Carver was about to refill his coffee mug when the door opened and a man in a hat and dark coat entered, followed by a gust of chilly night air. Annoyed at the intrusion, he returned to his seat.
“I’d like to surrender myself,” the man said. He looked to be about seventy.
“Surrender yourself?” Carver said, off his guard. “For what?”
“My name is Chekhov. I’m a Russian spy. I’ve been living in N— for thirteen years. I’ve infiltrated your security agencies.
Carver was about to refill his coffee mug when the door opened and a man in a hat and dark coat entered, followed by a gust of chilly night air. Annoyed at the intrusion, he returned to his seat.
“I’d like to surrender myself,” the man said. He looked to be about seventy.
“Surrender yourself?” Carver said, off his guard. “For what?”
“My name is Chekhov. I’m a Russian spy. I’ve been living in N— for thirteen years. I’ve infiltrated your security agencies.
Carver was about to refill his coffee mug when the door opened and a man in a hat and dark coat entered, followed by a gust of chilly night air. Annoyed at the intrusion, he returned to his seat.
“I’d like to surrender myself,” the man said. He looked to be about seventy.
“Surrender yourself?” Carver said, off his guard. “For what?”
“My name is Chekhov. I’m a Russian spy. I’ve been living in N— for thirteen years. I’ve infiltrated your security agencies.