“From what I can tell, so do you,” Evelyn retorted. “For a Soviet citizen, you travel very frequently beyond the borders of the Soviet Union.”
Vladimir smiled a wolfish grin. “One of the perks of my position,” he said, “and one that I take advantage of whenever I can.”
“Well, you’d best explain to me how this will work.”
“When I have something for you, a specific phrase will be included in the Radio Moscow broadcast. I know your people monitor it daily. You will arrange to be notified if it’s included.”
“I thought you didn’t want any involvement of MI6 in our communication.”
“That will be the extent of their involvement. They will notify you of the message, and you will take it from there.”
Evelyn scoffed and shook her head. “They’ll never leave it at that.”
“They will have to, or they will lose me as an informant.”
She looked at his face and shivered inwardly at the look in his eyes. Suddenly, the affable friend was gone and in his place was the cold, hard Soviet agent.
“What is the phrase?” she asked.
“There will be clear skies over the Red Square.”
“There will be clear skies over the Red Square?” she repeated incredulously. “What if it’s raining?”
That surprised a bark of laughter from him. “It will be worked into the broadcast, do not worry. We’re very good at this.”
Evelyn made a face. “Apparently. Very well. The phrase is in the broadcast and we hear it. Then what?”
“It will be included every day until you make contact. You will do that by sending a telegram to the Bellevue Palace Hotel in Bern, Switzerland.”
“Bellevue Palace Hotel!” Evelyn gasped, and she could feel the blood draining from her face as she stared at him. Something like compassion crossed his face before disappearing so completely that she wondered if she had seen it at all.
“Yes. The hotel where your father died.”
“But...why?”
“I have a man there who will receive the message and answer it with further instructions. Rest assured that those instructions will come from me. He is imminently respectful and trustworthy. You will follow the instructions to the letter.”
“Very well.”
“Good. Now, I must make one thing very clear. If you are to be killed, a message must be included in the BBC broadcast for five straight days. That message will be, ‘The Bluebird, a fishing vessel, was sunk off the coast of Dover.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Evelyn made another face. “I don’t much appreciate knowing that my death will be reported as a sunken fishing boat, but very well.”
“Once that message is reported, all communication between myself and MI6 will cease. If I can no longer deal directly with you, then I will stop all together.”
“What?!” she looked up, startled. “But that’s ridiculous. Why should you stop just because I was presumably foolish enough to go and get myself killed?”
“Because, my dear Jian, you are the only one in your organization whom I trust. If I cannot pass my intelligence directly to you, it will remain in Moscow.”
Evelyn swallowed and shook her head, raising a hand to rub her forehead. “Well, I must say I find it all very strange. Why me?”
“Because you are very like your father,” he said unexpectedly. “Very like him, only better. There is too much at stake for me to take risks if you are killed as well.”
Her head snapped up at that. “As well?”
Vladimir shrugged, his face impassive. “Yes. Your father is dead, and if you die, then you are dead as well.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly, but another thought promptly filled her head, distracting her from the morbid conversation.
“What if I have to contact you?” she asked.
“You?” He seemed surprised at the idea. “Why would you have to contact me?”
“Well, I don’t know, but what if I do? It’s only fair that I have a way to reach out to you as well.”
Vladimir pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “You are right. You should be able to reach me if anything arises. Very well. Let me think for a moment.”
He got up and paced in front of the Virgin Mary slowly, his hand clasped behind his back and his thick, black brows furrowed in thought. Evelyn watched him, wondering if no one had ever asked him this before. Had her father not had a way to contact him directly?
“I think the best, and most direct way, is to reverse the system already in place,” he said finally, stopping before her. “You will include a message in the BBC broadcast, and I will make contact by sending a message to the hotel in Bern. What will the message be?”
“Oh heavens, I have no idea!” Evelyn gaped at him. “What should it be?”
“Something simple.” He fell silent again and turned to continue pacing. “Something that will be easy to slip into any broadcast.”
“The traffic is stalled in Piccadilly?” Evelyn offered after a moment of thought. “That would be easy. The traffic is always bad in Piccadilly.”
He looked at her, amused again. “Very practical, my dear. Very well. The traffic is stalled in Piccadilly. I’ll certainly remember it. You’ll have it broadcast every day until I’ve responded. I’ll send a message to the Bellevue Palace, but it will be up to you set up the rest. You’ll need to set up a regular location for our man to forward my message to. Make it somewhere that you will be able access easily, but that won’t arouse suspicion. For example, a post office or a hotel. It should be somewhere public where no one will notice you receiving and sending telegrams. When you receive the message, you can then send instructions and he will ensure that I receive them.”
“Very well.”
“There’s just one thing. If you’ll be away for any amount of time, in another country, for instance, or if you must change the location for any reason, you must go
