Stateless by Alan Gold Page A

didn’t know.
    â€˜The conference. Very secret. Shhh.’ And he giggled athimself.
    â€˜Will you be there?’
    â€˜Sure I’ll be there, baby. I’ll be leading the discussions.’
    He smiled to himself. She’d been briefed that he was a rather junior diplomat, little more than a pen-pusher who’d risen to a senior position more by the necessities of war than by merit.
    â€˜Will you meet Roosevelt? Will you meet Stalin? What will they say to you? Oh, Henry . . . I never dreamed I’d meet somebody as important as you.’
    He thought for a moment, blinked and tried to focus, then he said, ‘Don’t say anything to anybody . . .’ He held her hand and leaned so close to her face that she felt she could almost become drunk from the fumes from his mouth. ‘We’re going to put Europe back together again when this war’s finished. That’s what I’m going to be talking about with your great leader Stalin and my boss . . . put the whole shooting match back together again. Yep!’
    â€˜But how? Isn’t Hitler winning?’
    Henry snorted. ‘You kidding, babe? That Nazi asshole is staring at the end. As soon as this thing is over and ol’ Adolf is captured, we’re gonna try him. American justice! And we’ll carve up Europe so that Germany ain’t no more . . .’
    â€˜And what about here? What about Russia? What do you plan to do with little ol’ us?’ said Judita, feigning the accent of an American southern belle. She’d never seen nor heard such a person with such an accent. But her training had been thorough, including American movies and culture.
    He shook his head, and said softly, ‘You’ll do okay. Ol’ Uncle Joe Stalin will get the scraps from what we have left over. Germany, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, the Brits will get the Balkans, and we’ll throw some scraps to France. They can have the fucking Ruhr if they want it!’
    â€˜So shall I stay here in Russia, without you, Henry? Ifeverything is as good as you say it will be?’
    â€˜No, baby. Let Uncle Henry take you outta here. I think your Uncle Joe is gonna be so pissed off with what we leave him that all hell’s gonna break loose. Maybe even another war.’
    It was in this moment that Judita understood. This was not a mission so much as a test. The diplomat gave up little that the NKVD wouldn’t already know – just motives and objectives rather than tactics. So as she excused herself, telling Henry that she needed to go to the bathroom and with the promise of something ‘special’ when she returned, she wondered if she had done enough to pass the test. Had she performed in a way that would make Anastasia proud?
    Judita slipped out of the doorway and into the freezing night air. It had been snowing and her footprints in the fresh powder caused her concern, should the idiot attempt to follow her. But the moment she appeared on the street, the black car she had arrived in roared up beside her and the door opened.
    The cabin of the car was deliciously warm and in the dull light she saw her handler, Anastasia Bistrzhitska, sitting on the back seat.
    â€˜Well, little one?’
    Judita nodded and recounted to Anastasia the entire conversation, from her extraordinary memory. Every detail. Every word. She did so without emotion or embellishment. Pure reportage of what the diplomat had said. All the while watching Anastasia’s face for signs that she had done well and that her handler approved.
    Finally Anastasia smiled and said simply, ‘Well done, my little dove. You’re set for great things, Judita Ludmilla, for the motherland, for the Soviet Republic and for the glory of the Russian people.’
    â€˜But you already knew everything I’ve told you, didn’t you?’ said Judita.
    Anastasia smiled. ‘Of course.’
    â€˜So it was nothing more than