Banks smiled awkwardly, then took Hollis’ hand and said, “The least free people in a free society are people like us who have a sworn duty to defend the constitution.”
“It’s one of the ironies,” Hollis agreed.
After Banks had left, Lisa commented, “He hit us with the carrot and tried to make us eat the stick.”
“He’s having a rough time of it.”
“Who isn’t these days?”
25
Sam Hollis gave his uniform a quick once-over, then strode into the large diplomatic reception hall.
The protocol of a farewell party didn’t require that he or Lisa stand in a receiving line, nor was there a head table, which suited him fine. Protocol did demand however, that, as a married man whose wife was temporarily out of town, he arrive without a woman. Lisa had gone on ahead, and he saw her across the room, talking to some people from her office.
The reception hall was an elegant, modern wing off the chancery building, with tall windows, walls of Carrara marble, and three large contemporary chandeliers of stainless steel hanging from the high ceiling. The floor was parquet, which for some reason the Russians equated with elegance, hence its choice for the hall.
Of the approximately three hundred men and women living in the compound, nearly all had been invited, and Hollis guessed that most of them had shown up. He would have been flattered by such a Saturday night turnout for him in London or Paris, but in Moscow you could get five hundred Westerners to a Tupperware party if you had music and food.
Hollis assumed that the staffers whose turn it was to use the Finnish dacha for the weekend had wisely done so. Missing also was most of the thirty-man Marine contingent. Some had duty, but the rest, Hollis figured, were in a nearby foreign-residents apartment house where they had somehow secured a suite of rooms that they called Studiya 54. Hollis understood it was mostly disco, drinking, and devitski, the latter being an infraction of the rules. But since the great sex-and-spy scandal, the Marine Corps had concluded that though their men were made of iron, their libidos were not. The Studiya 54 gatherings were actually encouraged so as to keep the Marines and Russian women in one place. Unknown to any of them, but known to Hollis, four of the Marine guards were actually Marine counterintelligence officers. It struck him that the world was full of professional snoops, and it was sad that Americans didn’t even trust Americans anymore.
Hollis noticed that round tables had been placed along the walls, but most people were standing in groups, glasses in hand. There was a long buffet table against the far wall where a few people helped themselves. Early in his tour of duty, Hollis had been advised that if he went to an embassy reception where Russians were present, he should not stand near the buffet table when the food was uncovered, or he would be trampled.
Hollis glanced at his watch. The party had been in progress about an hour, and he figured everyone was three drinks ahead of him by now. He scanned the room to see where the bar had been set up and saw James Martindale, the protocol officer, making his way toward him.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Hello, Jim.” Hollis had a perverse liking for the man despite his inane job and decorous manner.
Martindale announced, “We have a nice turnout for you, Colonel.”
“I see that. I’m very flattered. I would have thought everyone would rather have seen the changing of the guard at Lenin’s tomb.”
Martindale seemed to miss the humor and continued, “You understand, I hope, that we did not invite any Soviet air force personnel with whom you’ve become acquainted, nor any other Soviet officials because of the circumstances under which you are leaving.”
Hollis thought that was self-evident. “You didn’t want to feed them, did you?”
“Also I did not send invitations to certain other embassies so as not to put them in an awkward position.”
“You’re a very sensitive man.”
“However, I did extend verbal and informal invitations to your friends and counterparts in the British, Canadian, Australian, and New Zealand embassies.”
“We Anglo-Saxons have to stick together against the Slavic hordes.”
“Yes. And some other NATO military attachés will drop in to say good-bye.”
“You mean my spy friends from the rest of Christiandom? I hope you invited the Irish.”
“I did. It’s best to keep this sort of thing informal so as not to give the host country the impression that we are insulting them.”
“But we are, Jimbo. Do you think I’d have any party if I’d been kicked out of England or Botswana?”
“Well, from the strict standpoint of protocol—”
“Where’s the bar?”
“In the far corner there. Also I’ve invited the thirty or so American resident press people and their spouses as a courtesy. Most of them will stop by, but they are not to talk business.”
“Good thinking.”
“I explained to Ms. Rhodes all of what I’ve just told you, and she understands.”
“Was I supposed to wear sackcloth and ashes?”
“No, this is business dress.”
“May I go to the bar now?”
“I’d like to take this opportunity to extend to you my best wishes and my appreciation for the work you’ve done here.”
“Thank you. I—”
“This was the best I could do under the circumstances.” He waved his arm around the room.
“Look, I didn’t get caught buggering a militiaman. I just got caught spying. No big—”
“The ambassador and his wife will put in an appearance of course, but they should not be detained as they have another engagement.”
“Are you drunk?”
Martindale smiled a lopsided grin. “I’ve had a few.”
Hollis laughed.
Martindale took Hollis’ arm. “Come with me.”
Hollis was led to the front of the reception hall where there was a raised platform on which stood a podium and microphone. A four-piece combo of volunteer musicians were grouped around the big Steinway piano. Hollis recalled that the Steinway had once been in the ambassador’s official residence, Spaso House, where it had been vandalized a few hours before the performance of Vladimir Feltsman, a prominent pianist and Jewish dissident. The KGB were strong suspects, and Alevy sent a copy of the repair bill to Lubyanka. Some KGB wag there sent a return note saying, “Check is in the mail.”
Hollis stepped onto the wooden platform, and Lisa, escorted by Martindale’s secretary, joined him. Hollis and Lisa exchanged brief smiles.
Martindale nodded to the combo, and they struck up a few bars of “Ruffles and Flourishes,” which got everyone’s attention. Martindale tapped the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. May I present our guests of honor, Colonel Sam Hollis and Ms. Lisa Rhodes.”
There was a round of applause, and Hollis could see a lot of silly smiles out there. Clearly, everyone was in a merry mood for the occasion.
Martindale said, “I must issue a reminder that this is not a secure room and that everything you say is being heard across the street. So I urge you to observe talk security, not to make derogatory remarks about our host country, and to keep in mind that the expulsion of Colonel Hollis and Ms. Rhodes is an occasion of great shame.”
A few people chuckled.
Martindale reached behind the podium and produced two lengths of blue satin, which he unfurled and held up. Everyone laughed. Hollis saw they were bogus ambassadorial sashes on which was written in red glitter: Persona non grata.
Lisa put her hand over her mouth and laughed.