Brian Freemantle - The Watchmen

He talked on the assumption that he was being listened to, keeping any deference from his voice when he was connected to Georgi Chelyag to maintain the impression of upper-echelon access and equality. Danilov told the presidential chief of staff there was no indication what the threat could mean or when it might be carried out, although it was expected sometime that day. He hoped later to get some insight into Washington’s genuine political attitudes, and if he did he’d call immediately. It would be helpful-show the required cooperation-to be able to hint what that was in Moscow. The FBI had two suspects for the small explosion in the Washington Monument but the lead was very slender. He believed the bureau was being totally cooperative and wished he was able to contribute more. And he thanked Chelyag for the requested guidance that the American leader’s offer might be accepted, although Moscow wanted a neutral venue to avoid the impression of the Russian foreign minister having to come to Washington to meet the secretary of state.

Danilov went into more detail about the tourist in the camouflage jacket when he was connected to Yuri Pavin, although again for the benefit of any listener he said the likelihood of tracing the man and his satchel-carrying companion wasn’t promising.

“Anything you want me to follow up here?”

If there was he’d call from another phone, Danilov decided: maybe even from the FBI building itself. “What’s there been from Reztsov in Gorki?”

“Promising to come back in twenty-four hours.”

Obidin came from a room farther within the rezidentura -proof that Danilov didn’t need that the security chief had heard him terminate his conversation-as Danilov emerged from the man’s office. As they walked back through the embassy, Obidin disclosed that on Moscow’s instructions, security had been tightened around the building and the compound. Danilov held back from asking how they intended stopping a missile. A clearly alerted Timor Besedin intercepted them in the final corridor before the entrance to ask if everything had gone satisfactorily, volunteering the just-made announcement that Wall Street wasn’t opening. Danilov made his way back to the bureau building unsure if their obviousness was openly to mock him and his belief that he was beyond their control or if they were simply inept.

Cowley had agreed that they should remain vague about the purpose of the forensic tests until what Danilov knew partially to be a fact was fully confirmed. Leonard Ross himself decided not to promise too much from the visa applications or car rental checks on Viktor Nikov’s two American visits. “Everyone’s too eager to clutch at straws: We’ll get the criticism if it comes to nothing.” Cowley told his director that they’d identified and eliminated all ten tourists on the Washington Monument stairs in the morning of the explosion and only had the two male suspects and another man and women on the afternoon visit to eliminate. Anticipating that the Watchmen would make another claim or boast after carrying out their threat, Carl Ashton had assembled a squad of twenty computer specialists at the Pentagon to attempt a source trace, and every available bureau technician at Pennsylvania Avenue had been briefed to do the same, the moment a new message was posted. Others were at the communications centers of all the major telephone companies, whose engineers were mobilized for the hunt. Ross expected that Moscow’s reservations regarding the foreign minister’s visit to the American president had already been sent to Henry Hartz or maybe the American White House direct but thanked Danilov for the guidance.

“We’re doing everything we can-and should-do, but it’s not enough,” summed up the director. “They can carry out whatever threat they damned well like.”

Pamela Darnley was hovering impatiently at the incident room door when Cowley and Danilov returned. “Lambert’s got the forensic results!” she announced. “But he says he doesn’t understand them.”

“Let’s hope I do,” said Danilov.

The forensic scientist had assembled everything in a small conference room off his working laboratory, what had been sent from Moscow and what Danilov had later brought laid out as if for an exhibition but very distinctly separated. Each item was just as distinctly labeled. The now-empty United Nations warhead was on its own table. On another table next to it were the defused mines, Semtex and timers recovered from the Lincoln Memorial, divided from the debris lifted from the Washington Monument. Lambert’s team of specialists were grouped around their supervisor, as if for a lecture.

Lambert said at once, “We’ve got some inconsistencies.”

“I expected there to be,” said Danilov. “Take me through it all.”

Lambert patted the UN missile. “Here’s our attack weapon. We’ve subjected it to every forensic test and examination available in metallography. We’ve also analyzed the paint and”-he paused, looking to Danilov-“made photographic enlargements of the stenciled identification lettering. From each we are able to make a positive comparison with similar weapons, their metal, paint, and lettering.”

The man moved to an adjoining assigned table. “These mines and this explosive came from the Lincoln Memorial. The mines have been subjected to the same metal, paint, and lettering tests. He picked up an intact timer in one hand and the shattered remains of the Washington monument detonator in the other, lifting and dropping his hands as if weighing them. “These are identical, the metals and wiring match, and there’s enough lettering actually left on the side of the monument device for us to be certain they formed part of the same production batch, off the same assembly line.” He shrugged. “Semtex is Semtex. It was the monument explosive.”

He replaced the timers, moving back to the larger table. “Here, to the right, are the empty warheads, mine casings, and paint samples which were shipped from our embassy in Moscow to compare with the material we already had. None of it-either that marked as coming from Gorki or what came from Plant 43 in Moscow-makes any metal or paint match.

“What about lettering?” broke in Danilov.

“The first inconsistency, although not against our original warhead,” said Lambert. “On the sample that came from the embassy marked as having come from Gorki, the name itself-Gorki-has quite definitely not been applied by the same stencil as the rest of the lettering. It’s a different template. And it doesn’t match the lettering on the UN missile, either.

Beside him, Danilov was aware of Cowley and Pamela shifting uncertainly. He looked in time to see the woman shake her head in bewilderment. Danilov said, “Now tell us about what I brought personally.”

Again Lambert used both hands, holding both up for everyone to see. “This is a firing pin-the sort that fortunately broke off and stopped anthrax and sarin being released in Manhattan-and this is a casing clasp which you can see here”-he pointed-“on the mines from the Lincoln Memorial.”

Lambert paused theatrically, a magician with a trick he knew would work. “The pin was marked as having come from Gorki and is a perfect metal match to the UN missile. The clasp marked Plant 43, Kushino, is a perfect metal match to the mines from the Lincoln Memorial.”

“A match in both cases!” Danilov frowned.

“Absolutely,” insisted Lambert. “And so, again, is the paint you gave me, from both Plant 35 and Plant 43. He paused. “I can explain the science but I’m damned if I can make sense of anything else.”

“I can,” said Danilov.

Before he could continue, the door jarred open behind them and Terry Osnan said, “It’s started! Hurry!”