She was cold and losing patience. “Look, even if the deputy ambassador has retired early with his chocolate milk, there must be other staff members still awake who can identify me.” She searched her memory. Who had been present at the brief breakfasts? No one.

“Wait. The ambassador’s driver. Robert something.” The corporal remained unmoved. “Robert… Dunham? No, Dornwend. Robert Dornwend. He’ll know me.”

“Mr. Dornwend is off duty now and in his quarters. You can talk to him tomorrow morning.” He was about to close the door when she stepped forward and blocked it with her good hand. Immediately he drew his sidearm and pointed it at her. “Take your hand off the door or I’ll shoot.”

That was the last straw. “Look, you stupid shit. I work for Harry Hopkins and the White House and have important business with your ambassador. You can see what kind of shape I’m in. If you don’t let me in, I’ll have your sorry ass busted to civilian, and you’ll spend time in Leavenworth for obstructing White House business. Now, if you won’t wake your candy-assed deputy ambassador, then at least go get Robert Dornwend. Surely you’re not afraid of him.”

Stunned, he lowered his pistol but still held the door three-quarters shut and seemed to consider the remote possibility she was right. “Stay here while I check if Mr. Dornwend is available.”

“Tell him it’s Kramer,” she called through the closing door. “Mia Kramer!”

She waited again, stamping one foot and then the other, for warmth. She was close, so close. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. She couldn’t measure them except by the throbbing in her shoulder. Twenty throbs per minute. She grew ever more furious. And then the door opened again.

“Miss Kramer?” The kindly face that greeted her was puffy with sleep, and his hair was still disheveled from bed. No matter, she would have hugged him, if her shoulder cast didn’t prevent it. “Dear Lord, come in.”

He drew her by her good arm into the lobby, still dimly lit and unheated for the night. But it was legally American soil, and she was now, definitively, home again.

“We wondered for so long what happened to you. I’m sure you have a long and shocking story to tell, but for now, come in and have something warm to drink.” He urged her past the guard, who stood, aloof, staring over their heads, his demeanor announcing I just followed orders. Yes, he had, the prick.

Robert led her to the kitchen, flicked on the lights, and set a kettle of water on the stove. “Ambassador Harriman is spending this evening with Mr. Molotov. Something part business and part social. You know how the Russians are. A Kremlin car will bring him back here, but I’m sure it won’t be until the early morning hours. And then he’ll sleep. In the meantime, after your little cup of tea, I’ll take you to one of the guest rooms, and you can also enjoy a good night’s sleep on home soil, as it were.”

“You’re so kind, Mr… uh, Robert. It’s really a great relief. And I’m sure Molotov is filling Mr. Harriman’s head with all kinds of crap I’ll have to undo when we talk.”

“I have no doubt of that, my dear,” he said, pouring hot water over a little gauze tea sack. “I won’t ask you anything tonight except for your assurances that you are all right. I mean, the bloody uniform and the cast are a little alarming.”

“I’m fine now, Robert. The cast is for a broken shoulder and thereby hangs a tale. I’m afraid I can tell it only once, though, to Mr. Harriman.” She added sugar and sipped, comforted by the familiar taste yet slightly amused at how bland American tea tasted compared with the Russian brew she’d been drinking at the front. “What’s the news of the war? I’ve only see one side of it in The Red Star.”

“Oh, that is a bit complicated to tell. Some business is happening in Warsaw, an uprising against the Nazis that the Russians refuse to support. The ambassador can presumably explain that. And our troops have reached the city of Arnhem, in the Netherlands. The reports are vague, so it’s probably not going well.”

She finished her tea. “With the liberation of Paris, we all thought the war was nearly over, didn’t we? But defeating the Germans is an uphill battle. The Russians are paying for every mile of advance, too.” She thought of Sasha and Fatima.

He took the empty cup out of her hand and carried it to the sink. “It’s a terrible thing the world has gotten itself into. We can only pray we’ve learned something from it. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“I must say, I’m stupefied.” Ambassador Harriman stood up as she entered his office late the next morning. “Although I should have been ready for anything.” He shook her hand warmly and guided her to a chair next to his desk. “According to Mr. Molotov, you were dead, then possibly alive, then dead again. Possibly.”

She sat down as comfortably as her protruding cast would allow. “What did he tell you? I’m curious to know. And then I’ll tell you the truth.”

“He said at first that you had identified some suspects in the theft, and that you decided—on very short notice and without informing me—to go with one of the distribution planes to the front. I found that hard to believe but was not in a position to call him a liar. Then he announced that the plane had gone off course and been shot down. You were presumed lost, along with the crew and cargo.”

“That was it? I was dead?”

“No, a few days later he reported that you’d survived the crash, that the cargo had arrived in Soviet hands, and that as soon as you recovered from your injuries, you would be sent back to Moscow, where he would see to your safety.”

She scratched along her neck where the cast was itching. “And then?”

“And then they seem to have lost you again. I got a call for a meeting about a month ago in which Mr. Molotov was in rather good spirits, considering his final report was that you had been killed by enemy fire on the way to the hospital at Novgorod. Of course I informed Mr. Hopkins.” He sat back and clapped his hands on the armrests of his chair. “And yet, out of the blue, you reappear, alive, though slightly dented.”

He stood up and gestured toward the door. “So now we will take a little walk outside. It’s rather nice today, so all you’ll need is this.” He tossed her a woolen scarf that could serve as a shawl.

They stepped outside into the late-morning sunshine. The garden surrounding Spaso House was a bit sad. In the October air, the leaves had dropped from the trees and shrubbery, and lay in piles here and there. The embassy presumably had no staff to rake them up. Nonetheless, the autumn air was clear, and after weeks in the hospital, Mia savored the simple pleasure of strolling, unaided and unthreatened.

She took a deep inhalation. “Well, I have to admit, Molotov is a crafty politician, and certain shards of his stories are true. You’ll recall I had some suspects, but he was one of them, along with Ustinov and his assistant Nazarov. Nazarov, for sure, because I caught him in an outright lie. But Molotov had to be involved since he was willing to have me killed to cover the story.”

“Killed? But how?”

“Well…” And during the leisurely amble over the lawns, she told the story of her last five months.

Harriman was silent throughout except for an occasional grunt of surprise.

“So that’s it.” She concluded her story.

He slowed his pace. “I wonder how Molotov found out what you knew and that you were about to report your suspicions to the White House.”

Slightly chilled, Mia pulled the scarf over her exposed shoulder. “I think I know. I had all my suspicions laid out in a draft letter, the one you advised me not to send, and I didn’t. But it was lying on my night table that morning, uncoded, of course, and when I left my room to see you, I passed your cleaning woman. I didn’t think about it at the time, but it’s possible she photographed it. Or memorized it.”

“Cleaning woman? That would have been Svetlana, who has keys to all the guest rooms. Curious. She never misses a day, but today she didn’t show up for work.”

“That could mean she’s the Kremlin’s eyes in the embassy, while their bugs do the listening. So, where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know, frankly. Offhand, my advice is still to not burden the White House with the accusation, given the negotiations going on about world issues. Not to mention that the president is campaigning for reelection. Molotov is a very big fish, and much too close to Stalin.” They walked in silence another twenty paces.

“I think you should go ahead and make out your report to Harry, but not treat it as a demand for justice. I believe you, and Harry will believe you, but—at least for the kidnapping and murder attempt—you have no proof. I suspect Harry will set it aside, since his primary concern is keeping communication open between the president and Stalin. A scandal of this magnitude would be a serious embarrassment to Stalin, but also a major problem for us.”

“For Molotov, too, wouldn’t it? I mean, wouldn’t Stalin solve it by eliminating him? He’s done that to men for far less.”

“That’s a good possibility. And knowing that gives you an advantage.”

Mia halted and let the morning sun warm her face, then refocused her thoughts. “Speaking of the bugs in the house, do you suppose word has gotten back to the Kremlin that I’m here? By now most of the staff knows it, including Svetlana.”

“I’d say it’s a near certainty,” Harriman said. “Are you ready to go back inside and talk about more trivial things?”

“You mean our chat for the Kremlin? Yes, I am. Then we’ll see who telephones and wants to talk.”