“I do not think so. I know no military secrets. I am just an ordinary man.”
Not so ordinary,Daniel thought, then he smiled. “The arrangements have already been made. I just wanted to be certain.”
Daniel shoved back his chair. Straka stood up as Daniel rounded the desk and extended a hand, which Janus shook.
Daniel was eight years older than the tall man in front of him. But there was something in his eyes, a look of determination and gratitude. Daniel felt the power and believed Janus Straka would succeed in whatever he attempted.
Daniel leaned across his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “There’s a man in Florida named Thurston Brock. He knows who you are, but I’ve explained your desire for privacy, and he has agreed to help you.”
He handed the paper to Straka. “He’ll give you a job while you’re going to language school here in Washington. Then later if things work out and you want to join him at his stable in South Carolina, he’ll give you a job there, working with his horses. Brock owns one of the finest strings of jumpers in the country.”
“I am very grateful.”
“From now on you’ll be Jake Sullivan. Sound American enough for you?”
“Jake,” he repeated with the hint of a smile. “It pleases me. You have been more than kind, Mr. Gage. I will never forget all that you and your people have done for me.”
“I won’t be far away if you need me.”
Janus prayed the United States government would not be watching over this shoulder with secret cameras and listening devices as the Soviets had done in Moscow. His father had said it was not so. But Janus would live unobtrusively, watch, and wait. Soon he would know the truth about America.
In the meantime, he had the opportunity to build the life he had dreamed. He owed a great debt to the man with the face of a youthful Ukrainian farmer. With his confident manner, Daniel Gage inspired trust in a man.
Instinctively, Janus felt he had made a friend. Still, he wondered if his instincts would prove correct.
“Come on,” Daniel offered, “it’s about time for lunch. Why don’t we grab a bite, then I’ll take you over to the Berlitz language school. They can help you get rid of that accent if anyone can.”
Janus nodded. Daniel held open the heavy door and Janus moved past him into a corridor bustling with dark-suited men.
“Smoke?” Daniel offered, pulling a pack of Camels from his inside coat pocket.
“Thank you.” Janus lifted one from the pack, waited while Daniel took one, then they shared a match to light up. Janus inhaled deeply, exhaling a trailing blue plume. The smooth American tobacco tasted mild in comparison to the harsh Soviet brand he’d smoked at home.
Iamhome, he corrected, and felt the same exhilaration he had been feeling since he’d first arrived.
Janus exhaled the smoke and took a long deep breath. Even the air in America smelled free.
CHAPTER ONE
Los Angeles, California
April 1988
Maggie Delaine tried to conceal her nerves as she walked along the narrow, white-fenced lane that led into the Los Angeles Equestrian Center. She was on her way to the judging stand and the final day of competition in the Grand Prix Classic.
Riders in breeches and hunt caps passed those in cowboy hats and chaps, but none seemed to notice her, each feeling the tension of a world-class competition. Even with her nerves on edge, it felt good to be a member of the elite society of horsemen at last.
She wondered what Les would say if he could see her—the newly appointed Assistant Director of the United States Equestrian Team. Her late husband would never have thought she’d be capable of handling the job, but a lot had changed in the past four years.
“Hello, Maggie.” Shep Singleton, one of the riders, waved as she walked by.
Maggie waved and smiled as Shep rode on. The day was blustery, whipping strands of blond hair around her face. The wind had blown most of the usual L.A. smog away, exposing the mountains in the distance. The equestrian center nestled at the base of the hills.
Nearing the stands, Maggie passed several more familiar faces, but their attention was fixed on the ominous-looking fences dominating the center of the arena or on the animals they were riding. As the day progressed, horse and rider would be tested to the limits of their endurance and knew what was at stake.
Walking next to the wind-tousled, umbrella-topped tables surrounding the grassy arena, Maggie headed for the staging area. There the competitors were warming up over practice fences. Maggie watched the graceful movements of horses and riders taking the jumps, low fences in comparison to those they would face in the Grand Prix.
She felt a pang of regret that her nine-year-old daughter, Sarah, couldn’t be there with her. Just as her late husband had, his daughter loved horses. But Maggie hadn’t wanted her to miss school, and the trip was long and tiring, and strange hotel rooms weren’t conducive to a good night’s rest.
