd do the job themselves. But I counsel that you not develop a bond with this man. This is one of your first solo operations, so I know you have to grow a shell, but we can't devote a lot of time to toughen you to this work. Either you can do it or you can't. You can't let yourself develop feelings for any man we arrange to lay you."

"I understand. I'm fine," Dean said. He did understand, he wasn't really fine, but he would make himself fine with this. At least this was all to help Zaytsev with his dissident activities and maybe to keep him alive.

"It's time for you to go back into Liechtenstein," Winterberry said, rising from the bed and reaching for his briefs. The man's physique was magnificent for his age--and he was a master at the cocking. Dean didn't really matter what he had to do for the man to remain in his good graces.

"You can shower now and I'll have two of the men drive you back to Mauren," Winterberry said. "I'll have them stay and show themselves to Zaytsev. Propose the defection to him as soon as you feel he's prepared for it and signal us--no longer than tomorrow evening, please. He's really been in hiding here too long. The Russians are good. They find him soon--especially if he's still transmitting into Russia. And we don't have a big budget for this."

So, that's what Dean had to remember--the mere survival of the man he'd some to know as Stefan might depend on Dean's ability to recruit him quickly.

Well, as long as it was for Stefan's own good.

* * * *

"I think they're back, Stefan."

The man came over to the window, standing behind Gere and peeking out at the edge of the curtain. Sure enough, two men, one to the north and one to the south, were standing in the shadows of trees across Delehala Lane and obviously were watching the house. They had been there the previous afternoon as well.

"Are you in some sort of trouble, Stefan?"

"I think it's best if you plan on moving on, Gere. I think I'm going to have to relocate. There's a Gasthouse--a guesthouse--on Fallgass, near the village center, that I could take you to. Their rates are reasonable."

"If you are in trouble, I want to help."

"I don't want to get you involved. These people are very dangerous."

"What's this about, Stefan? You're not from the local area, are you? Your accent is foreign--Slavic. Are you Russian? Maybe a dissident from there on the run."

Stefan gave him a shocked look. The young man had gotten it in one. Of course Stefan didn't know that the young man had known who he was all along and was playing his own long game here.

"I told you worked for the Austrian military in Vienna, Stefan. I work for Austrian military intelligence. If the Russians are after you for being a dissident there, I can help you. You can come help us and we'll protect you. Tell me everything, Stefan. And your name isn't really Stefan, is it?"

There was a prolonged silence while the man assessed the situation. Making a decision, he shrugged and said, "No, I'm not Stefan. My name is Baris Zaytsev, and yes I am being pursued for my dissident activities in Russia."

"Yes, I can help you," Gere said. "This is about that other room, the one you keep locked. You have transmitting equipment in there, don't you? You are keeping in touch with--and still helping--movements in Russia, aren't you?"

"Yes," Zaytsev admitted.

"Come, sit down and tell me everything. Then I will make some calls to friends in Austria. We will get you to safety and perhaps we can work together."

"You won't leave me, will you, Gere?"

Not if I can help it, the young man who really was the American spy, Dean, not from Austrian military intelligence, was thinking. He would stay with Zaytsev as long as Sam Winterberry let him, which probably wouldn't be long, but he wasn't so sure that Zaytsev would want him to stay with him after he'd learned his name wasn't Gere, that he wasn't Austrian, that the men across the street feigning Russian surveillance were the same men who would take him to a safehouse in Austria, and that he was working for the Americans, not the Austrians.

Such a pity. The man was really nice, he was a very good tennis partner--and he gave great fuck.