Almost an hour had passed, the students would be finishing lunch soon – the dress rehearsal was due to begin. Time was running out. Raisa stood up, pacing the room, uncertain if the call was going to happen. Belatedly it occurred to her that she’d never spoken to Leo on a telephone before.

The phone rang. She jumped for it. A voice in Russian said:

—We have your husband. Are you ready to take the call?

—Yes.

There was a pause, a click – a sound like the rustling of papers.

—Leo?

There was no reply. She waited. Her impatience got the better of her.

—Leo?

—Raisa.

His voice was distorted, almost unrecognizable. She pressed the phone close to her ear, fearful of losing a sound. It took restraint not to simply spill her emotions: she needed to tread carefully and remember the lies she’d told to set up the call.

—How is your father? Is he feeling better?

There was a long delay and it was difficult to interpret it as either Leo’s confusion or the connection. Finally he replied:

—My father is still unwell. But his condition is not any worse.

She smiled: Leo had not only realized that the lie was a pretext for calling, he’d left the excuse open in case she needed to call again. He asked, failing to conceal his anxiety:

—How is the trip?

Raisa was forced to respond indirectly, stating the points of concern without elaboration.

—Today I met officials at the United Nations, where the first concert is to be held, and they had no questions regarding the plans. Previously they’d been involved very closely. Today they accepted the plans without comment.

Once again there was a delay. Raisa waited, wondering what interpretation he’d offer. Finally he said:

—No comments?

His response was the same as hers. It was unusual for Soviet officials not to stamp their authority on plans, not to interfere.

—None.

—You must be… pleased?

—Surprised.

Raisa didn’t know how much time she had. It was essential she bring up the second point troubling her.

—Leo, the girls are nervous. Elena particularly.

—Elena?

—She doesn’t seem herself. She spends a lot of time on her own.

—Have you spoken to her?

—She says nothing’s wrong.

The phone crackled against Raisa’s ear, reminding her of the fragility of the connection, it could be cut at any point. Suddenly frantic, she blurted out:

—Leo, I don’t believe her. What should I do?

The delay was so long that she was sure the call had been terminated. She asked:

—Leo? Leo!

Leo’s voice was firm.

—Don’t allow her to attend the concert. Raisa, youhear me? Don’t allow—

There was a click. The phone crackled. The connection was lost.

Moscow

Lubyanka Square - The Lubyanka, Headquarters

of the Secret Police - Same Day