Panin gestured for her to remain silent. He had only claimed this was the truth as the world knew it. In this truth, Raisa was a romantic figure besotted with Jesse Austin, convinced they were in the midst of a perfect love affair separated by nations. For Jesse it was no more than a forgotten night of sexual gratification. When she’d heard of the Soviet delegation going to New York, she’d forced her way onto the tour to reunite with him. Her dream was to claim asylum, live with him, abandoning her hated husband, Leo, who happened to be a secret-police officer. When she’d visited Jesse in Harlem they’d enjoyed a second sexual encounter. There was a photograph of Raisa Demidova, standing beside an unmade bed, crumpled sheets, dwarfed by the figure of Jesse Austin. Elena exclaimed again:

—I was there, not Raisa!

Impatient, Panin suggested that Elena appreciate that this version was the one created by the American authorities to defuse the situation. Continuing with the events, he explained that during this meeting between Jesse and Raisa, he’d told her that he would never leave his wife and she would have to return to Russia, to her husband. Consumed by jealousy and despair, Raisa had purchased a gun. Outside the United Nations, she’d shot Jesse Austin dead. She’d been caught holding the gun.

Elena could control herself no longer.

—It’s a lie! It’s all a lie!

Panin nodded, it was a lie. But it was the version of events that the United States had released to the press: it was the version of events they were demanding the Soviet Union support. The Soviet Union had agreed without condition. A lone shooter, no conspiracy and no greater powers at work – a story of unrequited love and a woman’s fury at being spurned. The remaining peace concerts had been cancelled. Frol Panin and many others in the Kremlin had worked hard in order that the delegation might return without too much of a delay. Finally, the students had been released and returned home. There was no news on when the body of Raisa Demidova might be returned.

In the back of limousine, observing the two girls absorb the narrative crafted around them, Panin addressed them on a separate matter.

—You must understand that Leo is a changed man. The news of his wife’s death has…

Panin searched for the correct word.

—Disturbed him. I’m not referring to the normal expression of grief. His reaction has gone far beyond that. He is not the man you remember. To be honest, I’m hoping that your return might help ground him.

The older girl, Zoya, spoke for the first time.

—What can we tell him?