He turns his mouth to my ear and speaks in an intimate murmur, the way a lover would. “When I got out of the hospital, after the war. Hoover called me in. The Bureau was decrypting Russian diplomatic telegrams and he’d come to realize they had a high-level leak. Who or where, he couldn’t tell. Needed someone to work on his own, outside the agency. Someone who’d spent the last few years in a prison camp on the other side of the world. Told me he wanted us to get an agent in Moscow, right in the heart, root out all the names. Gave me whatever resources I needed.”

I absorb all this along with his warm breath on the side of my face, my neck. Turn my own mouth to his ear.

“Well? Did you find the leak?”

“A lot more than that. But not the man at the top. Not the last name we needed. And a little over a year ago, our Moscow agent dropped all communication. We were sick with worry. Then finally we got a signal. The extraction signal.”

“And here we are. That’s why we’re here. To bring your agent home.”

Fox lowers himself on his elbows and gazes down at the sleepy street below. The rising sun makes his hair sparkle. Bathes the red spires of the Kremlin across the street. I lower myself next to him so our forearms lie against each other. Right hand holds the cigarette, smoke drifting into the delicate light. Fox takes my left hand and squeezes it.

Trust me, he says.

Iris

SEPTEMBER 1948

London

Iris took a taxi to the American embassy in Grosvenor Square and gave her name to the receptionist in the lobby. “Mrs. Digby to see Mr. West, please,” she said, dignified yet friendly.

The receptionist’s eyes went round. She lifted the receiver of her telephone. A hushed, hurried conversation took place, and when the receptionist looked up again, Iris could’ve sworn she was forcing back a smile.

“You may go straight up, Mrs. Digby. Fourth floor.”

MR. WEST STOOD UP HASTILY when Iris entered his office. He brushed some crumbs from his tie and held out his hand. “Mrs. Digby. It’s been some time. Welcome.”

“Mr. West. Yes, I’ve been spending the summer in the countryside. Dorset.”

“Do sit.”

“Thank you. I expect you know why I’ve come to see you.”

He sighed and took his seat. “Yes, this silly affair of Digby’s. How is he?”

“Sleeping it off. As I’m sure you know, he’s been under tremendous strain lately.”