Dimka slumped with relief. Then he wondered whether Opotkin’s entire approach had been to maneuver himself into a position where he could appear to do a favor for Volodya.

“Allow me to make a suggestion,” said Volodya. “You might mark the incident as serious, without attaching blame to anyone, simply by transferring Tanya to another post.”

That was the punishment Daniil had mentioned a moment ago.

Opotkin nodded thoughtfully, as if considering this idea; though Dimka was sure he would eagerly comply with any “suggestion” from General Peshkov.

Daniil said: “Perhaps a foreign posting. She speaks German and English.”

This was an exaggeration, Dimka knew. Tanya had studied both languages in school, but that was not the same as speaking them. Daniil was trying to save her from banishment to some remote Soviet region.

Daniil added: “And she could still write features for my department. I’d rather not lose her to news—she’s too good.”

Opotkin looked dubious. “We can’t send her to London or Bonn. That would seem like a reward.”

It was true. Assignments in the capitalist countries were prized. The living allowances were colossal and, even though they did not buy as much as in the USSR, Soviet citizens still lived much better in the West than at home.

Volodya said: “East Berlin, perhaps, or Warsaw.”

Opotkin nodded. A move to another Communist country was more like a punishment.

Volodya said: “I’m glad we’ve been able to resolve this.”

Opotkin said to Dimka: “I’m having a party on Saturday evening. Perhaps you would like to come?”

Dimka guessed this would seal the deal. He nodded. “Tanya told me about it,” he said with false enthusiasm. “We’ll both be there. Thank you.”

Opotkin beamed.

Daniil said: “I happen to know of a post in a Communist country that’s vacant right now. We need someone there urgently. She could go tomorrow.”

“Where’s that?” said Dimka.

“Cuba.”

Opotkin, now in a sunny frame of mind, said: “That might be acceptable.”

It was certainly better than Kazakhstan, Dimka thought.

Mets reappeared in the lobby with Tanya beside him. Dimka’s heart lurched: she looked pale and scared, but unharmed. Mets spoke with a mixture of deference and defiance, like a dog that barks because it is frightened. “Allow me to suggest that young Tanya stays away from poetry readings in future,” he said.

Uncle Volodya looked as if he could strangle the fool, but he put on a smile. “Very sound advice, I’m sure.”

They all went out. Darkness had fallen. Dimka said to Tanya: “I’ve got my bike—I’ll take you home.”

“Yes, please,” she said. She obviously wanted to talk to Dimka.

Uncle Volodya could not read her mind as Dimka could, and he said: “Let me take you in my car—you look too shaken for a motorcycle ride.”

To Volodya’s surprise, Tanya said: “Thank you, Uncle, but I’ll go with Dimka.”

Volodya shrugged and got into a waiting ZIL limousine. Daniil and Opotkin said good-bye.

As soon as they were all out of earshot, Tanya turned to Dimka with a frantic look. “Did they say anything about Vasili Yenkov?”