THEIR CAR HAD just been swept by an embassy mechanic the previous day—everybody in the embassy did it routinely, so this didn't finger them as spooks, and the telltales on door and hood hadn't been disturbed the previous night. The Mercedes 280 also had a fairly sophisticated alarm. So Ed Foley just turned up the sound on the radio-tape player. In the slot was a Bee Gees tape sure to offend anyone listening to a bug, and easily loud enough to overpower it. In her passenger seat, Mary Pat danced to the music, like a good California girl.
"Our friend needs a ride," she said, just loudly enough to be heard by her husband. "Him, wife, and daughter, age three and a half."
"When?" Ed wanted to know.
"Soon."
"How?"
"Up to us."
"He's serious?" Ed asked his wife, meaning, Worth our time?
"Think so."
You couldn't be sure, but MP had a good eye for reading people, and he was willing to wager on those cards. He nodded. "Okay."
"Any company?" she asked next.
Foley's eyes were about equally divided between the street and the mirrors. If they were being followed, it was by the Invisible Man. "Nope."
"Good." She turned the sound down some. "You know, I like it, too, Ed, but easy on the ears."
"Fine, honey. I have to go back to the office this afternoon."
"What for?" she asked in the semi-angry voice every husband in the world knows.
"Well, I have some paperwork from yesterday—"
"And you want to check the baseball scores," she huffed. "Ed, why can't we get satellite TV in our apartment block?"
"They're working on getting it for us, but the Russians are making a little trouble. They're afraid it might be a spy tool," he added in a disgusted voice.
"Yeah," she observed. "Sure. Give me a break." Just in case KGB had a very clever black-bag guy who prowled the parking lot at night. Maybe the FBI could pull that one off but, though they had to guard against the possibility, she doubted that the Russians had anybody that clever. Their radios were just too bulky. Even so, yes. They were paranoid, but were they paranoid enough?