—Our friend has shown me a drawing of the most important symbol of our time. It is the Statue of Liberty, in New York. There in my country, that statue is a promise of things to come – a future of liberty for every man and woman, regardless of background, or race. Here your liberty is real.

Grigori was crying, surrounded by people and yet alone. He repeated Austin’s words, speaking up, projecting to the back of the warehouse:

—Here our liberty is real!

***

On the steps to the stage an agent grabbed Leo’s arm.

—Do something! Fix this!

—What can I do? You want me to go up onstage?

—Yes!

Leo edged closer but Austin shook his head, indicating that he’d deal with it. He began another song. It wasn’t due to be performed until the very end, as the finale, but Austin had brought it forward, sensing that he needed something to finesse the interruption. It was The Internationale – the anthem of Communism.

Arise, you branded by a curse

You whole world of the starving and enslaved!

Many in the audience stood up immediately. The rest quickly followed and Leo understood why Austin had chosen this song to mask the disturbance. The audience knew the lyrics. Though their singing was tentative at first, it was only because they were unsure whether they were supposed to join in. As Austin encouraged them, they became louder and louder, until each man and woman was singing as loud as they could, perhaps fearful that their loyalty to the State might be measured by their volume, perhaps fearful that if they didn’t sing until they were hoarse they would become like the strange sad figure of Grigori. Leo was also singing, but half-heartedly, preoccupied with his doomed trainee. There were tears in the young man’s eyes, glistening in the bright spotlights. He too was singing:

We will destroy this world of violence

Down to the foundations, and then

We will build our new world!

Austin ended the song after the first verse. As the calls for a new world died down, vigorous applause broke out across the auditorium. Agents stepped up onto the stage, clapping, false smiles on their faces, closing around Grigori, edging nearer, trying to disguise their murderous intent. Oblivious, Grigori stood, waving at some distant point, towards imaginary friends, biding the new world goodbye.

Leo felt another tug on his arm. It was Raisa. She’d left her seat, taking hold of him. It was the first time she’d ever touched him. She whispered:

—Please, Leo, help that man.