"You leave that to me, but I can tell you this: if I gave Chenkov what he could get, and gladly, from any Russian beauty, he'd tire of me." "Just what do you do?" Laniq practiced some exaggerated bumps and grinds like those Tedor had often seen in the Eradrome. "Enough, but not too much. Listen, Tedor--you'd better be on your way in a few minutes. What happens if Chenkov finds you here?" Grumbling, Tedor picked up his fur-lined coat and Russian pile-cap. "There's a man at the Spasso House," he told her. "Someone who decided he liked the twentieth century better than our own, counterfeited a birth certificate, deposited it in an American department of health some thirty years ago and took up citizenship there. He went into state department work and is here in Moscow now. "You get what information you can from Chenkov. I'll see my friend. We'll compare notes and decide what to do. Laniq--I want you to--well, be careful, that's all." "Well ..." Laniq smiled at him. "I'm not joking. Maybe that gown kind of hurried what I felt all along, but it was coming, Laniq. I loved you from the beginning but didn't know it. Laniq, be careful." "You can come back and sleep here tonight if you want. I'll see you in the morning. And you know I'll be careful, Tedor. Now that I've found you I want to keep you--and I want to stay healthy enough to appreciate what I've got." The phone rang. "Hello, this is Anna Myinkov. Yes? Oh, yes, Vladimir. My, but that was fast. Of course." Laniq hung up, shoved Tedor toward the door. "Get out of here, quick! Chenkov's suite of rooms when he's not in the Kremlin or his dacha is in a hotel down the street. He's early. He's on his way up right now. Scram!" Tedor kissed her quickly, stalked out into the hall and waited for the elevator. A middle-aged man got off--wearing the uniform of a Red Army marshal, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. "You should have doffed your hat," the female elevator operator admonished Tedor as they started down. "That was Marshal Chenkov." "Don't I know it," said Tedor. * * * * * "Barwan! This is a surprise. Come in, come in." The Spasso House, the American Embassy adjacent to Red Square, was a gaunt, grim structure. Frawdin Chlon--Harry Marsden now--was a man of about Tedor's age, but shorter, fair of skin and hair and quite calm and self-possessed in an American business suit. "We were about to close for the day, Barwan. But this is a surprise." "How are you, Frawdin--no, I guess it had better be Harry." "You're telling me! Fine, thank you. It's quite a coincidence, because I had another visitor earlier today. He says he knows you and wanted to see you, but I had no idea you were in Moscow." "Who was that?" "A solidio writer, name of Dorlup." "Dorlup?" Tedor frowned. "He claims to be in some kind of trouble and says he has a story to tell which would make your hair stand on end." "He has a habit of doing that. Do you have his address?"