New York City, Tuesday…

"I can't play golf tomorrow," said the general in English, after hearing the usual banalities of polite phone conversation in his native language. It was a simple signal that he had someone with him or the line was not secure. Of course, secure for Vladimir and the general meant that some NSA spook could still be listening in as part of his job.

"All right. I just need to know what your handicap is today."

"I'll have to figure it out and tell you. Some of us played last week. I'll get back to you."

Vladimir knew it was a risky code, since most dedicated golfers knew their handicaps without any hesitation. But he liked to live dangerously. It amused him that he could have a conversation with someone in the Pentagon, giving them information and getting information back, just using ordinary language. He had just asked the general for an update on one of his pet projects and had been told it would be forthcoming. The general would call him at his hotel that night.

The second call was to a woman, one that he admired greatly, even though she had never succumbed to his charm. Her voice was strong and authoritative.

"Be quick," she said in German. "I'm very busy."

"As you should be with the important position you have."

"If you're calling about Fulton's latest moves, you're wasting your time. I think he's right on this one."