A man in uniform at the next table stared at Lisa. She stared back.
Hollis added, “The KGB doesn’t bug the tables here. Here, the KGB are at the tables.”
A waitress came by with a bottle of mineral water and set it down with two menus. Hollis ordered a bottle of Georgian wine. The waitress left without a word.
Lisa said, “What’s this country coming to when an American military spy can sit in the same restaurant with a hundred KGB thugs? Where is Joe Stalin when they need him?”
Hollis looked over the menu. “Unlike the restaurants in central Moscow, if it’s on the menu, they’ve got it.”
The waitress returned with the wine, and they ordered dinner. Lisa said, “That one bastard is still staring at me.”
Hollis poured two glasses of red wine. “I’ll ask him to step outside.”
“No.” Lisa smiled. “We’re even on restaurants.” She stuck her tongue out at the man who was staring at her. Several diners laughed. The man rose from his table, and Hollis wondered if his crew cut was going to brush the ceiling.
A few of the other men hooted and howled. One yelled out, “Viktor! Don’t be an uncultural lout. Buy the Americans a drink.”
Someone else shouted, “No, show them how much of a lout you are and throw them out.”
Lisa looked around but saw no restaurant employees. She said to Hollis, “Do you want to leave?”
“No.”
Viktor and Hollis sized each other up.
The dining room became quiet as a tall, thin man in civilian clothes rose from a dark corner table and walked across the room. He snapped to Viktor, “Out!” Viktor hurried for the door.
Colonel Burov motioned toward the table. “Please. Sit. May I?” He sat in a chair at their table, still motioning Hollis into his seat. Burov snapped his fingers, and a waitress suddenly appeared. “More wine.” He looked at Hollis and Lisa. “I must apologize on behalf of my compatriot.”
Hollis replied, “Why? Hasn’t he learned human speech?”
Burov seemed puzzled, then got it and laughed. He turned and translated Hollis’ words for the others. Everyone laughed.
Hollis said to Burov, “Come here often?”
“Yes. This is a favorite of my organization. Did you know that before you came?”
Hollis ignored the question and asked, “Can I assume this isn’t a chance meeting?”
“It’s a fateful meeting perhaps.”
“What’s on your mind, Colonel Burov?”
“Many things, Colonel Hollis. Since our last unpleasant business at Mozhaisk, I’ve been thinking about you two.”
“And we about you.”
“I’m flattered. By the way, they tell me you never arrived at the state farm.”
“So what?”
Burov continued, “We found your rented car where you left it at Gagarin station, and I had it examined by the Criminal Investigation Division of the Moscow police. Tire marks, mud, pine twigs, and so on. I conclude that you entered a restricted area. Specifically an area two kilometers north of Borodino Field.”
Hollis said, “Will you pass that butter, Colonel?”
Burov slid a butter dish across the table. “So?”
Hollis leaned toward Burov. “I suggest that if you want to speak to us, you go through your foreign ministry and arrange it with my embassy. Good evening.”
Burov drummed a spoon on the table. “The hell with those people. This is intelligence business. I know who you are. I know you have scars on your neck and back from wounds received when you were shot down over Haiphong. I know your sister’s name is Mary and your mother drank too much. Let’s get down to business and forget the protocols of diplomacy.”
Hollis took the spoon from Burov’s hand and said, “All right, no more diplomacy. You murdered an American citizen. You beat my driver, and perhaps you would have murdered me and Miss Rhodes. Yet you sit here and talk to us as though you are a civilized human being. You are not.”
Burov seemed not to take offense. He rubbed his finger over his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “All right. There’s no use denying some of the details that you possess in this matter. But what you conclude from those details is probably erroneous. This matter is quite beyond your understanding, Colonel Hollis, and certainly yours, Miss Rhodes. It is, I admit, somewhat beyond my understanding as well. It is a matter that concerns the higher-ups.”
Lisa replied, “Then why kill the little people, Colonel?”
Burov ignored this and continued, “Yes, I’ll satisfy your curiosity. It’s like this: the Major Jack Dodson, who the late Mr. Fisher referred to in his phone call to you, was a turncoat. While a prisoner of war in the People’s Republic of Vietnam, Major Dodson sent a message to the Soviet embassy in Hanoi requesting an interview. It was granted, and during the discussion with a Soviet military attaché, Major Dodson said he would welcome the opportunity to come to the Soviet Union and exchange his military knowledge for his release from the prison camp. He felt bitter and betrayed by his country. He stated that America was not waging the war properly, that the limited air war had endangered his life, wasted his talent, and caused the deaths of his friends. Perhaps you yourself felt that way, Colonel. So, anyway, Dodson asked if we would get him out of the Vietnamese POW camp. We did.”
Neither Hollis nor Lisa spoke. Finally Hollis said, “And why didn’t the Soviet Union announce his defection for propaganda purposes?”
“Dodson didn’t want that. That was part of the deal we struck with him.”
Lisa asked, “And he let his family think he was dead?”
Burov shrugged. “Major Dodson spoke of his wife’s past infidelities. He was childless, I believe.”
Hollis said, “Sounds like bullshit to me.” Hollis added, “What was Dodson doing in the pine forest at night when Gregory Fisher came upon him? Picking mushrooms?”
“And,” Lisa added, “why did Gregory Fisher leave the Rossiya, after Colonel Hollis told him to stay there, and go back to Borodino, where he got himself killed in an auto accident? Come now, Colonel Burov.”
Burov helped himself to some wine. He said, “Mr. Fisher’s accident is not relevant to the subject of Major Dodson. However, as I did have the opportunity to listen to the tape of Mr. Fisher’s conversation with you and Miss Rhodes, I think we can all agree that he sounded agitated. The militia report says that he was also drunk. My theory is he panicked and got back in his car with the idea of… well, who knows what a drunk man thinks? As for Major Dodson, he was hiking, as was his custom. He met Mr. Fisher, quite by chance, and out of nostalgia perhaps, told him something about himself. But he did not tell Mr. Fisher he was a prisoner, because he is not.”
Burov took a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Hollis. “This is a letter in Major Dodson’s hand, dated January of 1973, requesting asylum in the Soviet Union. Your government has now been made aware of this, and what both governments are trying to do is to avoid any embarrassment that Major Dodson’s defection would cause. It was a silent defection, and that is the way we all want it to remain.”
Hollis pushed the letter back without looking at it. Hollis said, “I want to speak to Major Dodson and hear all this from him.”
Burov nodded. “Yes, all right. If he’s agreeable.”
“I don’t care if he’s agreeable or not. You will make him speak to me. Tomorrow. Here in Moscow. I suggest the International Trade Center hotel as a somewhat neutral site.”
Burov lit a cigarette and exhaled. “Well, I’ll take it up with the proper authorities.”