August 18, 1998
Tuesday
6:00 p.m.

I stood with my back to the Kremlin, facing the House on the Embankment. The cameraman dashed about in search of the three-ruble angle, glanced at a little instrument and croaked something in German. Displeasure slid across her face and found voice:

– Jürgen says the light’s too weak. Could you meet with us tomorrow?

– Of course.

– Where?

Where? If I’d had the faintest idea, I’d have answered. She measured me with a long look, and nodded:

– Let’s go.

We loaded into the minivan. Ten minutes later, we arrived on Leninsky Prospekt, pulling into the courtyard of a big yellow building on Gagarin Square. She got out first, motioning for me to follow. I climbed out of the vehicle; Jürgen sped off.

She headed for the entrance. I trudged after her.

This is how it had to be. I could feel it.