“No.” Federov looked into the refrigerator and found it empty.

“Did the Germans make an official protest?”

“No.” Federov folded up the map and threw it into the bag.

“Have you heard from the police since?”

“No.”

Not even since the car wreck? That was interesting, Arkady thought. “I’ll need my airplane ticket,” he said.

“Actually, you won’t.” Platonov dropped an Aeroflot ticket on the table. “We’re sending you home today. Federov will put you on the plane.”

“My visa is good for another week,” Arkady said. “Consider your visa canceled.”

“I’d need new orders from the prosecutor’s office. Until then I can’t leave.”

“Prosecutor Rodionov is a hard man to reach. I have to ask myself why he sent an investigator on a tourist visa, giving you no real authority. The whole affair is too odd.” Platonov wandered to the window and looked out toward the rail yard. Over the vice-consul’s shoulder, Arkady saw trains slide across the tracks, morning commuters poised on the steps. Platonov shook his head in admiration. “Now, there’s efficiency.”

“I’m not going,” Arkady said.

“You have no choice. Either we put you on the plane or the Germans will. Think how that would look on your record. I’m giving you the easy way out,” Platonov said.

“All because I’m evicted?”

“As simple as that,” Platonov said, “and absolutely legal. I really have to appreciate good diplomatic relations.”

“I’ve never been evicted before,” Arkady said. Arrested and exiled, but never simply evicted. Life was getting subtle, he thought.

“It’s the coming thing.” Federov swept the rest of the wash off the line and into the carry-on.

The door opened. Standing in the hall was a black dog that Arkady assumed was part of the eviction process; the animal had eyes as dark as agate and, by its size and density of hair, looked crossbred from a bear. It walked in confidently and regarded the three men with equal suspicion.

Unequal footsteps followed from the hall and Stas looked in. “Going somewhere?” he asked Arkady.

“Being sent.”

Stas entered, ignoring Platonov and Federov, though Arkady was sure he knew who they were; he had studied Soviet apparatchiks all his life, and a man who studies worms all his life recognizes worms. Federov started to drop the bundle in his arms, but when the dog turned he held on to the clothes.

“I sent Tommy around last night. Did you see him?” Stas asked Arkady.

“I’m sorry about Tommy.”

“You heard about the accident?”

“I saw it,” Arkady said.

“I want to know what happened.”

“So do I,” Arkady said.

Stas’s eyes shone a little more than usual. When he glanced at Platonov and the burdened Federov, the dog followed suit. He looked at the open carry-on again. “You can’t leave,” he said as if it were a decision.