from her.
"Are youmafiya ?" she asked.
He shook his head. "But the men after me may be. They killed a man two days ago and tried to kill me."
"Step back," she said.
He brushed past toward the compartment's solitary window. She slid open the door, glanced out casually, then shut it.
"There are three men at the far end."
"Three?"
"Yes. One has a black ponytail. The other is craggy with a wide nose, like a Tatar."
Droopy and Cro-Magnon.
"The third is muscular. No neck. Blond hair."
It sounded like Zinov. His mind raced at the possibilities. "Are the three talking?"
She nodded. "They are also knocking on compartment doors, headed this way."
The concern that immediately filled his eyes was apparently evident. She pointed to the bin above the door. "Climb up there and stay quiet."
The recess was large enough for two good-sized pieces of luggage, more than enough room to accommodate him in the fetal position. He sprang onto one of the berths and hauled himself up. She handed him his briefcase. He'd just settled in when a knock came on the compartment door.
She answered the call.
"We are looking for a black man, dressed in a suit, carrying a briefcase." The voice was Zinov's.
"I have seen no such man," she said.
"Do not lie to us," Cro-Magnon said. "We are not to be misled. Have you seen him?" The tone was harsh.
"I have seen no such man. I want no trouble from you."
"Your face is familiar," Droopy said.
"I am Akilina Petrovna of the Moscow Circus."
A moment passed.
"That is it. I have seen you perform."
"How wonderful. Perhaps you should continue your search elsewhere. I need some sleep. I have a performance in the evening."
She slammed the compartment door shut.
He heard the lock engage.
And for the third time in two days, he heaved a deep sigh of relief.
He waited a full minute before climbing down. A cold sweat drenched his chest. His hostess sat on the opposite berth.
"Why do these men want to kill you?" The tone of her voice was soft. Still not a hint of concern.
"I have no idea. I'm a lawyer from America, here working with the Tsarist Commission. Until two days ago, I didn't think anybody even knew I was alive, other than my boss."
He sat on the opposite bed. The adrenaline was receding, replaced by a throbbing in every muscle of his body. Fatigue was setting in. But he still had a major problem. "One of those men, the first who spoke to you, was supposed to be my bodyguard. Apparently there's a lot more to him than I thought."
The features on her compact face wrinkled. "I would not recommend turning to him for help. The three appeared to be working together."
He asked, "Is this an everyday thing in Russia? Strange men slipping into your compartment? Mobsters at your door. You seem to have no fear."
"Should I?"
"I'm not saying you should. God knows, I'm harmless. But in America this could be construed as a dangerous situation."
She shrugged. "You don't appear dangerous. Actually, when I saw you, I thought of my grandmother."
He waited for her to explain.
"She grew up in the time of Khrushchev and Brezhnev. The Americans used to send spies to test the soil for radioactivity, trying to find the missile silos. Everyone was warned about them, told they were dangerous, told to be on the lookout. Once, my grandmother was out in the woods and met a strange man gathering mushrooms. He was dressed as a peasant and carried a wicker basket like people do in the woods. She was completely unafraid and walked straight up to him and said, `Hello, spy.' He stared at her, shocked, but didn't deny the allegation. Instead, he said, `I was trained so well. I learned everything about Russia I could. How did you know I was a spy?' `That's easy,' my grandmother said. `I've lived here all my life and you're the first black man I've ever seen in these woods.' The same is true for you, Miles Lord. You're the first black man I've ever seen on this train."
He smiled. "Your grandmother sounds like a practical woman."
"She was. Until the communists took her one night. Somehow, a seventy-year-old woman threatened an empire."
He'd read about how Stalin slaughtered twenty million in the name of the Motherland, and how the party secretaries and Soviet presidents who came after him weren't any better. What had Lenin said?Better to arrest a hundred innocent people than run the risk of one enemy of the regime remaining free.
"I'm sorry,"