Or it could be a genuine approach—in which case, it might represent a great opportunity for him.

He answered cautiously. “I can arrange for anyone to talk to the American government, naturally.”

“In secret?”

What the hell was this? “Yes.”

“Good,” she said, and walked away.

Cam got another drink. What had that been about? Was it real, or had she been mocking him?

The party was coming to an end. He wondered what to do with the rest of the evening. He thought of going to the bar in the Australian embassy, where he sometimes played darts with amiable spooks from Oz. Then he saw Lidka standing nearby, again on her own. She really was very sexy. He said to her: “Do you have plans for dinner?”

She looked puzzled. “You mean recipes?”

He smiled. She had not come across the phrase plans for dinner. He said: “I meant, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Oh, yes,” she said immediately. “Could we go to the Duck?”

“Of course.” It was an expensive restaurant, though not if you were paying in American dollars. He looked at his watch. “Shall we leave now?”

Lidka surveyed the room. There was no sign of the man in the pin-striped suit. “I’m free,” she said.

They headed for the exit. As they were passing through the door the Soviet journalist, Tanya, reappeared and spoke to Lidka in bad Polish. “You dropped this,” she said, holding out a red scarf.

“It’s not mine,” said Lidka.

“I saw it fall from your hand.”

Someone touched Cam’s elbow. He turned away from the confused conversation and saw a tall, good-looking man of about forty dressed in the uniform of a colonel in the People’s Army of Poland. In fluent Russian the man said: “I want to talk to you.”

Cam replied in the same language. “All right.”

“I will find a safe place.”

Cam could do nothing but say: “Okay.”

“Tanya will tell you where and when.”

“Fine.”

The man turned away.

Cameron turned his attention back to Lidka. Tanya was saying: “My mistake, how silly.” She walked quickly away. Clearly she had wanted to distract Lidka for the few moments the soldier was talking to Cam.

Lidka was puzzled. “That was a bit strange,” she said as they left the building.

Cam was excited, but he pretended to be equally mystified. “Peculiar,” he said.

Lidka persisted. “Who was that Polish officer who spoke to you?”

“No idea,” Cam said. “My car’s this way.”

“Oh!” she said. “You have a car?”

“Yes.”

“Nice,” said Lidka, looking pleased.

• • •

A week later, Cam woke up in bed in Lidka’s apartment.

It was more of a studio: one room with a bed, a TV, and a kitchen sink. She shared the shower and toilet down the hall with three other people.

For Cam, it was paradise.

He sat upright. She was standing at the counter making coffee—with his beans: she could not afford real coffee. She was naked. She turned and walked to the bed carrying a cup. She had wiry brown pubic hair and small pointed breasts with mulberry-dark nipples.