“With all due respect, sir, that’s bullshit. I don’t think you have any doubts who we are,” Summer said.
“I’ll begin the debriefing with Commander Summer this afternoon. Someone else will be speaking with you, Doctor Whitney. Other folks are flying in from Washington to talk with you both, meet with Soviet officials and go over the evidence they’ve shared with us. I suspect we can have this wrapped up on this end within a week or so, and then you’ll have some meetings stateside.”
“Sir, I have a date this afternoon that I’ve been waiting over a decade for,” Summer said.
“Then a few more days won’t matter. We’re going to have to keep you two separated until we’ve finished talking to you.”
Zara hurried to swallow a canapé. “Colonel Wilson, I regret to inform you Doctor Whitney and Commander Summer were both injured performing their heroic actions and are currently patients at one of our top medical clinics.” Zara pulled a document from her inside jacket pocket and flashed it to the embassy officials. “Their doctor agreed to allow them only three hours away from the clinic, and she agreed to this only after Gorbachev himself persuaded her to go against her own medical judgment. As soon as they’re fit to be released, we will deliver them to your embassy. Good day, gentlemen. It was a pleasure.” Zara led Faith and Summer away.
“What about Mama Whitney and your dad?” Summer glanced back at them. They were laughing together as if they had known each other a lifetime.
“Let’s leave them to themselves. My father hasn’t flirted like that with a woman since my mother died.”
“You’re certain she’s dead?” Faith said. “Faith!” Summer elbowed her.
As they hurried to the elevator, Faith turned to Summer and said, “You know, I was thinking about that date this afternoon. We’re already dressed for the occasion, and I’m sure, with a little baksheesh, we can work our way into the schedule at the People’s Wedding Palace.” Faith gestured wildly with her hands. “They’re set up using communist iconography in place of religious symbols. Red satin, busts of Lenin everywhere-better than Vegas.”
“You’re crazy.” Summer punched the button for the elevator.
“And that’s why you love me. I could never warm up to a church wedding, but I could really get into this. The Sovs have these great traditions, like the bride in her wedding gown laying roses at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and Lenin’s-”
“You want me to get married in front of a statue of Lenin? I’d never be able to show anyone my wedding pictures. I know you can’t be serious.”
“It’s not any weirder than in front of a statue of a bleeding martyr on a cross.”
“She’s got a point,” Zara said as they walked into the elevator. “I’d be honored to be a witness if you did it here.”
“Summer, if we do it here today under the eyes of Lenin, I’ll even ask my mother to officiate. She’s ordained in Arkansas.”
Just before the door closed, a hand reached inside and stopped them. Gorbachev joined them in the elevator. He nodded to them and then stared at the lit floor numbers.
Summer lowered his voice. “Mama Whitney in a communist chapel? Now I’m sure you’re pulling my leg.”
“Careful, Summer, or history will pass you by again.” Faith backed up, giving Gorbachev a few more respectful inches of space.
“You know, the thing about history is sometimes it goes too damn fast for some of us to keep up,” Summer whispered, barely moving his lips.
“Then can I at least interest you in a visit to Lenin’s mausoleum? Time creeps in there. As Heroes of the Soviet Union, we can jump to the front of the line.” Faith motioned to Summer’s new decorations.
The General Secretary eyed the medals and smiled.
Summer then put his arm around her.
“Not now.” Faith blushed.
Gorbachev winked at Summer.
“I don’t care if he is a world leader.” He pulled Faith close and kissed her. “You’ve got a deal.”
EPILOGUE
Go on, get out.
Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.
– KARL MARX
About the Author
R J Hillhouse has run Cuban rum between East and West Berlin, smuggled jewels from the Soviet Union, and slipped through some of the world’s tightest borders. From Uzbekistan to Romania, she’s been followed, held at gunpoint, and interrogated. Foreign governments have solicited her for recruitment as a spy. (They failed.) The St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote that “she’s truly like James Bond and Indiana Jones all rolled into one.”
A former professor and Fulbright fellow, she earned her Ph.D. in political science at the University of Michigan. She is fluent in several languages. An expert on international affairs and national security, she has published in major academic journals and has lectured at such diverse institutions as Harvard, the Smithsonian, and the Soviet Academy of Sciences.
She lives in Hawaii, on the slopes of Mauna Loa volcano. She blogs about the outsourcing of national security at www.TheSpyWhoBilledMe.com.
