it is us who owe you thanks."
Lord was puzzled, but said nothing.
Pashenko motioned to upholstered chairs. "Why don't we sit. I have dinner warming in the kitchen. Some wine, perhaps?"
He glanced at Akilina, who shook her head. "No, thank you."
Pashenko noticed Akilina's costume and told one of the men to fetch her a bathrobe. They sat before a fire and Lord removed his jacket.
"I chop the wood at mydacha north of Moscow," Pashenko said. "I so like a fire, though this apartment is centrally heated."
Another Russian rarity, he thought. He also noticed the driver of the Mercedes take up a position at one of the windows, periodically peeking out through the closed curtains. The man peeled off his coat, exposing a handgun nestled in a shoulder harness.
"Who are you, Professor?" Lord asked.
"I am a Russian who is glad for the future."
"Could we dispense with the riddles? I'm tired, and it's been a long three days."
Pashenko bowed his head in an apparent apology. "From all reports, I agree. The incident in Red Square made the news. Curious there was no mention of you in the official reports, but Vitaly"--Pashenko motioned to the man from yesterday in St. Petersburg--"saw it all. The police arrived just in time."
"Your man was there?"
"He went to St. Petersburg to make sure your train ride was uneventful. But the same two gentlemen with whom you are, by now, intimately familiar interfered."
"How did he find me?"
"He saw you and Miss Petrovna together and watched while you jumped from the train. Another man with him followed your actions farther down the tracks and found you at the grocery using the telephone."
"What about my bodyguard?"
"We thought he might work for themafiya. Now we are sure."
"Could I ask why I am involved?" Akilina said.
Pashenko leveled a gaze at her. "You involved yourself, my dear."
"I involved nothing. Mr. Lord happened into my compartment on the train last night. That's all."
Pashenko straightened in the chair. "I, too, was curious of your involvement. So I took the liberty of checking on you today. We have extensive contacts in the government."
Akilina's face tightened. "I don't appreciate you invading my privacy."
Pashenko gave a short laugh. "That is a concept we Russians know little of, my dear. Let's see. You
were born here in Moscow. Your parents divorced when you were twelve. Since neither one of them could receive Soviet permission for another apartment, they were forced to live together afterward. Granted, their accommodations were a bit better than most, given your father's usefulness to the state as a performer, but it was nonetheless a stressful situation. By the way, I saw your father perform several times. He was a marvelous acrobat."
She acknowledged the compliment with a nod.
"Your father became involved with a Romanian national who was associated with the circus. She became pregnant, but returned home with the child. Your father tried to obtain an exit visa, but the authorities denied his requests. The communists were not in the habit of allowing their performers to leave. When he tried to leave without permission, he was detained and sent to a camp.
"Your mother remarried, but that marriage ended quickly in divorce. When she couldn't find a place to live after the second divorce--apartments were quite scarce, I remember well--she was forced to once again live with your father. By then, the authorities had decided to release him from the camp. So there, in that tiny apartment, the two of them languished in separate rooms until both died an early death. Quite a statement for our `people's republic,' wouldn't you say?"
Akilina said nothing, but Lord could feel the pain radiating from her eyes.
"I lived with my grandmother in the country," she said to Pashenko, "so I didn't have to see my parents' torment. I didn't even talk with them the last three years. They died bitter, angry, and alone."
"Were you there when the Soviets took your grandmother away?" Pashenko asked.
She shook her head. "By then I had been placed in the special performers' school. I was told she died of old age. I only learned the truth later."
"You of all people should be a catalyst for change. Anything has to be better than what we had."
Lord felt for the woman sitting beside him. He wanted to assure her that things like that would never happen again. But that wouldn't be true. Instead, he asked, "Professor, do you know what's going on?"
A crease of concern laced the older man's face. "Yes, I do."
He waited for an explanation.
"Have you