The Russian Affair - By Michael Wallner Page 0,111

that a scientific exchange would be advantageous in that it would demonstrate the open, international aspect of Soviet research. After this fundamental decision, the meeting proceeded to determine not which scientists would travel to Stockholm, but which Party officials would accompany them. The proposal that the Minister in person should head the delegation found general acceptance; Deputy Minister Alexey Bulyagkov would remain in Moscow for the duration of the visit. As the next order of business, the Minister instructed the Deputy Minister to draw up a list of eminent scientists, from among whom those most appropriate for the delegation would subsequently be chosen. It went without saying that a copy of the list would be submitted to the Committee for State Security, and that the Research Department would then have to wait and see whether the names on the list met with any objections from the KGB. There being no further business, the minutes of the assembly were turned over for transcription, and the Minister adjourned the meeting. The comrades made their way back to their offices or betook themselves to an early lunch. Although Alexey was hungry, he distrusted the special of the day—meat loaf—and limited himself to a portion of caramel custard and a bottle of lemonade. After lunch, he went to his office and made telephone calls for half an hour, dictated a few letters, and rejected his secretary’s undrinkable coffee. He met with a ministerial colleague to finalize the wording of an obituary for a recently deceased cosmonaut and chatted in the corridor with a couple of old companions. Eventually, he sent word to Anton to pick him up at the rear exit.

The weather had cleared up, and the afternoon was inviting. Enjoying the drive, Alexey leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window. The melting of the last snow and the awakening of the buds went hand in hand, and water was gurgling in the roof gutters. Puddles stood in green spaces where the ground was still frozen.

All at once, Alexey changed his mind: “Let me out here.”

Anton pulled over near Obukha Lane, so Bulyagkov could take a walk along a branch of the Moskva River. He liked to make decisions while out walking; in this case, he was thinking over the impending Stockholm trip and the task assigned to him in that regard. The accomplishments of Soviet scientific research could be seen most clearly in the chemical industry; therefore, chemists should form the main contingent of the visiting delegation: the ammonia experts from Severodonetsk and the synthetic-fiber developers from Nevinnomyssk. The distinguished collective of bone marrow specialists from Krasnoyarsk could be brought along to represent Soviet medical science. Of course, the Swedes were most interested in exchanges in the field of nuclear research, but here the Soviets would exercise prudence. There would be no risk in allowing Comrade Budker to go to Stockholm and present his work in aerophysics. Soviet study of laser–plasma interaction was old hat, Alexey thought; the Americans had long since outstripped everyone in that field. The delegation should include at least three scientists from the atomic cities of Novosibirsk and Dubna; Nikolai Lyushin had announced his interest, but sending him was out of the question. The man was too impulsive, unable to control his tongue, and inclined to boasting. Bulyagkov decided to anticipate the Committee’s selection criteria and nominate only scientists who had families. Besides, everything had to move quickly; when it came to issuing visas, the folks in the Lubyanka wouldn’t let themselves be hurried, and the trip was already set for May.

Bulyagkov left the embankment promenade and turned into the quarter that included, on its other end, Drezhnevskaya Street. The bushes were bright green, and he bent over to examine a twig. It’s the most audacious leap of my life, he thought; I don’t know anyone who’d take such a risk at my age. Above his head, some black and white birds kicked up a racket, zipping from branch to branch and celebrating the warmer weather. He looked up into the still-bare crowns of the trees and saw the sky through them, so brilliantly blue that it made his heart leap.

He thought about his last gift to Medea, the two canaries. In a queer way, the birds had now acquired a deeper significance: Only the cage had made them a couple; if you opened the door of the cage, each of them would fly off in a different direction. The separation from Medea was the most