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Ivar Cousin drove downtown at just past one in the morning and parked a few blocks from the federal building.  He waited for a few minutes.  The janitorial staff should be finished cleaning the offices.  He didn't want to run into someone vacuuming the halls while he was sneaking down them.  He wore a loose jacket to hide the gun in his belt. 

Since there was no way to tell the women apart, Burgess Whitcomb had decided they would have to pick up both women tomorrow.  Which meant that Ivar would have to be effective tonight in destroying the evidence.  He was feeling a lot of pressure with the time demand.  Tomorrow, both Eve and Sabrina might be in jail. 

Ivar looked around at the street where he had parked.  It was empty and very dark because most of the street lights were broken.  He locked the car, hoping the hubcaps, and indeed, the engine, would be intact when he retrieved it.  This was not an ideal place to take a stroll in the wee hours.  He tried to keep away from the shadows which had darker shadows within them, with the creepy knowledge he was being observed.  The only person he could actually see was a prostitute hanging onto a corner light pole.  As he passed, she reached out and took hold of his jacket sleeve with long red talons.

Ivar was forced to look into a face that looked nineteen or twenty, but was probably closer to fourteen or fifteen.  The slack features and dilated eyes bespoke heavy drug usage.  Plus the fact that she was not freezing in the skimpy clothing she was wearing in the cold night air.

"You hungry?"  she asked.

"Not now."  Ivar reached in his wallet and gave her a twenty, knowing he was probably just compensating her pimp.  "Go eat something."

"You fucking police or something?"

"Something."

"Mutherfucker."

Ivar watched her stroll leisurely away on three inch heels and a tight short skirt.  He hoped he hadn't blown himself.  If they thought he was the police, his car was in real danger.

Ivar walked to the side door he had wrecked with gum that afternoon and was surprised when it actually eased open.  He pulled down the duck bill of his baseball cap and stooped to hide his height.  He hoped that the man at the front desk in the building's lobby was not watching the electronic monitor for this door.  The security guard could start taping by pressing a button at the front desk.  If the guard didn't see him in the next ten seconds, Ivar would have a clean break-in.

Ivar sidled inside and hurried out of camera range, keeping his head down.  He took the stairs because he didn't want the guard noticing blinking elevator lights.  The fourteenth floor hallway was empty.  Ivar took Burgess Whitcomb's security key card out of his pocket, silently put it in the lock and twisted the knob gently.  Ivar pushed open the door a little way, but stopped suddenly.  There was shaft of light coming from Burgess's inner office.

Ivar couldn't stand in the hallway forever and was undecided about what to do.  He was reluctant to leave, knowing the consequences.  He heard a voice coming from Burgess's office.  Ivar slipped inside and closed the door silently behind him.  The door to the inner office was partially closed.  Ivar stepped closer and listened.

It was his own KGB operative in Burgess Whitcomb's office! Ivar would have recognized that educated Russian voice anywhere.  He crept closer.  It was unbelievable and it didn't make any sense at all.  Ivar stealthily moved closer to the door and peeped through the crack.

Wimpy, Willard Modert, with his scant hair combed across his high bald pate, was sitting at Burgess's desk, feet propped on top, speaking in Russian.  The sight blew Ivar away.  No wonder he was so tired all the time.  Modert was behind the whole KGB operation. 

The man was perfect for the job.  Ivar had to admire the KGB.  No one would ever believe the self effacing little fellow was a double agent like himself.

Modert was telling someone in Russian that he needed a new operative in California.  Ivar felt himself getting very pissed off.  His own government, which had placed him in the precarious position of double agent, evidently didn't trust him anymore.  The fact that they had passed him up to use someone as stupid and inept as Sergi outraged him.

Ivar knew now that he had absolutely no future in his home country.  The fact that he had already thought so many times in the past didn't prepare him for the wrenching melancholy it suddenly brought to him.

What he contemplated doing next would really severe any remaining ties to his country, but Ivar didn't care.  He had been placed here to do a job, and a very risky one at that.  If you took a man's pride in his work away, there was almost nothing left.  No one could say that hiding one's heritage, at the very least cost of ending up in some federal prison for life, was not risky.  And for such a long, long time at that.  He had come to this country, loving his own, and very idealistic about what he could do.  Now they had cut him loose.

Ivar picked up an ashtray off of Willard Modert's desk in the outer office and threw it violently against the wall. 

The crash was very satisfactory.

As Modert rushed into the outer office, Ivar grabbed the small man from behind.  Modert stopped struggling after a few moments, when he felt a gun at his temple.

Ivar got adhesive tape out of his pocket and, pulling a long piece with his teeth, got it plastered over Modert's mouth.  Then he covered each of his eyes.

"I won't hurt you,"  Ivar said, because the man was making pitiful, whimpering sounds.  "Be still."

Ivar was angry at Modert too.  Modert had sat here, smug and self-righteous, and ordered him to find out about the investigation, trying to intimidate and bully him, when he had access to the CIA's secret files at his fingertips and was probably handing all the information over to the KGB himself. 

Ivar sat Modert down in front of the desk in the outer office, with his back leaning against the desk, facing the door.  Ivar spread Modert's arms and legs and taped them to the legs of the desk very securely. 

Then Ivar took the keys out of Modert's pocket and unlocked the files.  He sat in Burgess Whitcomb's chair and read all about Eve.  When he finished he turned on the shredder and shredded all of the government's plans for the woman with a computer in her brain.

Ivar also went inside the safe, using Modert's code, which he quickly got from his petrified hostage, and took out the duplicate files.  He shredded documents until there was nothing left of the investigation.

Ivar shredded all but two of the pictures of Eve and Sabrina.  He wanted the pictures now that it was becoming too risky to see Eve.  He couldn't tell if he had pictures of Eve or Sabrina.  But he wanted to remember her always.

Before he left the office, Ivar took a piece of plain paper and wrote with a red pen in huge letters, WILLARD MODERT IS A RUSSIAN COMMUNIST SPY WORKING FOR THE KGB.

Below the bold lettering he left directions to check the telephone records, knowing that if there was a really thorough investigation he had placed himself, as well as Modert, into a trap.  It was time for him to get false identity papers. 

As Ivar left the office he admired his handiwork.  Modert was tied spread-eagle to his desk, with a bold incriminating note attached to his chest. 

Ivar left the lights on.