Red Star Burning

it.”

Elliott loosened the arm he’d had around her, holding her to him. “I didn’t start it.”

Stop! She had to stop this. “There might be something else to talk about.”

“What?” he asked, no longer softly, moving farther away.

“Something big.”

“How big?”

“Major.”

“As big as Lvov?”

“It could be bigger.”

“You’ll keep me ahead of the curve, won’t you?”

“You know I will,” she promised, smiling into his shoulder as he pulled her back.

The discreet restaurant, close to the Pont d’Italie, was a rendezvous for illicit assignations. Its cubicle- recessed, candlelit tables did not fully compete with the wall-mirrored, chaise-longue-provided salon particulaire of the Belle Epoch but some had entrance curtains to pull across for assured privacy. Jonathan Miller hadn’t chosen a curtained alcove for the introductory meeting with Elana and Andrei Radtsic but he had made the reservation in person, under the pseudonym Bissette, to ensure it suited their nonsexual seclusion. He and Abrahams arrived an hour early, although separately, and did not enter until both were independently satisfied there was no hostile surveillance. As an additional precaution a third MI6 officer, Paul Painter, remained in Albert Abrahams’s car to maintain protective, alarm-raising observation throughout their meal.

As they were shown to their banquette, Miller said: “From how he greeted us the maitre ’d’s frightened we’re part of a gay gathering.”

“He’d probably prefer that to knowing who we really are and why we’re here.”

“If Elana and Andrei show up,” qualified Miller.

They didn’t. Elana arrived precisely on time but alone and as both men rose to meet her, Miller said: “I wish I hadn’t said that.”

The station chief ordered Chablis for Elana and as the waiter left said: “Why isn’t Andrei with you?”

“He’s coming later,” said Elana. She was the epitome of Parisian chic in a fitted black suit that heightened the blondness of her tightly coiled chignon.

“Is there a problem?” asked Abrahams.

“He said he has a late class and would join us when it finished.”

“So there is a problem?” said Abrahams, instinctively checking his watch, which read 7:35.

Elana sipped her wine, not looking directly at either man. “He doesn’t want to do it. Neither do I.”

“But you’re here, to meet us?” said Miller.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

“Is that what Andrei thinks?” pressed Abrahams.

“It’s what I’ve tried to convince him. I’m not sure that I have.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve accepted I have to run, leave everything.”

“Andrei can’t stay,” insisted Miller, shaking his head against the waiter’s approach for their order.

“I know.”

“You can’t have more time to persuade him. Maxim Mikhailovich’s flight has been booked,” urged Miller. “Everything is arranged to a schedule.”

“I know that, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“Will you come with us without Andrei?”

“I don’t want to face that choice.”

“Is it the girl, Yvette?” suggested Abrahams.

Elana shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, although they seem very close. She’s very pretty. I like her.”

“If he doesn’t come tonight we’ll have to meet tomorrow,” said Abrahams.

“I really don’t think you’ll have more success than me trying to persuade him,” cautioned Elana.

“We’ll guarantee him a place at another university in England, reading the same subject,” promised Miller.

“Pretending to be someone he isn’t: reborn at the age of twenty,” said Elana, nodding to more wine.

“It’s preferable to the alternative,” risked Abrahams.

“Is it?” she demanded, pointedly.

They ordered at eight o’clock, Elana dismissively asking for a plain omelet, both men choosing steak just as disinterestedly. At Elana’s hinting look at the diminishing bottle, Miller reluctantly ordered a second Chablis. Andrei arrived as their food was served, refusing to eat but gulping the offered wine. Elana and the two MI6 officers only bothered with token gestures of eating.

“We can understand your uncertainty,” said Miller.

“No, you can’t,” rejected Andrei, sharply.

“We didn’t create this situation,” tried Abrahams. “We’re offering your only way out of it.”

“It’s not the only way out!” refused Andrei, loudly, helping himself to more wine.

“The only safe way out,” accepted Abrahams.

“Is your relationship with Yvette the problem?” risked Miller.

Andrei’s head came up demandingly. “All of it’s a problem.”

“Yvette being one of them?” pressed Miller.

“Of course.”

“All the preparations to get you out are made now,” said Miller. “It’s possible, when you’re settled, that we could bring Yvette for a reunion. There’s no reason why she couldn’t come to England, is there?”

“Could you do that?” seized Andrei, the hostility lessening.

“I could suggest it, when things settle.”

“What are the preparations for our leaving?” intruded Elana.

“It’s to be within the next thirty-six hours,” generalized Miller. “We’ll meet tomorrow, for me to give you specific pickup arrangements: I’ll call tomorrow to say where. It’s really very simple. You’ll be driven directly to an airfield where a private plane will be waiting. You will be flown to London and reunited with Maxim Mikhailovich that same evening.”

“Airfield or airport?” asked Andrei.

“That hasn’t been decided yet,” lied Miller. “It won’t, obviously, be Charles de Gaulle. There’s a lot of facilities available all along the northern coast of France.”

“Did you mean what you said, about Yvette?” asked Andrei.

“Of course.”

“This is the only way for you all to stay together,” insisted Abrahams.

“I need more time,” demanded Andrei.

“You can’t have more time,” refused Abrahams. “It’s got to be now.”

“We’ll be waiting for your call,” said Elana.

The two men remained at their table after the Russians left, each waiting for the other to open the conversation. It was Abrahams who did. “The steak’s too cold now.”

“We’ll order more,” decided Miller. “And get Paul in from the car.”

“What do you think?”

“We could have a problem. That’s why I kept all the planning so vague.”

“Do you think Elana would leave without him?”

“I don’t know.” Miller shrugged.

“London will never agree to the kid being reunited with his girlfriend!”

“Of course they won’t,” agreed Miller. “But if it gets the awkward sod to England, it won’t matter, will it? He’ll be in the bag.”

As he joined them Painter said: “How’d it go?”

“Christ knows,” said Abrahams. “Let’s order some more food. And some decent red wine.”