BUT NOW HE’S SOBER again. That’s always the trouble, isn’t it? At some point you return to sobriety and nothing’s changed, except it’s probably gotten worse because you were drunk and did drunken things. And in addition to the crashing almighty hangover he woke up with this morning, he had experienced the peculiar confusion and indignity of being urged into the trunk of a car by Sumner Fox—you couldn’t argue with Sumner Fox, he was just too strong—because Iris was in danger. In danger of what? Fox wouldn’t say. The kids just thought it was a terrific adventure, but they weren’t in the trunk of the car. Sasha vomited twice, until there was nothing left to vomit. They stopped a couple of times and Fox, with a sympathetic face under a wig and hat, gave him water. They passed through some kind of border checkpoint, during which Sasha expected any moment that a guard would open the trunk and shoot him, but for some reason the guards asked no questions and waved them right through. Afterward Fox told him it was the border to Latvia, and they were going to pick up Iris and Ruth and the baby and go somewhere safe.

This is all he knows. This is what he’s said to this KGB woman across the table from him—leaving out the part about the one-way radio—with all the conviction of truth, because he can’t say for certain who put that radio receiver there, and when it was last used, and what it was used for. Every time his mind reaches out to touch that poisoned cup, he snatches it back. No, it’s not possible. It’s unthinkable! All those thoughtless conversations with Iris about his work, all those innocent questions she asked. All those papers he brought home with him, all those secrets he shared with her because she was Iris. They were devoted to each other. Her loyalty was so essential to his existence that he didn’t even think about it—like breathing.

But the KGB woman stares at him with her cold eyes, so he looks down obediently at the piece of paper in front of him and says, “It’s in code.”

“Yes, of course the message is encoded. Unfortunately our cryptographers have been unable to decipher it. It’s the recipient who interests us. Do you see the address line, in plain English? The name Lonicera?”

“Lonicera? I don’t know him.”

“It is the name of the owner of the flat. It is also the scientific name for the genus of plants commonly known as honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle?”