How could anyone with so much going for him act the way James had? Maraklov asked himself. The report said James was going to ace every course he was enrolled in in his final semester of high school, including several advance-placement college-level courses. At the same time a police blotter report noted that James had been caught with a bag of marijuana. He was not charged with a crime, only reprimanded-his stepfa- ther carried a good deal of influence in the small town where 17'.

he lived. But James had risked his whole career on a one-ounce bag of dried grass. Stupid.

No pictures were included in the latest intelligence, but pre- vious photographs showed a tall, handsome youth shopping in fancy stores, driving expensive cars, going to parties, every weekend. He had seemed like a normal well-adjusted teenager.

Maraklov knew, of course, about James' unfortunate past, but that was ancient history. Surely that ugly episode was long forgotten? Maraklov sat back now and thought about what it was like to be Ken James I have everything I ever wanted. Brains, money, things. What am I missing? What else do I want? Why did I need to smoke marijuana and get in trouble with the cops? I have a good family, minus a brother-my natural father killed him in a drunken rage. I don't have a father, a real father-he's either dead or in a mental institution. I haven't seen my mom in months-the only grown-ups around are the housekeeper, the gardener once a week, and the occasional relatives of my step- father who show up and say it's okay for them to borrow the Jag or bring their mistresses in for a nooner. "Nooner"

Janet would have trouble with that Americanism ...

The big house is lonely at night. My "'friends" stop by once in a while, but they study pretty hard, and I'm not exactly popular ... There are alarms 0 over the place-I have to be careful to shut them off even when I just want to get some fresh air or take a dip in the pool. Cathy Sawyer doesn't come by much anymore. I wonder where she is-?

A call on the room's intercom interrupted: "Mr. James, re- port to the headmaster's office immediately."

As he headed toward Roberts' office he thought of Janet Larson. Damn her. She had really done it, had blown the whis- tle on him. She would pay for this, he told himself as he straightened his tie. She would pay ...

But Janet Larson was just as surprised, and just as fearful to see him, as she walked into Roberts' outer office. They ex- changed no words, only anxious glances as he knocked on the headmaster's door. He was ushered in by Roberts himself and left standing in the middle of the office.

"The question about whether or not you will ever graduate has been made for us, it seems," Roberts began. He motioned to a message form. "A report from our agents in place in 18 .

Washington. It seems your Mr. Kenneth Francis James has de- cided on a college."

Maraklov smiled. Washington, D. That must mean Georgetown. Ken James has decided on- He surprised everyone," Roberts went on. "We did not even know he had applied for the Air Force Academy."

Maraklov was stunned. "The Air Force Academy?"

He received a senatorial sponsorship last winter, obviously from his stepfather's connections," Ro erts went on. were fortunate-we learned he had cut his scheduled vacation in Ha- waii short by two months, and one of our operatives did some checking to find out why. He is supposed to begin summer orientation training in six weeks."

Maraklov's mind was beginning to catch up. "My father,"

he mumbled, then looked at Roberts. "I mean his father is . . .was . . . a highly decorated veteran of the Vietnam war.

Even without political connections he could have received sponsorship as the son of a combat veteran. There could be a sympathy factor too. I should have known. The possibility of a military academy placement was always there .

"Whatever, this changes our plans for your graduation, Ken- neth James." He was testing as he said it.

"Sir?"

"Your counterpart-target is about to enter the Air Force Academy. We cannot risk putting an agent into the Air Force Academy. He has a pilot-training appointment. He will be in the United States Air Force for four years-"

Eight years, sir," Maraklov corrected him, eyes bright with anticipation. "Pilot candidates must serve eight years after UPIT graduation . . . "

"You have learned well, but that is not the point, Mr. James.

We have never placed a deep agent in the American air force's t cadre. He would have little chance of surviving the security screening. It is very intense, especially for a pilot candidate.

They check every move from present day to birth, check his parents, his relatives, his neighbors-"

And Kenneth James will pass with flying colors," Maraklov said excitedly.

'.But the applicant for a security clearance initiates the pro- cess with a detailed report on his background, relatives, ad- dresses," Roberts said nervously. "You would have to supply 19.

every detail of James' life from memory-you could not risk being caught with a dossier on yourself. And the process is repeated every five years while in the service. Could you do that?

"Of course, sir."

Roberts hesitated, but only for a moment. If any other stu- dent had made that confident a reply he would have dismissed it as bravado. But not Maraklov. The boy knew his counterpart so well . it was almost frightening. Beyond any of the other student-target linkages.

"You will need plastic surgery," Roberts said. "And if the scars and bruising from surgery do not heal in time, you will be discovered."

"I assume James will be in Hawaii until July," Maraklov said. "The summer orientation course starts in mid-July, as I recall. That gives us five weeks before we need to intercept James. Five weeks is time enough for my scars to heal. And the surgery would not need to be extensive, sir. My . . . his parents won't be visiting very often. And plebes are not al- lowed visitors until Thanksgiving. By then his appearance will have changed enough to explain any minor differences-" his voice dropped, sounding depressed--if my parents notice at all.

Roberts scarcely noticed James' changing moods, his jux- taposing of himself and the real Kenneth James, the angry dis- tant look. But he was too busy marveling at Maraklov's xtensive knowledge of even the most esoteric bits of infor- e mation.

"This will have to be approved by Moscow," Roberts said, sounding as excited as Maraklov had earlier. "But we have a chance to do it . . . And if we do, it will be the espionage coup of the century-"

"Yes, sir," James agreed, though he was not thinking about espionage coups, or success or failure.

He was thinking, I will be . . . complete. Yes, that was the word. For the first time in my life, I will have a chance to become a complete person. Thanks to Ken James . . .

20 .

Wednesday, I July 1985, 2103 EET It was late that evening. As usual Katrina Litkovka, known as Janet Larson, was finishing a stack of paperwork, clearing her desk and preparing the Academy administrator's morning busi- ness. She heard the outer office door open. Before she could look up from her desk, Maraklov was in her office and had slammed the door behind him.

Katrina knew it was Maraklov, but it still took a moment for the shock to wear off-after all, it had only been a few weeks since Andrei Maraklov had had his new face. This new one was thinner, with a higher forehead and a stronger, squarer jaw. The quality of the plastic surgery was excellent-the scars were nearly invisible and the bruising had all but subsided.

This Ken James could be considered very handsome-except right now what she felt was a stab of fear. Maraklov, if rec- ognizable, was also much more a stranger now, unpredictable as any other intruder.

She forced down the anxiety she felt and managed an au- "You are not to be here after thoritative edge in her voice .

hours, Mr. James."

Maraklov did not say a word but quickly scanned Litkovka's desk. His attention settled on a memo paper still in her type- writer. Before she could react he had yanked the paper out of the platen and read it, his face darkening with every word.

"So," he said in a low voice, "you are going to try to block my mission to the United States." y psychologist," she "It is a report from the Academ said.

"It has nothing to do with me-"

"He's another one you sleep with."

"You should know about that." Litkovka stood up and snatched the paper out of his fingers. "He, not I, says he is uncertain about your emotional stability. He thinks you may not be prepared to enter the Air Force Academy. It is my duty to make sure that Mr. Roberts knows about the doctor's opin- ion-"

"Don't do this to me," Maraklov said. "I'm the perfect candidate for this operation. I am prepared. I've prepared for years. I know exactly what I'm doing-"

"Spoken like a schizophrenic bordering on psychotic," she s aid with a smile. "If you 'graduate' and compromise us, 21.

all our careers are in jeopardy. I must not allow that to hap- pen-"

Maraklov slapped his hands on the desktop, then visibly fought to relax, put on a hint of a smile, and reached inside his jacket. Her eyes widened with fear, but what he pulled out was a small half-liter bottle of amber liquid.

"This is for you, Janet," Maraklov said. "I know it's your favorite." He set the bottle down and she read the label.

"Scotch whiskey?" she said in a surprised voice. "Where did you get Scotch whiskey?"

"Never mind, Janet. It's yours. Please take it."

"But that is contraband, Andrei-- "My name is Ken James .

He really did seem beyond the edge, although that identifi- cation with his subject-target was what he had been trained to achieve. Still, wasn't his extreme, so much so he might lose control and endanger his mission? Her personal anger over his treatment of her helped the rationalization, if that's what it was.

"Having that in your possession is a serious offense. I sug- gest you get out of my office and get rid of it immediately or I will be obliged to call the headmaster-"

"No, don't do that. Please-- his tone was abruptly sub- dued-"I'm going .

He picked up the bottle, stuck it back into his coat pocket and left without another word.

True, Litkovka had used her well-honed talents to get the school psychologist to write a perhaps more damaging psycho- logical report on Maraklov than otherwise. But it was only a matter of degree, she assured herself. Without question, Mar- aklov would do anything to go to the United States-his mo- tives were personal as well as patriotic. Why this was so she didn't know. She did know that Andrei Maraklov could be a dangerous man. Well, he had accepted the situation, finally.

At least it seemed so . . .

She stayed until ten o'clock that evening-curfew for all stu- dents was ten P. and bed-check was shortly thereafter, so she would be safe from Maraklov just in case he tried to do something crazy when she left the office. She gathered up the papers on Maraklov and locked them in her briefcase-if Mar- aklov got his hands on a bottle of Scotch whiskey, he could 22 DAIE BROWN.

easily get his hands on this report if she left it in the office- and headed for her car in the parking lot.

She found herself checking around outside her car, checking the back seat and trunk until a passing security patrol saw her.

She had to smile. "You are acting very strange, Katrina. Go home and get some rest and put Maraklov out of your mind."

Minutes later she was outside the front gate of the Academy heading down the two-lane chickenseed road toward the main I highway. After turning onto the wide, two-lane asphalt high- I way, she switched her headlights to high-beam and roared east- bound to her apartment complex a few kilometers from the Academy. The road was curvy in places but it was wide and fast and she kept the speed up to a hundred kilometers an hour.

She was rounding a gentle right-hand curve when suddenly a figure appeared in the glare of her headlights, right in front of her car. Litkovka jerked the wheel to the left and tromped on the brakes. Her Zil automobile skidded in a half-circle across the road and into the ditch on the other side. Litkovka was weanng a seatbelt but no shoulder harness, and her head hit hard against the steering wheel, then against the closed driver's side window as the car sank several inches into the muddy ditch.

She was still semiconscious, dazed by the impact, when the passenger-side door opened. She raised her head and squinted against the sudden glare of the interior light and saw a man I dressed in a heavy coat and gloves. The interior light went out.

"Help me, please. Pamaghetye . . . " I Her head was yanked backward by her hair. Before she could take a breath a strong liquid was poured down her throat. She coughed, tried to spit it out. The liquid burned her throat, lungs, nose. Then a powerful gloved hand covered her mouth and nose, trapping the liquid inside her throat. She had no strength to resist. Only to squirm for only a moment or so, then was still.

The shadowy figure checked the body for any sign of life, then dumped out the contents of Litkovka's briefcase on the car floor. Using a small penlight, he checked each paper until he found the one he was searching for. He stuffed it into his pocket, dropped the bottle of whiskey on the seat beside Lit- kovka and hurried off.

23.

Honolulu, Hawaii Monday, 6 July 1985, 2017 PDT Ken James was adjusting the collar on his Hawaiian flowered shirt when he heard the knock on the door.

"Housekeeping," a young woman's voice announced. "May I turn your bed down, sir?"

The hotel had some delicious-looking maids working there, Ken had recalled, young Polynesians working their way through college. This one sounded more promising than the matrons that had been coming by lately. He was on his way out but thought he might at least have a look. Who knew, once she was off duty she might make his last night in Oahu very spe- cial.

"Come in," he said over his shoulder as he admired himself in the mirror. He heard the door swing open- A hand clamped tight over his mouth and nose. When he reached up and tried to pry his hands away from his face he felt a sharp sting on his left shoulder. He swung hard as he could, heard a muffled grunt, and then his head was snapped down and sideways. A hand was around his throat and face.

The more he struggled to free himself, the weaker he became- his muscles now refusing to work. The hands left his face, but he had no more resistance. Feeling incredibly weak, he stum- bled forward against the bureau, tried to balance himself and fought the urge to collapse. Slowly he turned around . . .

. . . Or did he turn? When he was able to focus his eyes, he found himself looking at . . . himself ?

And at the same time, Andrei Maraklov stared at the object, the target of all his training for so many months-the real Ken- neth Francis James.

Close as the resemblance was, as Maraklov studied James he noted that James' hair was thinner than his-James would be bald in five years or less while he would have his full head of hair. He was an inch taller than James and somewhat more muscular. No doubt James' dissipation, his drinking and drug taking accounted for the subtle differences that even the KGB could fail to keep up with. Still, the overall impression was of near look-alikes.

Meanwhile, Ken James studied the face that was peering at him. It could have been a twin but that was impossible. Some 24 .

sort of hallucination. God, he'd better lighten up on the booze and grass. "Are you for real?" James asked, blinking th rough the growing haze that seemed to be fogging his senses.

"Yes, real .

James' eyes widened, and he reached out to the appa..

tion. Hallucination? No . . . a dream come true . "Mat- thew . . . Matthew?" James was reaching to touch the face.

"Matthew-"

"No," Maraklov said. "Our brother is dead, remember?

Our father killed him."

James blinked in surprise. So did the two KGB enforcers that had come with Maraklov into James' hotel room. Marak- lov's voice had a pleasant, intimate tone. And the reference to our" father momentarily startled them, though they had been briefed on this unusual young agent.

James stared at Maraklov. "Then . . . who are you?"

"I am you, Kenneth. I am Kenneth James. I've come to help you.

Through his rapidly dulling senses James clutched tighter to Maraklov to keep from falling. Maraklov held him steady.

"Give him here, tovarisch," one of the strong-arms mut- tered. "We don't have all night-"

"Shut up," Maraklov said. "And no Russian. These hotel walls are paper thin."

"Sorry," the other said. He had wheeled a large white can- vas laundry cart into the room. "Drop him in here and-'

"I said be quiet. I'll turn him over when I'm ready."

James had been taking in the exchange among the three Rus- sians. When Maraklov turned back toward him he asked what was going on, what were they going to do with him . . .

Maraklov opened his mouth to invent an easy lie for the half- dead alter ego standing before him but could not. This Amer- ican, whom he had only known for a few minutes, was also someone it seemed he had known all his life . . . and the clos- est any human being had been to him since he left his home for the Connecticut Academy eight years earlier. He forced his voice to sound firm, reassuring. "Don't worry, everything Is going to be okay. You don't have to worry about dad, or mom, or Matthew, or about Cathy or about school . . . I'm going to take care of everything, Ken. Everything will be fine. I'm strong 25.

and smart, I'll take care of our problems. Don't worry. You just go with these guys and forget about everything."

James seemed to nod, even smile a bit. Andrei eased him over and handed him to the first man.

"Hey . . . hey . . . Who are you?"

Andrei smiled benevolently, brotherly. "I am you, Ken. I told you that. I'm you and I can take care of everything. You just go on now .