At midnight, as Dana was walking the streets, Paris exploded in a cacophony of noise and confetti. She wondered what Jeff was doing. Are he and Rachel making love? He had not called. How could he have forgotten that this night was so special?
In Dana’s hotel room, on the floor, near the dresser, the cell phone that had fallen from her purse was ringing.
When Dana returned to the Plaza Athénée, it was three in the morning. She walked into her room, got undressed, and crawled into bed. First her father and now Jeff. Abandonment ran through her life like a dark thread in a tapestry. I’m not going to feel sorry for myself, she swore. So what if this was going to be my wedding night. Oh, Jeff, why don’t you call me?
She cried herself to sleep.
XIX
THE FLIGHT TO MOSCOW on Sabena Airlines took three and a half hours. Dana noted that most of the passengers were dressed in warm clothing, and the baggage racks were loaded with fur coats, hats, and scarves.
I should have dressed more warmly, Dana thought. Well, I won’t be in Moscow for more than a day or two.
She could not stop thinking about Antonio Persico’s words. Winthrop was like a crazy man. All he kept saying on the phone was “The Russian plan must go on. We’ve gone too far to let anything stop it now.”
What important plan was Winthrop working on? What pieces had fallen into place? And soon after, the president had appointed him ambassador to Moscow.
The more information I get, the less sense it makes, Dana decided.
To Dana’s surprise, Sheremetyevo II, Russia’s international airport, was crowded with tourists. Why would any sane person visit Russia in the winter? Dana wondered.
When Dana reached the baggage carousel, a man standing nearby was surreptitiously watching her. Dana’s heart skipped a beat. They knew I was coming here, she thought. How could they have?
The man was approaching her. “Dana Evans?” He had a thick Slovak accent.
“Yes…”
He broke into a broad smile and said excitedly, “You are my biggest fan! You watch me on television all the time.”
Dana felt a surge of relief. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
“I wonder if you would be so pleasant to give me your autograph?”
“Of course.”
He thrust a piece of paper in front of Dana. “I do not have a pen.”
“I do.” Dana took out her new gold pen and gave him her autograph.
“Spasiba! Spasiba!”
As Dana started to put the pen back in her purse, someone jostled her and the pen fell to the concrete floor. Dana reached down and picked it up. The casing had cracked.
I hope I can get this repaired, Dana thought. And then she looked at it more closely. A tiny wire was showing through the crack. Puzzled, she pulled it out gently. There was a microtransmitter attached to it. Dana stared at it in disbelief. That’s how they always knew where I was! But who put it there and why? She remembered the card that had come with it.
Dear Dana, have a safe trip. The Gang.
Furious, Dana ripped out the wire, threw it to the ground, and crushed it with her heel.
In an isolated laboratory room, the signal marker on a map suddenly disappeared.
“Oh, shit!”
“Dana?”
She turned. WTN’s Moscow correspondent stood there.
“I’m Tim Drew. Sorry I’m late. The traffic out there is a nightmare.”
Tim Drew was in his forties, a tall, red-haired man with a warm smile. “I have a car waiting outside. Matt tells me that you’re here for just a couple of days.”
“That’s right.”
They picked up Dana’s luggage at the carousel and headed outside.
The drive into Moscow was like a scene from Doctor Zhivago. It seemed to Dana that the entire city was wrapped in a mantle of pure white snow.
“This is so beautiful!” Dana exclaimed. “How long have you been here?”
“Two years.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a little scary. Yeltsin is always two rolls short of a baker’s dozen, and no one knows what to expect from Vladimir Putin. The inmates are running the asylum.” He slammed to a stop to let some jaywalkers pass. “You’re booked at the Sevastopol Hotel.”