Natalya went on: “As these people have not actually been sentenced by the courts, there is no legal bar to action by the government, so we offer to ease the restraints, permitting them to travel, as a gesture of goodwill.”

Dimka said to the Americans: “Would that action on our part satisfy your president?”

Markham’s face had cleared, and he had now understood the game Natalya and Dimka were playing. He was happy to be used that way, and he said: “Yes, I think that might be sufficient.”

“That’s agreed, then,” said Dimka, and sat back in his chair with a profound sense of accomplishment.

• • •

President Nixon came to Moscow in May, when the snow had thawed and the sun shone.

Tanya had been hoping to see a large-scale release of political prisoners to coincide with the visit, but she had been disappointed. This was the best chance in years to get Vasili out of his hovel in Siberia and back to Moscow. Tanya knew that her brother had tried, but it seemed he had failed. It made her want to weep.

Her boss, Daniil Antonov, said: “Follow the president’s wife around today, please, Tanya.”

“Fuck off,” she said. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have to do stories about women all the time.”

Throughout her career Tanya had fought against being given “feminine” assignments. Sometimes she won, sometimes she lost.

Today she lost.

Daniil was a good guy, but he was not a pushover. “I’m not asking you to cover women all the time, and I never have, so don’t talk shit. I’m asking you to cover Pat Nixon today. Now just do as you’re told.”

Daniil was actually a great boss. Tanya gave in.

Today Pat Nixon was taken to Moscow State University, a thirty-two-story yellow stone building with thousands of rooms. It seemed mostly empty.

Mrs. Nixon said: “Where are all the students?”

The rector of the university, speaking through interpreters, said: “It’s exam time, they’re all studying.”

“I’m not getting to meet the Russian people,” Mrs. Nixon complained.

Tanya wanted to say: You bet you’re not meeting the people—they might tell you the truth.

Mrs. Nixon looked conservative even by Moscow standards. Her hair was piled high and sprayed rigid, like a Viking helmet and almost as hard. She wore clothes that were too young-looking for her and at the same time out of fashion. She had a fixed smile that rarely faltered, even when the press corps following her became unruly.

She was taken into a study room where three students sat at tables. They seemed surprised to see her and clearly did not know who she was. It was evident they did not want to meet her.

Poor Mrs. Nixon probably had no idea that any contact with Westerners was dangerous for ordinary Soviet citizens. They were liable to be arrested afterward and interrogated about what was said and whether the meeting was prearranged. Only the most foolhardy Muscovites wanted to exchange words with foreign visitors.