Lisa watched them go and commented, “They could send programmed androids for that job, and no one would notice.”
“What is there to think about?”
“Nothing. That’s the point. It would take ten minutes to program the ’droids.”
“What is there to think about spending some time with me?”
“Oh, that. I have to think about… well… my parents… you’re a little older than I, and you’re married.”
“Did you just discover that?”
She smiled wanly. “Let me think about how to make it right.”
“Do that.”
“Are we having our first fight?”
“Quite possibly.” Hollis turned and walked toward his staff, who were standing together talking.
Hollis was intercepted by Mike Salerno, a reporter for the Pacific News Service. Salerno took Hollis aside. “Funny speech, Colonel. Everyone is in a rare mood tonight. You guys should do that once a month. Catharsis. When one of us leaves, we get together at somebody’s place, and we do the same kind of thing.”
“No wonder the KGB harasses you.”
“Yeah… I guess they listen in, don’t they?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” Hollis had met Salerno on a few occasions and found him somewhat pushy but straightforward and down to earth.
Salerno went on, “You know that we’ve kicked out your counterpart in D.C. and also some Soviet Tass dork in retaliation for Lisa. The Reds are probably having a similar party in Washington tonight. Doing Uncle Sam skits.” He laughed, then finished his drink and said, “What’s the actual reason behind you guys leaving?”
“Pretty much what the official version is, Mike. We took an unauthorized trip.”
“Yeah. But they usually give you a break the first time for something petty like that. Especially with the sweet smell of détente in the air.”
“It was actually the second time for both of us.” To forestall further questions, Hollis added, “As you may have deduced, we went to see the site of the famous Russian nonvictory at Borodino. Moscow gets claustrophobic.”
“Hey, don’t I know it? It takes me a month to get permission to visit some godforsaken tractor factory in the Urals.”
“Tell them you don’t want to see a tractor factory in the Urals. You’ll be on the next train.”
Salerno laughed. “You got that right, Br’er Bear.” He took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Hollis, saying, “To a safe trip.”
Salerno finished the wine, seemed to consider a moment, then asked, “Are you leveling with me, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“You went out that way to take charge of the body of Greg Fisher.”
“Right.”
“And you detoured a few K’s to Borodino and were spotted.”
“Correct.”
“Hell of a fucked-up country, isn’t it?”
Hollis replied, “When in the third Rome, do as they tell you. Excuse me.”
“Hold on a second, Sam. Look, I know there’s more to this Greg Fisher story than anyone is saying. One theory is that he was killed by robbers and the Soviets don’t want that getting around. Makes the world’s first workers’ state look a little less like paradise. Right?”
“I saw the inventory of the boy’s effects. Everything from money to felt-tip pens. There was no foul play.”
“No? Can I tell you something I found out?”
“If you’d like.”
“I called Greg Fisher’s parents in New Canaan and found out that an autopsy had been performed. They told me a few other things. So I’m thinking about this kid who’s tear-assing along the Minsk — Moscow highway at night, under the influence of alcohol according to the autopsy, and I’m not buying it. I’m thinking about all the rules the kid had to sign in Brest when he crossed the border — seat belts, drinking and driving puts you in jail, and night driving can get you in trouble with the KGB. And Mr. and Mrs. Fisher tell me Greg was a very careful kid — okay, parents say that about dead kids. But I’m starting to wonder now.”
Hollis said, “We’re not supposed to talk business here.”
“Just hear me out, Sam. Okay? So, the other day I go on my own unauthorized trip in a car. First I poke around Mozhaisk, and for a few rubles a truck driver leads me to the accident site west of Mozhaisk. The car is gone by now of course, but I see where it went off the road heading east and plowed into the tree. I even find some glass from the windshield where the kid’s head went through. Okay. But the truck driver says something about the kid’s car causing a big stir in Mozhaisk. How did the kid get to Mozhaisk if he died west of the town?”
“Beats me.”
“Right. Me too. I think something stinks, Sam, and I’m wondering if you’d like to give me an off-the-record clue.”
“I don’t have a clue,” Hollis replied. “But if what you say is true, it’s possible that Greg Fisher did pass through Mozhaisk, then doubled back for some reason, then later headed back for Moscow and ran off the road before he got to Mozhaisk again.”
“Why is he running up and down the Minsk — Moscow road at that hour? Was he on some kind of cloak-and-dagger assignment for the spooks here in the embassy?”
“There are no intelligence personnel in the American embassy,” Hollis said, “but if there were, they wouldn’t send people out in Pontiac Trans Ams.”
“True.” Salerno added, “Look, I’m booked on that Pan Am flight to Frankfurt tomorrow. Let’s sit together, and I’ll tell you a few other things I discovered about this business.”
“Maybe.” Hollis turned to leave.
Lisa approached, and Salerno greeted her warmly. He said, “Going to miss you, Lisa. The only straight shooter in the embassy Ministry of Propaganda.” They spoke for a moment, then Salerno moved off. Lisa said, “What was he talking to you about?”
“What do you think? He smells a rat.”
“Eventually we may have to go to the press with this.”
Hollis said curtly, “We are employees and representatives of the United States government. We are not press informants.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “True.”
He said coolly, “If I’m more cautious than you, it’s because I’m much older than you.”
She gave him a conciliatory smile and patted his arm. “Now, now…”
Hollis, for the life of him, could not understand women. It seemed to him that she aggressively pursued him, then the moment he stopped being evasive, she backed off. He vaguely recalled that he’d had similar experiences with women when he was younger. There were some women and men he knew who enjoyed only the chase, and like fox hunters, had little use for the kill. He said, “Excuse me,” turned and headed back to the bar.
Hollis saw Alevy standing there and had the impression that Alevy had been waiting for him. Alevy said, “It’s not a good idea to draw attention to the CIA station chief.”
Hollis ordered a scotch and soda.
“It makes some people uncomfortable.”
Hollis moved away from the bar with his drink. “I thought you were a political affairs officer. Now you tell me you’re the CIA station chief.”
Alevy smiled. “Well, I thank you for your thoughtfulness. What did Salerno want?”
“He knows a few things, Seth. Any reporter in this room with a little pluck could come up with some inconsistencies in the Fisher story. Coupled with me and Lisa getting the boot, it smells a little.”
“I suppose. You and Lisa have a spat?”
“No.”
“Good. I want you to stay close to her at least as far as Frankfurt.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay. By the way, if you have no other plans tonight, would you do me a favor?”
“No.”
“Stop by around midnight. My place.”