“Georgia,” Max conceded. He told Irina, “You’re the most famous radio voice in Russia.” He slipped into Russian. “What you’re really asking is whether the KGB put the screws to me, whether I spilled any secrets that could have harmed the station or any of you. The answer is no. That time is past. I haven’t seen the KGB or even met anyone from the KGB. Frankly, people in Moscow don’t worry about us; they’re too busy trying to survive, and they need help. That’s why I went.”

Stas said, “Some of us have death sentences waiting for us.”

“Those old sentences are being taken off the books by the hundreds. Go to the consulate and ask.” Max switched to English for the larger audience. “There’s probably nothing worse waiting for Stas in Moscow than a bad meal. Or in his case, bad beer.”

Arkady thought that Irina would be repelled by Max’s touch, but she wasn’t. With the exception of Rikki and Stas, they were all—Russians, Americans and Poles—if not persuaded, at least charmed. Had he suffered from his trip back into the Inferno? Obviously not. No singed hair. Instead, the healthy glow of a celebrity.

“In Moscow what exactly did you do to help the hungry Russian people?” Arkady asked.

“Comrade Investigator,” Max acknowledged him.

“You don’t have to call me comrade. I haven’t been a member of the Party for years.”

“More recently than I have been, though,” Max said pointedly. “More recently than any of us in Munich has been. Anyway, former comrade, I’m glad you asked. Two things, in diminishing importance. One, creating joint ventures. Two, finding the hungriest, most desperate man in Moscow and arranging a loan so he could come here. You’d think that man would be more grateful. By the way, how is your investigation coming?”

“Slowly.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be home soon enough.”

Arkady didn’t mind so much being skewered like an insect on a pin as seeing his image in Irina’s eyes. Look at this mosquito, this apparatchik, this ape at a civilized party! She listened to Max as if she had no independent memory of Arkady at all. She turned to Albov. “Max, could you give me a light?”

“Of course. You’re smoking again?”

Arkady retreated from the circle of admirers and found himself back at the bar. Stas had followed. He lit a cigarette of his own and inhaled so deeply that his eyes seemed to glow. “You saw Max in Moscow?” he asked Arkady.

“He was introduced to me as a journalist.”