“Yes, Comrade Ivanova,” says Grievskaya, “and we will address this infraction shortly. At the moment, however, I must bring a more serious matter to your attention.”

She pauses to examine Lyudmila over the rim of her spectacles. Lyudmila swallows and glances at the clock. Half past three.

“Yes?” she says.

Grievskaya steeples her hands above the blotter on her exemplary desk. “For some months—since the winter holidays, in fact—we have heard reports of a group of students meeting in secret to exchange subversive materials and discuss their contents.”

Oh, shit, Lyudmila thinks.

“Subversive materials?” she says, perfectly composed. “I don’t understand. How do young students get their hands on such things?”

Grievskaya waves her hand. “We are not yet concerned with how. Right now, we are concerned with who and where. Until recently, we were unable to identify even a single member of this clandestine group. It seems they are bound by a vow of absolute secrecy, to which they have proved remarkably loyal, given their ages. But this morning, a certain piece of information came to us by chance.”

Grievskaya plucks a sheet of paper from the blotter and hands it across the desk to Lyudmila, who takes it reluctantly, forcing her fingers not to tremble. She smooths it out before her. EMERGENCY MEETING, it reads. AFTER SCHOOL AT HEADQUARTERS.

Underneath those letters, a list of names—PETREL, BEAR, EAGLE, PEGASUS, LION, ELEPHANT, HORSE, RAT. All of them are crossed out except the last two.

“What’s this?”

“It was found on the floor of the cafeteria after lunch. It appears someone had dropped it.”

Lyudmila hands the note back to Grievskaya. “Well? What does this have to do with Marina? Her name’s not on the list.”

“No. These are code names, Comrade Ivanova. That is plain even to those of us not engaged in intelligence work. But one of our teachers has identified the handwriting as that of your daughter. Who, as we have already established, left school early today, without authorization. What is more, two additional students are absent without leave today—one of whom we have long suspected of subversive opinions—which suggests . . .”

Grievskaya’s voice trails away. She looks expectantly at Lyudmila.

“Suggests what, Comrade?” Lyudmila says. “What do you imply? I see nothing but some ordinary high spirits among young people, which is regrettable but hardly subversive.”

Grievskaya removes her spectacles and folds the arms together. She speaks tiredly, as one who’s repeated this lesson too many times already. “Out of little acorns, oak trees grow. As you very well know, Comrade, whose business it is to fell these oak trees. Would it not be preferable to root out the acorns before they can secure themselves in the soil and begin to sprout?”

Of course! Lyudmila wants to scream. Of course it’s preferable—everybody knows this—Lyudmila believes wholeheartedly in the necessity for rooting out stubborn, rebellious acorns as aggressively as possible.