pale she looked. She breathed deeply. She couldn’t delay any longer.
She opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, rooting through the cupboard, hoping that Zoya would remain preoccupied with the television. Zoya called out:
—
What are you looking for?
—
My swimsuit.
—
You’re going to the pool?
—
That is where people swim, isn’t it?
Elena was trying to be sassy in an effort to hide her nervousness but it wasn’t her style and the words jarred. Zoya didn’t seem to notice:
—
You want me to come?
Elena snapped back:
—
No.
Zoya stood up, looking at her sister directly:
—
What’s wrong?
Elena had made a mistake in being so abrupt:
—
Nothing. I’m going to have a swim. I’ll see you in an hour or two.
—
Mother’s coming back for lunch.
—
I’ll be finished before then.
Holding her gym bag, Elena left.
In the corridor she hastened away from her sister’s room, checking up and down to make sure no one was watching. She didn’t head to the elevator, instead stopping by room 844 and trying the handle. It was unlocked. She stepped inside, shutting the door behind. The room was dark. The curtainswere drawn. Mikael Ivanov stepped out of the shadows, putting his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest, whispering:
—
I’m ready.
He put his hand on her chin lifting her eyes up toward his. He kissed her.
—
I love you.
MANHATTAN
UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS
FIRST AVENUE & EAST 44TH STREET
NEXT DAY
R AISA’S SENSE OF AWE CAME not from the architecture itself—the United Nations Headquarters was not particularly tall or beautiful—but at simply being here. It was her first full day in New York City and the experience of being abroad, in the nation described as their Main Adversary, was overwhelming. Waking up in her hotel room in the middle of last night, she’d been disoriented, searching the bed for Leo. When she couldn’t find him, she’d opened the curtains to reveal a view no more glamorous than a back alley and a fragment of city skyline, the edge of an office tower—a view of windows and air-conditioning units. Yet she’d stood in dumb wonder as if stretched out before her were snowcapped mountains.
She entered the lobby of the United Nations Headquarters, the only member of her delegation to attend these preliminary meetings, inspecting the General Assembly Hall where tonight’s concert was to be staged. She was to discuss the event with key Soviet diplomats, the men involved with the complex and ongoing negotiations with the American authorities. She expected the meeting to be tough. They would want to pick through every detail of her plans. Tonight’sconcert was to be a gathering of United Nations envoys, representatives from almost every country, and the key diplomatic event of the tour. A second concert was planned for tomorrow, intended for a public audience. It was to be filmed, recorded, and broadcast around the world. After that, the delegation would travel by train to Washington, D.C., for a final set of concerts.
As part of the chess game–like negotiations, the Soviet authorities had insisted that the group not be taken on a tourist trail of New York City or Washington. Officials in Moscow were keen to avoid photos of Soviet students staring in amazement at skyscrapers, the Statue of Liberty, or salivating over hot dogs and pretzels as if they were starved and deprived. Such photos would be exploited. Despite the stated peace agenda, both sides were hunting for an iconic image that would define the tour in one nation’s favor—the image that would be remembered and disseminated around the world. These fears had resulted in two officials being appointed to stage-manage the group’s public appearances, evaluating any situations set up by their American guides. Raisa had no interest in these games being played and was annoyed that despite being in New York, the only visit she would probably ever make to the city, many of the sights
She opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, rooting through the cupboard, hoping that Zoya would remain preoccupied with the television. Zoya called out:
—
What are you looking for?
—
My swimsuit.
—
You’re going to the pool?
—
That is where people swim, isn’t it?
Elena was trying to be sassy in an effort to hide her nervousness but it wasn’t her style and the words jarred. Zoya didn’t seem to notice:
—
You want me to come?
Elena snapped back:
—
No.
Zoya stood up, looking at her sister directly:
—
What’s wrong?
Elena had made a mistake in being so abrupt:
—
Nothing. I’m going to have a swim. I’ll see you in an hour or two.
—
Mother’s coming back for lunch.
—
I’ll be finished before then.
Holding her gym bag, Elena left.
In the corridor she hastened away from her sister’s room, checking up and down to make sure no one was watching. She didn’t head to the elevator, instead stopping by room 844 and trying the handle. It was unlocked. She stepped inside, shutting the door behind. The room was dark. The curtainswere drawn. Mikael Ivanov stepped out of the shadows, putting his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest, whispering:
—
I’m ready.
He put his hand on her chin lifting her eyes up toward his. He kissed her.
—
I love you.
MANHATTAN
UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS
FIRST AVENUE & EAST 44TH STREET
NEXT DAY
R AISA’S SENSE OF AWE CAME not from the architecture itself—the United Nations Headquarters was not particularly tall or beautiful—but at simply being here. It was her first full day in New York City and the experience of being abroad, in the nation described as their Main Adversary, was overwhelming. Waking up in her hotel room in the middle of last night, she’d been disoriented, searching the bed for Leo. When she couldn’t find him, she’d opened the curtains to reveal a view no more glamorous than a back alley and a fragment of city skyline, the edge of an office tower—a view of windows and air-conditioning units. Yet she’d stood in dumb wonder as if stretched out before her were snowcapped mountains.
She entered the lobby of the United Nations Headquarters, the only member of her delegation to attend these preliminary meetings, inspecting the General Assembly Hall where tonight’s concert was to be staged. She was to discuss the event with key Soviet diplomats, the men involved with the complex and ongoing negotiations with the American authorities. She expected the meeting to be tough. They would want to pick through every detail of her plans. Tonight’sconcert was to be a gathering of United Nations envoys, representatives from almost every country, and the key diplomatic event of the tour. A second concert was planned for tomorrow, intended for a public audience. It was to be filmed, recorded, and broadcast around the world. After that, the delegation would travel by train to Washington, D.C., for a final set of concerts.
As part of the chess game–like negotiations, the Soviet authorities had insisted that the group not be taken on a tourist trail of New York City or Washington. Officials in Moscow were keen to avoid photos of Soviet students staring in amazement at skyscrapers, the Statue of Liberty, or salivating over hot dogs and pretzels as if they were starved and deprived. Such photos would be exploited. Despite the stated peace agenda, both sides were hunting for an iconic image that would define the tour in one nation’s favor—the image that would be remembered and disseminated around the world. These fears had resulted in two officials being appointed to stage-manage the group’s public appearances, evaluating any situations set up by their American guides. Raisa had no interest in these games being played and was annoyed that despite being in New York, the only visit she would probably ever make to the city, many of the sights
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