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given promises so he could keep his dignity.
    He had been an accomplished operative sidelined by the new director of operations. Rather than get old behind a desk he had taken his twenty-year-pension and walked. Jane made the promise. Like a good operative Malloy settled down with his cover and waited. He read the classifieds every morning, the Times when he was stateside, the Herald Tribune when he was abroad. Two days ago, Jane had finally run the lonely hearts advertisement they had agreed on. Malloy's answer ran the following morning setting up the rendezvous.
    'What do you have for me?' he asked.
    Jane concentrated on her needlepoint. 'You're not going to like it.'
    'I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you've got something that involves breaking a number of federal laws without benefit of immunity.'
    Jane ran a couple of stitches through her needlepoint while another jogger passed them. 'Nothing outrageous, I don't think. About as felonious as crossing against the light, but given the present political climate it's probably to our advantage to have a bit of credible deniability, just in case. An ex-operative with a chip on his shoulder, a grudge in his heart, and a history of pissing in the wind ought to be sufficient for the occasion.'
    'I fit the profile.'
    'I assume you know J. W. Richland?'
    'The televangelist?' Malloy fought the urge to complain, but Jane caught his tone.
    'A friend of the Administration, T. K.'
    'Tell me you want me to cut his tongue out. I'll work for free.'
    Jane was a good soldier, but even she smiled at this. 'Nobody has to know about this. We're sure not going to put it on paper, and I don't think Richland will either.'
    'I'll know. Isn't that enough?'
    'Don't tell me you've gone out and bought a conscience?'
    'I've been thinking about getting one ever since I left the agency - as long as they don't cost too much.'
    'They cost plenty, T. K., and give you nothing but grief.'
    'Voice of experience?'
    Jane looked out across the park, the shadow of a smile playing at her lips. Italy - living her cover? It was hard to imagine Jane with a sex life, harder still to think of her belonging to the free love generation. 'I gave up the Girl Scouts years ago, T. K.'
    'Could have fooled me.'
    'Richland had a painting stolen from his estate. A few weeks ago he got a telephone call from an art dealer in Zürich who wants to sell the thing to him.'
    'A ransom?'
    'The preacher hands over twenty-five million, and he gets his painting back.'
    'Million?'
    'Who knew the Lord paid so well?'
    Malloy thought about it for moment, and finally decided to ask the obvious question just to hear Jane's explanation. 'Why not go to the police?'
    'Some question of provenance, I take it.'
    'The Reverend J. W. Richland dealing in black market paintings? Wouldn't the Times love a piece of that?'
    'Black market is such an ugly expression, T. K.'
    'Almost as bad as smuggling.'
    'Smuggling is the one thing you don't have to do. Charlie has asked Bob Whitefield to carry it in a diplomatic pouch. All you do is make the exchange and pass it to Whitefield at the Zürich Airport. Once he clears customs stateside, you take the thing back and make the delivery.'
    'Why not just get Whitefield to take care of the whole thing?'
    'If anything goes wrong, it won't be at customs, not with a diplomatic pouch. The risk falls to you.
    Richland knows he's going to have to pay for this, by the way. As a favour to me I hope you charge him plenty.'
    'Any indication that something might go wrong?'
    'I got to be an old woman because I always expect something will go wrong.'
    'Didn't I read that Richland is dying?'
    'Old news, T. K. The doctors gave him six months to live eight or ten months ago. According to his new book, the preacher fired them all and went down on his knees.'
    'Right. Pray for a Miracle. I tried it, but he's still on my TV.' Jane was silent, waiting. Not that he was considering a pass. Malloy had committed himself the