Hennessey was tired. The flash of spirit was fading. He lifted a thin hand. "One of my assistants is crossing the Atlantic with you. He'll give you the details."
"But why me? I'm strictly a—"
"You're an unknown in Europe. Never connected with espionage. You speak Russian like a native. Morton Twombly says you're his best man. Your records show that you can think on your feet, and that's what we need above all."
Hank Kuran said flatly, "You might have asked for volunteers."
"We did. You, you and you. The old army game," Hennessey said wearily. "Mr. Kuran, we're in the clutch. We can lose, forever—right now. Right in the next month or so. Consider yourself a soldier being thrown into the most important engagement the world has ever seen—combating the growth of the Soviets. We can't afford such luxuries as asking for volunteers. Now do you get it?"
Hank Kuran could feel impotent anger rising inside him. He was off balance. "I get it, but I don't like it."
"None of us do," Sheridan Hennessey said sourly. "Do you think any of us do?" He must have pressed a button.
From behind them the major's voice said briskly, "Will you come this way, Mr. Kuran?"
In the limousine, on the way out to the airport, the bright, impossibly cleanly shaven C.I.A. man said, "You've never been behind the Iron Curtain before, have you Kuran?"