'Mrs. Foley, I believe?'
He got a quick turn and a quicker smile before she turned back to the action. 'Hello, General-'
'Actually, my rank is Marshal, Your son is number twelve?'
'Yes, and did you see how the goalie robbed him!'
'It was a fine save.' Yazov said.
'Then let him do it to somebody else!' she said as the other team started moving into Eddie's end.
'Are all American fans like you?' Misha asked.
She turned again, and her voice showed a little embarrassment. 'It's terrible, isn't it? Parents are supposed to act-'
'Like parents?' Yazov laughed.
'I'm turning into a little-league mom,' Mary Pat admitted. Then she had to explain what that was.
'It is enough that we've taught your son to be a proper hockey wingman.'
'Yes, perhaps he'll be on the Olympic team in a few years,' she replied with a wicked, though playful smile. Yazov laughed. That surprised her. Yazov was supposed to be a tight, serious son of a bitch.
'Who's the woman?'
'American. Her husband's the press attache. Her son's on this team. We have a file on both of them. Nothing special.'
'Pretty enough. I didn't know Yazov was a lady's man.'
'Do you suppose he wants to recruit her?' the photographer suggested, snapping away.
'I wouldn't mind.'
The game had unexpectedly settled down into a defense struggle that hovered around center ice. The children lacked the finesse necessary for the precise passing that marked Soviet hockey, and both teams were coached not to play an overly physical game. Even with their protective equipment, they were still children whose growing bones didn't need abuse. That was a lesson the Russians could teach Americans, Mary Pat thought. Russians had always been highly protective of their young. Life for adults was difficult enough that they always tried to shield their children from it.
Finally, in the third period, things broke loose. A shot on goal was stopped, and the puck rebounded out from the goalie. The center took it and turned, racing directly for the opposite goal, with Eddie twenty feet to his right. The center passed an instant before being poke-checked, and Eddie swept around to the corner, unable to take a shot at the goal and blocked from approaching it himself by a charging defenseman.
'Center it!' his mother screamed. He didn't hear her, but didn't need to. The center was now in place, and Eddie fired the puck to him. The youthful center stopped it with his skate, stepped back, and sent a blazing shot between the legs of the opposing goalie. The light behind the cage flashed, and sticks went soaring into the air.
'Fine centering pass,' Yazov noted with genuine admiration. He continued on in a chiding tone. 'You realize that your son now possesses State secrets, and we cannot allow him to leave the country.'
Mary Pat's eyes widened in momentary alarm, persuading Yazov that she was indeed a typical bubbleheaded Western female, though she was probably quite a handful in bed. Too bad that I'll never find out.
'You're joking?' she asked quietly. Both the soldiers broke out into laughter.
'The Comrade Minister is most certainly joking,' Misha said after a moment.
'I thought so!' she said rather unconvincingly before she turned back to the game. 'Okay, let's get another one!'
Heads turned briefly, mainly in amusement. Having this American at the game was always good for a laugh. Russians find the exuberance of Americans immensely entertaining.
'Well, if she's a spy, I'll eat this camera.'
'Think on what you just said, Comrade,' the officer in charge whispered. The amusement in his voice died in an instant. Think on what he just said, the man told himself. Her husband, Edward Foley, is regarded by the American press as a dolt, not smart enough to be a proper reporter, certainly not good enough to be on the staff of the New York Times. The problem was, while that was the sort of cover that every real intelligence officer dreamed of, it was one naturally shared by all the government-service dolts serving every nation in the world. He himself knew that his cousin was a cretin, and he worked for the Foreign Ministry. 'Are you sure you have enough film?'
Eddie got his chance with forty seconds left. A defenseman fanned on a shot from the point, and the puck skittered back to center ice. The center flipped it to the right as the flow of the game changed. The other team had been on the verge of pulling its goalie, and the youngster was out of position when Eddie took the pass and streaked in from his left, Edward Foley II turned sharply and fired behind the goalie's back. The puck clanged on the post, but fell right on the goal line and dribbled across.
'Score!' Mary Pat howled, jumping up and down like a cheerleader. She threw her arms around Yazov, much to the consternation of his security guards. The Defense Minister's amusement was tempered by the realization that he'd have to write up a contact report on this tomorrow. Well, he had Misha as a witness that they'd discussed nothing untoward. She grabbed Filitov next.
'I told you you were good luck!'
'My God, are all American hockey fans like this?' Misha asked, disengaging himself. Her hand had touched his for a half-imaginary fraction of a second, and the three film cassettes were inside the glove. He felt them there and was amazed that it had been done so skillfully. Was she a professional magician?
'Why are you Russians so grim all the time-don't you know how to have a good time?'
'Maybe we should have more Americans around,' Yazov conceded. Hell, I wish my wife were as lively as this one! 'You have a fine son, and if he plays against us in the Olympics, I will forgive him,' He was rewarded with a beaming smile.
'That's such a nice thing to say.' I hope he kicks your commie asses all the way back to Moskva. If there was anything she couldn't stand, it was being patronized. 'Eddie got two more points tonight, and that Ivan Somebody didn't get any!'
'Are you really that competitive, even with children's games?' Yazov asked.
Mary Pat slipped, just a little, so fast that her brain couldn't keep up with the automatic reply; 'Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser.' She paused, then covered the mistake. 'Vince Lombardi, a famous American coach, said that. Excuse me, you must think me nekulturny. You're right, this is just a game for children.' She smiled broadly. In your face!
'Did you see anything?'
'A foolish woman who gets overly excited,' the photographer replied.
'How quickly will you have the film developed?'
'Two hours.'
'Get moving,' the senior man said.
'Did you see anything?' the remaining officer asked his boss.
'No, I don't think so. We've watched her for nearly two hours, and she acts like a typical American parent who gets too worked up at an athletic match, but just happens to attract the attention of the Defense Minister and the main suspect of a treason case. I think that's enough, Comrade, don't you?' What a grand game this is
Two hours later, over a thousand black-and-white photographs were laid on the officer's desk. The camera was a Japanese one that put a time reference on the lower edge, and the KGB photographer was as good as any newspaper professional. He'd shot almost continuously, stopping only long enough to replace the oversized film magazines on the autodriven camera. At first he'd wished to use a portable TV camera, but the photographer had talked him out of it. The resolution wasn't as good, nor was the speed. A still camera was still the best for catching something quick and small, though you couldn't read lips from its record as you could with a videotape.
Each frame required a few seconds as the officer used a magnifying glass to examine the subjects of his interest. When Mrs. Foley entered the sequence of photos, he needed a few more seconds. He examined her clothing and jewelry at some length, and her face. Her smile was particularly mindless, like something in a Western television commercial, and he remembered hearing her screams over the crowd. Why were Americans so damned noisy?
Good dresser, though, he admitted to himself. Like most American women in a Moscow scene, she stood out like a pheasant in a barnyard-he snorted annoyance at the thought. So what that the Americans spend more money
