• • •
After nearly two solid days of sleepless work, Steven Burke was finally allowed time to go back to his apartment and get some rest. There was real concern on the part of the higher-ups that some of the staff were being worked to exhaustion. However, instead of returning to his home, he called Natalie and she told him to come right over to her place, that she wanted to sit down and talk with him. When she said that, he wasn’t so tired anymore.
Natalie lived in an extremely large apartment in a Victorian-style building. Because of Burke’s position in the Pentagon, he was not really affected by gas rationing and wasn’t concerned about the extra driving, although his head was bobbing drowsily by the time he arrived.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “You look awful,” she said with a smile that softened it. “Have you slept in that uniform?”
“If I did, I wasn’t aware of it. I’m not certain I’ve slept at all in a long time.” He checked his watch and suddenly realized it was eight in the evening and not in the morning. He had lost that much track of time.
Natalie made them some strong, hot tea, and as he sipped the scalding brew he could feel a minimal amount of life returning to him.
“Can you talk about what you’ve been up to?” she asked. Each knew the other was cleared for sensitive information. “I’m certain you’ve been trying to figure out what the Russians will do next.”
Burke savored the tea, enjoying its warmth. “That is precisely what we talked about, but with no definitive conclusions. Some think the crisis is over, although it will take a lot of work to resolve it, while others think it is just beginning. I fall into that latter group. I don’t think it’s over by a long shot. I think there’s the strong possibility that a lot more blood will be spilled before we’re done.”
Natalie nodded, shaking her long dark hair. “I agree with you. God knows where we will be a year from now. Perhaps this will result in the downfall of the Communists. I hate them,” she concluded with a sudden vehemence that surprised Steve. “Do you know why?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “They killed your father and others in your family and took your property.”
“But do you know how they died? Of course not. But I will remember it forever. My father’s name was Nikolai Siminov. I changed mine to Holt when my mother remarried and my new father-a wonderful, loving man who cared for us until he died a couple of years ago-adopted me. One day, a couple of years after the Revolution, the Bolshevik secret police came for innocent Nikolai Siminov, and dragged him outside screaming. They kicked and punched him while my mother and I watched through a window. When that bored them, they threw him in a car and came back in and raped my mother while I hid in a closet listening to it all. Then, days later and just when we thought we’d never see him again, they dumped him on the doorstep of the house we were sharing with a couple of dozen others like ourselves.”
Natalie paused, and Steve saw it was difficult for her. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were tearing up. “You don’t have to do this to yourself,” he said gently. He reached over and took her hand.
She ignored him. “My mother dragged him inside. No one else would help her and I was too small. He was a ruined man and I barely recognized him. All the bones in his face were broken. His teeth had been pulled out and there were burns and cuts all over his body. His fingernails had been ripped out and a couple of his fingers were infected stumps. Years later, my mother told me they had used red-hot pliers on his testicles. He was alive but almost totally mad with pain and fear. My mother treated him for a couple more weeks until the secret police, what is now the NKVD, came again. It seems he was released because of a bureaucratic mistake. They took him outside the building and shot him in the back of the head.” She shook slightly. “They left him there.”
She laughed bitterly. “For all I know, his body may still be lying on the pavement. My mother and I began running at that moment and didn’t stop until we reached America. Along the way, my mother sold herself for food, for shelter, and finally, for passage to America. Yes, I love the Communists,” she said, her voice a snarl.
She put down her tea and pulled out a cigarette, which Steve lit for her. It was unusual, as she rarely smoked. “I’m sorry,” Steve said. “The words are totally inadequate, but I mean them.”
Natalie touched his cheek with her hand. “I know that you do and I thank you. That story belongs to the past, and we have the present and the future to deal with. Now, what else do you know?”
Glad to have the topic changed, he continued on. “Well, there’s a chance I’ll be with a group going over to France to see Ike and help brief the bigwigs. That would be interesting.”
“How exciting for you!” It was the normal Natalie speaking and it sounded wonderful.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe everything that’s happened to me in the last couple of weeks. Marshall knows who I am, Truman spoke to me, some dumb Russian passed me a message, and some dumber ones tried to shoot at me. That reminds me, did you hear the rumor that Korzov was sent back to the USSR?”
“It’s true,” she said grimly, “and I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when they get their hands on him in Moscow. They are not gentle with traitors. What they did to my father will only be his beginning. Korzov’s masters told the State Department he was ‘ill’ and they shipped him out before we could do anything about it.”
Steve felt bad for Korzov, but he must have known the risks. “What about the rest of the Russians? Have they left too?”
“No,” she answered. “While they have been confined to their embassy, none have been expelled. Nor are they likely to be, even if the problem becomes more serious. Thinking at State is that we need them here so we can talk more or less directly to Moscow, and somehow negotiate an end to this mess. If we send their personnel home, they will retaliate by expelling ours in Moscow, and then we will be reduced to communicating through either the Swedes or the Swiss. Frankly, we don’t trust either country all that much. They have their own agendas.”
They talked a while longer as the night grew later. As darkness fell, the effects of the tea wore off and the urge to sleep almost overwhelmed Steve.
“I think I’d better leave,” he said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.
“Do I bore you?” Natalie quizzed him impishly. “Put your feet up on the couch and rest for a bit. Take a short nap. If you don’t, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep while you’re driving and get into an accident.”
“Good thought. Wake me in an hour,” Steve said sleepily as he complied with her command.
When he woke, it was to the smell of coffee and the streaming of sunlight through the window. “What the hell,” he said and sat up, only to become aware that he was in his GI skivvies and covered by a thin blanket.
Natalie entered the room. She was wearing a robe and her hair hung down across her shoulders. She looked lovely. Better, she held out a steaming cup of coffee. “Has Lazarus returned?” she teased.
He flushed and took the coffee. It was both real and excellent. “Did you steal my uniform?”
“It was not a difficult achievement. You were sleeping so soundly I probably could have shaved your head and painted your body green without your noticing. I cleaned your uniform with a sponge and pressed it with an iron. You may put it on after you shower.”
On top of the coffee, the thought of a shower was an outstanding idea. But then he realized something. “Natalie, I’ve been here all night. What will your neighbors think?”
“Thank you, brave soldier, for being worried about my reputation, but, even if someone did see you, I don’t particularly care. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not a child and my life is my own.”
He mulled that over and had a second cup of coffee along with some toast that had been lathered with margarine. Coffee she could get, but not butter.
She gave him a robe. “In case you’re curious, it belonged to an old and very dear friend of mine. He was killed in a battle in the Pacific. Midway. Now go take your shower. Leave your filthy underwear outside the door and I’ll clean them as well.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Steve said.
“I know.” Natalie smiled.
The shower was a luxury and he wallowed in it. After drying, he put the robe on again, absurdly conscious that he had nothing on underneath.
In the living room, Natalie was still in her own robe. “My, my, don’t you look refreshed.”
He laughed. “I do feel like a new man.”
“When do you have to report back?”
“Not until tomorrow. General Marshall and the war will just have to go on without me.”
“I’m glad,” she said, moving so that she stood directly in front of him. Barefoot, she came a little taller than his shoulder. She reached out and caressed his cheek with her hand. “You really are a gentle, sensitive, intelligent
