On the other side of the ambassador sat Herb Tenney. He was wearing a suit and tie this afternoon and looked as if he had merely dropped in to pass a few social moments. After he had smiled and nodded pleasantly to Jake and Toad, he devoted his attention to the ambassador’s pleasantries.
“I don’t pretend to know just what instructions you have been given in Washington, Admiral,” the ambassador was saying, “or what we Americans can do to improve this situation. I don’t know that we can contribute anything to the solution of this particular problem, but it certainly won’t hurt to try. The Russians must learn that they can cooperate with us on matters of mutual interest and, indeed, it is in their best interests to do so. I think that’s critical…”
Jake Grafton twisted in his ornate, polished mahogany chair. Herb Tenney looked innocent, Jake concluded. His whole presence radiated comfort, proclaimed to everyone who saw him that here was a man at peace with humanity and his conscience, a man who knew in his heart of hearts that he had nothing to regret, nothing to apologize for, nothing to fear.
All of which somehow irritated Jake Grafton.
“…We can help,” Ambassador Lancaster was saying, “solve problems in a constructive way that will…”
Toad Tarkington caught Jake’s eye with a warning glance. Apparently he could see that his boss was struggling to keep a grip on his temper.
God! Was it that obvious?
The fact that Tenney could probably also see the effect of his innocent act was gasoline on the fire. Jake felt the heat as his face flushed. Herb Tenney and his CIA bugs… Sunday op-ed drivel from the ambassador…if he had to sit here in this museum exhibit of bureaucratic good taste for another two minutes he was going to be in a mood to strangle them both.
“Mr. Ambassador,” Jake interrupted as he struggled to rise from the overstuffed chair. “I didn’t get any sleep on the plane and I’ve just spent an hour with the naval attaché. I’ve got to lie down for a few hours. Is there anyplace I can crash?”
“Oh, of course, of course. You must be rested when you meet General Yakolev in the morning. I should have thought of that. Would you like something to eat before you go to bed?”
“No, thank you, sir. Perhaps a light breakfast in the morning?”
“No problem, Admiral. We’ll talk again then.”
Jake Grafton shook the ambassador’s hand, nodded at Ms. Hempstead, then turned and tramped out without even a glance at Tenney.
He woke up at midnight after four hours’ sleep and found he was wide awake. He turned on the bedside light and examined his watch. What time was it in Washington? What the hell was the time differential? Eight hours? Four o’clock in the afternoon in Washington. No wonder he couldn’t sleep even though he was tired.
From the window he could see the Moscow skyline as the anemic city lights made the clouds glow. And the sky wasn’t completely dark — sort of a twilight.
He dressed quickly in civilian clothes and pulled on a light jacket. He picked up the phone and was quickly connected to the enlisted marine at the duty desk. “Could I get a car and driver? I’d like to do a little sight-seeing.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sir.” The marine’s voice was matter of fact, held not a trace of surprise. Perhaps these requests were common, Jake mused, from new arrivals suffering from jet lag.
“Okay.”
“It’ll be just a few minutes, sir.”
The driver, a sergeant, motored slowly on a journey without a destination as Jake Grafton took it all in from the backseat. The city didn’t resemble any city he had ever visited. The streets were poorly lit and had private cars parked everywhere. There seemed to be no shortage of parking spaces. At least there was one thing Russia had enough of. Only because they didn’t have many cars. Occasionally he saw a few soldiers at street corners, here and there some civilians.
Now and then the driver told him the name of some public building, softly, almost whispering it.
Yes, Jake too felt like a trespasser.
The public buildings were large and grand, but once away from them the streets were lined with endless blocks of concrete buildings designed without imagination and constructed without craft. What these buildings would look like covered with snow and ice was something Grafton didn’t want to think about. Some of the buildings were abandoned, mere shells with sockets where the windows had been.
He always got depressed at first in foreign cities — culture shock, he supposed. Tonight the empty streets and the dark blocks of miserable flats reflected a people devoid of hope. It was a sadness that shook Jake Grafton to the marrow.
Inevitably his mind turned to the eighty-five million. Murder on that scale must have a profound effect on those left behind — an effect beyond anything encompassed by grief or tragedy. To live with evil on such a scale was beyond Jake Grafton’s comprehension. These people were all guilty, all of them; those who gave the orders and those who pulled the triggers and those who buried them and those who pretended it never happened.
Where does responsibility stop? Is it an exclusive property of these miserable, impoverished people crowded into these miserable, mean buildings, fighting for survival?
Jake Grafton thought not. He rode through the summer twilight streets looking at the new sights with old, tired eyes.
6
Herb Tenney arrived at the breakfast table as the orange juice and coffee were served.
“Morning, Admiral. Commander.” He nodded at each of them in turn and gave his order to the waiter.
“Your first time in Moscow?” Tenney asked as Jake Grafton turned his attention back to his coffee cup.
“Uh-huh.”
Tenney launched into a discourse on the city that sounded suspiciously like the text from a guidebook. He looked rested and fresh after a good night’s sleep, which wasn’t the way Jake felt. He had gotten only one more hour of sleep after the excursion last night. This morning he felt tired, listless.
Tenney poured himself a cup of coffee without missing a beat in his monologue. He added a dollop of cream to the mixture and half a spoonful of sugar, then agitated the liquid with a spoon. He paused in his discourse and took a sip.
“Ahh, nothing like coffee in the morning. Anyway, Peter the Great built…”
Jake stared at the black liquid in the cup in front of him. He had already had a sip and the slightly acid taste lingered still in his mouth. Would there be a taste to binary poison? What had that report said?
Tenney took another sip of his coffee, then added another smidgen of sugar and languidly stirred with his spoon while he rambled on about the city of the czars.
When the waiter slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, Jake Grafton could only stare at it.
“Something wrong, Admiral?”
Tenney was looking at him solicitously.
Jake Grafton gritted his teeth. Then his face relaxed into a smile. “Jet lag.”
“Takes a while to get over,” Tenney said. “The main thing is to sleep when you’re sleepy and not try to fool Mother Nature.”
Jake Grafton slid his chair back. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, then glanced at Toad. “Come up to my room when you’re finished here.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Nicolai Yakolev, the Russian Army chief of staff, was a short, ugly man with bushy eyebrows, a huge veined nose, a lantern jaw, and ears that stuck out like jug handles. The wonder was that he could see anything at all with the eyebrows and clifflike nose obstructing his vision. Still, once you ignored nature’s decorations you caught a glimpse of lively blue eyes.
Yakolev squeezed Jake’s right hand with a vise grip, then shook hands with Herb Tenney as Jake flexed his right hand several times to restore the circulation and watched that impressive, ugly face.