The Sky Is Falling

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 fromDoctor 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."

"Yes. How is it?"

"It's one of your typical Intourist hotels. You can be sure there will be someone on your floor to keep an eye on you."

The streets were crowded with people bundled up in furs and heavy sweaters and overcoats. Tim Drew glanced over at Dana. "You'd better get some warmer clothes or you're going to freeze."

"I'll be fine. I should be on my way home tomorrow or the next day."

Ahead of them was Red Square and the Kremlin. The Kremlin itself stood high on a hill that towered over the left bank of the Moskva River.

"My God, that's impressive," Dana said.

"Yeah. If those walls could talk, you'd hear a lot of screaming." Tim Drew went on: "It's one of the most famous buildings in the world. It sits on a plot of land covering Little Borovitsky Hill on the north bank and..."

Dana had stopped listening. She was thinking, What if Antonio Persico lied? What if he made up the story about Taylor Winthrop killing the boy? And lied about the Russian plan.

"That's Red Square outside the east wall. The Kutafya Tower there is the visitors' entrance at the west wall."

But then why was Taylor Winthrop so desperate to come to Russia? Simply being ambassador would not have meant that much to him.

Tim Drew was saying, "This is where all the Russian power has been for centuries. Ivan the Terrible and Stalin had their headquarters here, and Lenin and Khrushchev."

All the pieces fell into place. I have to find out what he meant by that.

They had pulled up in front of an enormous hotel. "Here we are," Tim Drew said.

"Thanks, Tim." Dana got out of the car and was hit by a solid wave of freezing air.

"You go on inside," Tim called. "I'll bring your bags in. By the way, if you're free this evening, I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Thank you very much."

"There's a private club that has good food. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Lovely."

The lobby of the Sevastopol Hotel was large and ornate, and filled with people. There were several clerks working behind the reception desk. Dana walked up to one of them.

He looked up. "Da?"

"I'm Dana Evans. I have a reservation."

The man looked at her a moment and said nervously, "Ah, yes. Miss Evans." He handed her a reservation card. "Would you fill this out, please? And I'll need your passport."

As Dana began to write, the clerk looked across the lobby at a man standing in the corner and nodded. Dana handed the registration card to the clerk.

"I'll have someone take you to your room."

"Thank you."

The room had a vague air of onetime gentility, and the furniture looked worn and shabby and smelled musty.

A heavyset woman in a shapeless uniform brought in Dana's bags. Dana tipped her, and the woman grunted and left. Dana picked up the telephone and called 252-2451.

"American Embassy."

"Ambassador Hardy's office, please."

"One moment."

"Ambassador Hardy's office."

"Hello. This is Dana Evans. May I speak to the ambassador?"

"Could you tell me what it's concerning?"

"It's - it's personal."

"Just a moment, please."

Thirty seconds later Ambassador Hardy was on the phone. "Miss Evans?"

"Yes."

"Welcome to Moscow."

"Thank you."

"Roger Hudson called to say you were coming. What can I do for you?"

"I wonder if I could come and see you?"

"Certainly. I'm - hold on a moment." There was a brief pause, and the ambassador came back on the line. "What about tomorrow morning? Ten o'clock?"

"That will be fine. Thank you very much."

"Until then."

Dana looked out the window at the crowds hurrying through the bitter cold and thought, Tim was right. I had better buy some warmer clothes.

GUM Department Store was not far from Dana's hotel. It was an enormous emporium, stocked with cheap goods that ranged from clothing to hardware.