Platonov spoke up. “It’s German law. Since Renko has no place to stay, the consulate is expediting his return home.”

“Stay with me,” Stas told Arkady.

“It’s not that simple,” Platonov said. “Invitations to Soviet citizens have to be submitted in writing and approved in advance. His visa has been canceled and he already has his new ticket to Moscow, so it’s impossible.”

Stas asked Arkady, “Can you go now?”

Arkady removed his locker key and Lufthansa ticket from Federov and said, “Actually, I’m almost packed.”

Stas joined the traffic milling around the center of town. Though it was a gray summer day, the windows were down because the dog’s breath condensed on the glass. The animal filled the rear seat of the car, and Arkady had the feeling that he would be allowed in front with his bag only as long as he moved slowly. When he had left, Platonov and Federov had looked like a pair of pallbearers whose corpse was walking out the door.

“Thanks.”

“I did have some questions,” Stas said. “Tommy was a silly man and he drove a stupid car. The Trabi wouldn’t go more than seventy-five kilometers per hour and never should have been on a highway, but I don’t understand how he could lose control and hit an abutment so hard.”

“I don’t either,” Arkady said. “I doubt there’s enough left of the car to tell the police anything. It burned down to an engine block and axle.”

“It was probably that idiotic heater. A kerosene heater on a car floor? A death trap.”

“Tommy didn’t suffer long. If the crash didn’t kill him, the smoke did. We see the flames, but they die of fumes first.”

“You’ve seen this kind of thing before?”

“I saw a man in Moscow die in a car fire. It just took a little longer because it was a better car.”

Thinking about Rudy made Arkady remember Polina. Also Jaak. He thought that if he got back to Moscow alive he would be a less critical person, more appreciative of friendship and deathly cautious of all cars and fires. Stas, on the other hand, drove recklessly. At least he watched the road, content to let the dog keep watch on Arkady.

“Did Tommy take you to Red Square?”

“You know about that place?”

“Renko, there are not many reasons to be on that road at that time of night. Poor Tommy. A case of fatal Russophilia.”

“Then we went to a parking lot, sort of a mobile brothel.”