The Red Horseman by Stephen Coonts Page B

was saying, “or what we Americans
can do to improve this situation. I don’t know that we
can contribute anything to the solution of this particular
problem, but it certainly won’t hurt to try. The
Russians must learn that they can cooperate with us on
matters of mutual interest and, in deed, it is in
their best interests to do so. I think that’s critical
. . .”
    Jake Grafton twisted in his ornate,
polished mahogany chair. Herb Tenney
looked innocent, Jake concluded. His whole
presence radiated comfort, proclaimed to everyone who
saw him that here was a man at peace with humanity and
his conscience, a man who knew in his heart of hearts
that he had nothing to regret, nothing to apologize for,
nothing to fear.
    All of which somehow irritated Jake Grafton.
    We can help,” Ambassador Lancaster was
saying, solve problems in a constructive way that will
Toad Tarkington caught Jake’s eye with a warning
Sohen Coonty glance. Apparently he could see
that his boss was struggling to keep a grip on his
temper.
    God! Was it that obvious?
    The fact that Tenney could probably also see the
effect Of his innocent act was gasoline on the
fire. Jake felt the heat as his face flushed.
    Herb Tenney and his CIA bugs … Sunday
op-ed drivel from the ambassador … if he had
to sit here in this museum exhibit of bureaucratic
good taste for another two minutes he was going to be
in a mood to strangle them both.
    “Mr. Ambassador,” Jake interrupted as
he struggled to rise from the overstuffed chair. “I
didn’t get any sleep on the plane and
I’ve just spent an hour with the naval attached I
I’ve got to lie down for a few hours. Is there
anyplace can crash?”
    “Oh, of course, of course. You must be rested
when you meet General Yakolev in the morning, I
should have thought of that. Would you like something to eat before you go
to bed?”
    “No, thank you, sir. Perhaps a light breakfast
in the morning?”
    “No problem, Admiral. We’ll talk again
then.”
    Jake Grafton shook the ambassador’s hand,
nodded at His. Hempstead, then turned and
tramped out without even a glance at Tenney.
    He woke up at midnight after four hours’
sleep and found he was wide awake — He turned
on the bedside light and examined his watch. What
time was it in Washington?
    What the hell was the time differential? Eight
hours? Four o’clock in the afternoon in Washington. No
wonder he couldn’t sleep even though he was tired.
    From the window he could see the Moscow skyline as
the anemic city lights made the clouds glow. And the
sky wasn’t completely dark-sort of a twilight.
    He dressed quickly in civilian
clothes and pulled on a light jacket. He
picked up the phone and was quickly connected to the enlisted
marine at the duty desk. “Could I get a car and
driver? I’d like to do a little sight-seeing.”
    “I’ll see what I can do, sir.” The marine’s
voice was matter of fact, held not a trace of
surprise. Perhaps these requests were common, Jake
mused, from new arrivals suffering from jet lag.
    “Okay.” I
    “It’ll be just a few minutes, sir.”
    The driver, a sergeant, motored slowly on
ajourney without a destination as Jake Grafton
took it all in from the backseat. The city didn’t
resemble any city he had ever visited. The
streets were poorly lit and had private cars
parked everywhere. There seemed to be no shortage of
parking spaces. At least there was one thing Russia
had enough of. Only because they didn’t have many cars.
Occasionally he saw a few soldiers at street
corners, here and there some civilians.
    Now and then the driver told him the name of some
public building, softly, almost whispering it.
    Yes, Jake too felt like a trespasser.
    The public buildings were large and grand, but once
away from them the streets were lined with endless
blocks of concrete buildings designed without
imagination and constructed without craft. What these
buildings would look like covered with snow and ice was
something Grafton didn’t want