Mama Whitney waddled over and hugged them. A distinguished gentleman waited for her to finish, then kissed Zara on both cheeks.
“I didn’t think I’d ever be welcome back in these walls,” he said in Russian.
Zara kissed the gentleman on the cheek. “I’d like all of you to meet my father, Anton Antonovich.”
Before they all could finish shaking hands, Petrov interrupted. “You need to meet some people.” He ushered the three away, then turned to the parents, shrugged his shoulders and said in Russian, “Protocol.” He led them around the room, introducing them to an assortment of dignitaries, including the American Ambassador, the military attaché and someone from the political section.
The African-American colonel extended his hand to Faith. “I’m Colonel Holton Wilson, the American military attaché. Very pleased to meet you.”
“You’re Colonel Wilson?” Summer said.
“I was when I got up this morning.” His teeth glistened. “Commander Summer, you sure got some folks’ attention in Washington.”
“This is going to sound strange,” Summer said, “but is there another Military Attaché posted to the embassy-another Colonel Wilson, a white guy? I think I know the answer to this one, too, but is there a lawyer, a husky woman named Chris Goldfarb?”
“What’s this all about?” Wilson said.
“These two claiming to be from the embassy stopped the KGB’s interrogation and met with me for a good hour and a half yesterday morning.”
Faith and Zara made eye contact and smiled.
“The embassy’s been trying to find you ever since your call to Indian Head. This morning when we were invited to this reception was the first we knew of your whereabouts.” Wilson snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a waiter.
“Looks like you were false-flagged, honey.” Faith patted him on the arm.
Summer shot a glance at Zara. She nodded her confirmation. “At least you don’t have to rough people up that way.” Zara took a sip of white wine. “I’ve heard stories from some old-timers of how we had a whole team in Berlin right after the war who’d pose as American Army officers. They’d approach Soviet citizens who they thought were at high risk for defection. They’d convince them to go over to the Americans, pick them up in a fake American staff car and pretend to drive them to a safe house in West Berlin, but they never left the East. They’d debrief the poor bastards and ship them off to the gulags-if they were lucky.”
Petrov ushered Faith, Summer and Zara to seats directly behind a podium. “If I could have your attention, please,” Petrov announced in both English and Russian, but before he could finish, General Secretary Gorbachev strolled up behind him.
Gorbachev lowered the mike and it screeched loudly. He jumped back in an exaggerated gesture and turned it off. “Andrei Sergeyevich, you hear me back there?” A silver-haired officer nodded. Gorbachev continued, “I always know that if the admiral hears me, everyone can, so I won’t use this thing.” Everyone in the room laughed; a few delayed chuckles betrayed the non-Russian speakers who were relying upon the interpreter standing to his right. “Today we’re honoring three individuals who placed concerns of our country and world peace above their own. For this, my country is grateful. And for saving my life, I am personally indebted.” Gorbachev flashed a smile and launched into a long discourse on the importance of Soviet-American cooperation to world peace and regional stability in Central Europe.
Faith tuned him out and focused on Summer. She surprised herself at how happy she felt as she daydreamed of a vacation together on the shores of Siberia’s Lake Baikal. When a man approached Gorbachev carrying several small cases, Faith started listening again.
“Although the world cannot know what these three individuals did for the preservation of peace, I would like to recognize them today on behalf of the people of the USSR. Lieutenant Colonel Zara Antonovna Bogdanov, I am promoting you today to full colonel, with all the rights and privileges of that rank. Congratulations.” Gorbachev clapped and the crowd followed his lead. The aide opened the first small box. The Soviet leader held up a red ribbon with a gold star dangling from it. A raised hammer and sickle decorated the center of the star. “Colonel Bogdanov, Lieutenant Commander Maxwell Summer and Professor Faith Whitney, in recognition of your courage and your heroic actions, I am pleased to bestow upon you our highest title, Hero of the Soviet Union.”
Faith stood and tugged at Summer. “Get up.”
“I don’t know if I can accept this. I’m an American.”
“Don’t blow it for me. Do you know how hard these are to get hold of?” Faith whispered as she pulled him up from his chair.
Gorbachev shook their hands and pinned the awards on their chests. Summer’s hung beside his Purple Heart. Gorbachev held up another medal attached to a red ribbon bordered with gold stripes; gold bands of wheat framed a platinum bust of Lenin above a small red enameled hammer and sickle.
“That better not be what I think it is,” Summer whispered to Faith.
“Not as hard to get, but right up there. Eight hundred bucks on the black market. We’ll have to sneak them out before this is over because the Sovs will take them from us for safekeeping.”
“I can’t have a cameo of that Bolshevik stuck to me.”
“And I present, to these Heroes of the Soviet Union, the Order of Lenin for their actions strengthening peace between peoples. Congratulations.”
Faith followed Zara’s lead and thanked the General Secretary without trying to make a speech. She held her breath as Gorbachev pinned the Order of Lenin on Summer’s dress white US Navy uniform.
Summer opened his mouth.
Summer, no.
He hesitated, then said, “I appreciate the gesture of goodwill, Mr. General Secretary. As you know, I was not acting on behalf of my government, but as an individual thrown into extraordinary circumstances. As an officer of the US Navy, I’m not sure I can accept an honor from your government like this. Don’t get me wrong, but my understanding is the only American military you ever hand these things out to are spies. We all know I’m definitely not one of those.”
Gorbachev stared at the floor as he listened to the translation, and then he looked up. “I shared your concern when I first discussed it with my staff, but they tell me we’ve awarded our highest military honor, the Order of Victory, to your General Eisenhower. You’re in the company of your presidents, Commander Summer.”
After the ceremony broke up, the assortment of military brass and high-ranking Communist Party members again shook hands with the honorees, but Zara’s father and Faith’s mother were too enthralled with each other to pay attention. Afterward the US military attaché and the Ambassador strolled up to them.
“Lenin looks real pretty on you, commander,” the military attaché said with a chuckle.
“How in the heck am I ever going to explain this one to my CO?” Summer glared at Lenin resting on his chest.
“Don’t worry; I’ll take it off your hands as soon as we get it out of the country.” Faith kissed him on the cheek. “And that Hero of the Soviet Union status will get you all kinds of perks here-free public transportation, a free yearly visit to a sanitarium, one free first-class domestic round trip on Aeroflot each year-”
“Don’t forget priority on the housing waiting list and an extra fifteen square meters of living space,” Zara said.
“And speaking of getting out of the country,” Faith said as Summer handed her a flute of Crimean champagne, “is the embassy going to help us get our passports? I don’t know how much of the story you know, but I seem to have lost my passport in the shuffle and Summer was kidnapped and brought here without any documents.”
“In due time we’ll get them to you. It’s a long process to verify your identities and your stories,” Colonel Wilson said.