The Doomsday Box by Herbie Brennan Page B

accountable because I’m accountable, so don’t sweat the small stuff, but I’ll be looking for receipts on any big expenditures when your mission is over. Clear?”
    â€œMakes sense,” Danny said. “But what’s the deal with us and the rest of the CIA? I mean, if you’re not around, can we walk in and get more cash if we need it?”
    â€œNo, you cannot,” Stratford said firmly. “The deal is you work through me or not at all. Also, you do not, repeat not , reveal my identity as a temporal agent. Or yours, for that matter. If you have any reason to contact me at headquarters, I’m plain Agent Stratford. I work for the CIA in a fairly senior capacity, but I was recruited in the usual way two years after I graduated. My files back up the whole cover story. Any one of you so much as hint I’m not what I seem or mention time travel, I’ll order a psychiatric evaluation on all four of you. You wouldn’t want that. They still do lobotomies on mental patients in this era.”
    Danny grinned at him. “I get the picture.”
    Michael said, much more soberly, “We understand, Mr. Stratford. You can rely on our discretion.”
    Opal was still standing by the table. She had picked up one of the banded stacks of bills and was riffling through it. “Actually, Agent Stratford, I don’t think we’re going to need all this money, or anything like it. If Mr. Carradine briefed you with the invisible-ink thing, you’ll know all we have to do is make direct contact with another CIA agent who’s currently at Langley.”
    â€œThat’s right—Cobra,” Stratford said.
    Opal said, “We’re hoping you can find out what name he’s currently operating under, track him down at Langley, then get us an introduction. We just need to talk to him for half an hour. After that, the mission’s finished and we signal to Mr. Carradine to bring us . . . home.” Her voice trailed away. “What? What is it, Mr. Stratford?”
    Stratford licked his lips, and a pained expression crossed his features. “That’s the thing, see? When I got Carradine’s briefing, I thought I’d save a little time by tracking Cobra down. That’s why I was late at the diner. Cobra’s a code name, of course, but I found out that, day to day, he operates as Robert Mendez, although that may not be his real name. I don’t know what rank he holds in your time, but this year he’s working as a covert field agent.” He took a deep breath.
    â€œBut this is brilliant, Mr. Stratford,” Opal exclaimed. “All you have to do now is take us to him. We probably won’t even need to use this house.”
    â€œYes, you will,” Stratford said. “Carradine was wrong about one thing, see? Cobra isn’t at Langley. He’s currently in Moscow. If you want to talk to him, you’ll have to travel to the USSR.”

Chapter 21
Michael, Safe House, McLean, Virginia, 1962
    W e can’t travel to the USSR!” Danny gasped.
    Michael glanced at him in surprise. Danny usually took problems in his stride and was game for more or less anything. But now he’d actually gone pale. All the same . . . “I’m afraid Danny may be right, Mr. Stratford.” He looked around at the others. “Do any of you speak Russian? I certainly don’t.” They shook their heads.
    â€œYou won’t reach the USSR without help, that’s for sure,” Stratford said. “How important is your mission?”
    â€œVery,” Opal said promptly. “It has to do with—”
    Stratford held up his hand quickly. “No details. I’m carrying enough secrets already, and yours I don’t need to know. What I’m asking is whether it’s worth taking risks. Like you said, everybody expected you’d meet up with Cobra in a nice comfy office at Langley and chat with him for