“I miss you, too, Robert. Take care of yourself.” And the connection was broken. He was in Russia, alone.
Day Twelve
Kiev, the Soviet Union
Early the following morning, ten minutes after the library opened, Robert walked into the huge, gloomy building and approached the reception desk.
“Good morning,” Robert said.
The woman behind the desk looked up. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a woman whom I believe works here, Olga—”
“Olga? Yes, yes.” She pointed to another room. “She will be in there.”
“Thank you.”
It had been as easy as that. Robert walked into the other room past groups of students solemnly studying at long tables. Preparing for what kind of future? Robert wondered. He reached a smaller reading room and walked inside. A woman was busily stacking books.
“Excuse me,” Robert said.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Olga?”
“I am Olga. What do you wish with me?”
Robert smiled disarmingly. “I’m writing a newspaper article on perestroika and how it affects the average Ukrainian. Has it made much difference in your life?”
The woman shrugged. “Before Gorbachev we were afraid to open our mouths. Now we can open our mouths, but we have nothing to put in them.”
Robert tried another tactic. “Surely there are some changes for the better. For instance, you are able to travel now.”
“You must be joking. With a husband and six children, who can afford to travel?”
Robert plowed on. “Still, you went to Switzerland, and—”
“Switzerland? I have never been to Switzerland in my life.”
Robert said slowly, “You’ve never been to Switzerland?”
“I just told you.” She nodded toward a dark-haired woman who was collecting books from the table. “She’s the lucky one who got to go to Switzerland.”
Robert took a quick look. “What’s her name?”
“Olga. The same as mine.”
He sighed. “Thank you.”
A minute later, Robert was in a conversation with the second Olga.
“Excuse me,” Robert said. “I’m writing a newspaper article on perestroika and the effect that it’s had on Ukrainian lives.”
She looked at him warily. “Yes?”
“What’s your name?”
“Olga. Olga Romanchanko.”
“Tell me, Olga, has perestroika made any difference to you?”
Six years earlier, Olga Romanchanko would have been afraid to speak to a foreigner, but now it was allowed. “Not really,” she said carefully. “Everything is much the same.”
The stranger was persistent. “Nothing at all has changed in your life?”
She shook her head. “No.” And then added patriotically, “Of course, we can travel outside the country now.”
He seemed interested. “And have you traveled outside the country?”
“Oh, yes,” she said proudly. “I have just returned from Switzerland. Is very beautiful country.”
“I agree,” he said. “Did you get a chance to meet anyone on the trip?”
“I met many people. I took bus, and we went through high mountains. The Alps.” Suddenly, Olga realized she shouldn’t have said that because the stranger might ask her about the spaceship, and she did not want to talk about that. It could only get her into trouble.
“Really?” asked Robert. “Tell me about the people on the bus.”
Relieved, Olga responded, “Very friendly. They were dressed so—” She gestured. “Very rich. I even met man from your capital city, Washington, D.C.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Very nice. He gave me card.”
Robert’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you still have it?”
“No. I threw it away.” She looked around. “Is better not keep things like that.”
Damn!
And then she added, “I remember his name. Parker, like your American pen. Kevin Parker. Very important in politics. He tells senators how vote.”
Robert was taken aback. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes. He takes them on trips and gives gifts, and then they vote for things his clients need. That is the way democracy works in America.”
A lobbyist. Robert let Olga talk for the next fifteen minutes, but he got no further useful information about the other passengers.
Robert telephoned General Hilliard from his hotel room.
“I found the Soviet witness. Her name is Olga Romanchanko. She works in the main library in Kiev.”
“I’ll have a Soviet official speak to her.”
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