The lie was a flash of improvised genius. Elena’s face was red and sweaty. Raisa seemed to mull over this explanation and Elena realized had Zoya been in this position Raisa would’ve questioned her further. Instead, Raisa nodded, accepting it as the truth. Elena picked up a towel, wrapping it around her. Raisa asked:

—Did you come down from the room in your swimsuit?

Elena shook her head, retrieving her clothes from the locker. She was about to change when Raisa stopped her.

—You can shower and change in your room. Hurry, we’re late.

Elena was annoyed at being spoken to as if she were a child and any guilt she might have felt about her secret enterprise quickly faded.

Stepping into the corridor they came to face to face with the American secret-police officer – the man from Harlem. His eyes were bloodshot, red capillaries like the roots of a tree branching out from his black pupils, patches of perspiration on his shirt. Elena tried to remain calm. Raisa asked, speaking in English:

—Can I help you?

Yates looked down at Elena, ignoring Raisa. He reached out, placing a finger on the side of Elena’s face, catching a drop of sweat. He held the drop of sweat up to his eye, as though it were evidence.

—I’m FBI officer Yates. I’m going to be watching the both of you very closely from now on.

Raisa glanced down at Elena, then back at Yates. Yates stepped out of their way.

***

Raisa remained silent in the elevator. When Elena tried to speak she angrily gestured for her to say nothing. On the twentieth floor they walked at a brisk pace to the girls’ room. Not until Raisa was inside and had locked the door did she speak.

—I need you to tell me if something is going on. Don’t lie to me.

Raisa grabbed Elena’s arm tight. Elena was shocked.

—You’re hurting me!

—What is going on?

Zoya joined them.

—What’s happened?

Raisa was looking at Elena.

—Elena, tell me, right now, what are you involved in?

Uncomfortable under her stare, Elena turned to the television. On the screen a brightly coloured cartoon car drove off a cliff, exploding in a shower of blue and green and pink stars. Her reply was a whisper.

—Nothing.

Raisa let go of her daughter’s arm, in quiet disbelief at what she was about to say.

—I don’t believe you.

Moscow

Novye Cheremushki - Khrushchev’s Slums

Apartment 1312 - Same Day