But even though Tanya was bursting with enthusiasm, she took the trouble to turn on the radio in the kitchen before speaking. She did not really think their apartment was bugged, but it was an old habit, and there was no need to take chances.

A radio commentator was describing a visit by Gorbachev and his wife to a jeans factory in Leningrad. Tanya noted the significance. Previous Soviet leaders had visited steel mills and shipyards. Gorbachev celebrated consumer goods. Soviet manufactures ought to be as good as those of the West, he always said—something that had not even been a pipe dream for his predecessors.

And he took his wife with him. Unlike earlier leaders’ wives, Raisa was not just an appendage. She was attractive and well-dressed, like an American first lady. She was intelligent, too: she had worked as a university lecturer until her husband became first secretary.

All this was hopeful but little more than symbolic, Tanya thought. Whether it came to anything would depend on the West. If the Germans and the Americans recognized liberalization in the USSR and worked to encourage change, Gorbachev might achieve something. But if the hawks in Bonn and Washington saw this as weakness, and made threatening or aggressive moves, the Soviet ruling elite would retreat back into its shell of orthodox Communism and military overkill. Then Gorbachev would join Kosygin and Khrushchev in the graveyard of failed Kremlin reformers.

“There’s a conference of scriptwriters in Naples,” Tanya said to Vasili, as the radio burbled in the background.

“Ah!” Vasili saw the significance immediately. The city of Naples had an elected Communist government.

They sat together on the couch. Tanya said: “They want to invite writers from the Soviet bloc, to prove that Hollywood is not the only place where television shows are made.”

“Of course.”

“You’re the most successful writer of television drama in the USSR. You ought to go.”

“The writers’ union will decide who will be the lucky ones.”

“With advice from the KGB, obviously.”

“Do you think I have a chance?”

“Make an application, and I’ll ask Dimka to put in a good word.”

“Will you be able to come?”

“I’ll ask Daniil to assign me to cover the conference for TASS.”

“And then we’ll both be in the free world.”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“I haven’t worked out all the details, but that should be the easy part. From our hotel room we can phone Anna Murray in London. As soon as she finds out we’re in Italy she’ll catch the next plane. We’ll give our KGB minders the slip and go with her to Rome. She will tell the world that Ivan Kuznetsov is really Vasili Yenkov, and he and his girlfriend are applying for political asylum in Great Britain.”

Vasili was quiet. “Could it really happen, do you think?” he said, sounding almost like a child talking about a fairy tale.

Tanya took both his hands in hers. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I want to try.”