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rear.
Linder followed and took the seat opposite the elegant-looking
expatriate, who gave him a smile that exuded both charm and a hint of
dissipation.
    “Excuse me, but
didn’t we meet in Larnaca?” Linder asked, reciting the
pre-arranged recognition signal.
    “I believe we did.
You had come from Aphrodite’s Cave,” Kendall answered, giving the
correct countersign.
    Linder reached across
the table to shake Kendall’s hand, holding it for an extra beat and
making full eye contact to show that he considered himself Kendall’s
peer.
    “Joe Tanner. I assume
our mutual friends in Athens told you why I’ve come.”
    “They did, and I’m
eager to hear more,” Kendall replied, withdrawing his hand. “Shall
we order coffee? Philip ought to be back at the flat in a short
while.”
    The waiter appeared
with a tray of syrupy Lebanese pastries and held it out for their
approval.
    “Care to try one?”
Kendall suggested. “They’re much better than they look.”
    Linder waved them away.
    “Actually, what I
crave at the moment is some of that delicious local eggplant dip.”
    “Baba ghannouj?”
    “Yeah, that’s the
stuff,” Linder affirmed. “With a large bottle of mineral water.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I
forgot—you Mormons don’t drink coffee, do you?”
    “No, but you go right
on ahead,” Linder answered. He bit his lip, realizing that he had
nearly undone himself, momentarily forgetting that Mormons drank
neither coffee nor tea.
    The waiter took their
orders and retreated to the kitchen.
    “How long ago did you
leave Utah, Mr. Tanner? Had the Party released the New Economic Plan
by the time you left?”
    Linder shook his head.
Fortunately, he had done his homework on the much-heralded about-face
in Unionist economic policy. But Kendall had clearly taken the
offensive and he would have to match him point for point.
    “No, I left in July
and everyone was still holding his breath. Our sources were
optimistic that the new regulations would go far to restore private
ownership of capital. There was even some talk about the government
reopening the stock exchanges and selling off some of the
nationalized industries. But nobody expected anything quite as
far-reaching as the NEP turned out to be.”
    Roger Kendall exhaled
deeply and his eyes took on a faraway look. Perhaps his question
about the NEP reflected wishful thinking.
    “If the Party makes
good on its promises this time, every transatlantic airline seat to
New York will be booked for months. I wonder if it’s too early to
project…” Kendall’s voice trailed off.
    Linder smiled inwardly
at Kendall’s willing suspension of disbelief. “If I were you, I
wouldn’t project too much just yet,” he answered. “It could all
be a sham. They’ve done it enough times by now, you’d think
people would see through their…” Here was an opening to position
himself as a hardheaded realist rather than a wild-eyed rebel.
    “Yes, I know,”
Kendall interrupted, “but since the President’s death, perhaps…”
    “Don't kid yourself,”
Linder countered. “The Unionist machine will be just as vicious
under a new President-for-Life as it was with the old one. Unless the
entire Party apparatus is destroyed root and branch, nothing will
change, believe me.”
    Linder hardened his
features into a grim mask calculated to project a deep unhappiness at
being separated from everything that made Joe Tanner who he was.
Fully in character now, he felt a visceral resentment toward
hypocrites like Kendall who would reconcile with the Unionists when
it suited them and look aside while the regime smashed all genuine
opposition.
    At that moment, the
waiter reappeared with coffee, mineral water, and Linder’s bread
and baba ghannouj, which he devoured with uncommon relish. Linder
took extra care to scoop up the loose bits of garlic at the edge of
the bowl and hoped the pungent odor was as potent inside his body as
it was outside. Kendall watched him eat with an amused