“German labor law. The Germans don’t want any foreigners on their welfare rolls, so once one has a job it’s almost impossible to dismiss him. There are meetings between the American management and the Russian staff at the station. By law, the reports are written in German. It drives the Americans crazy. Michael tries to fire me once a year. It’s wonderful, like starving a shark. Anyway, I put good programs on the air.”

“You like to embarrass him?”

“I’ll tell you what real embarrassment is—when the Jews on the staff accused the station of anti-Semitism, took it to a German court and won. That’s embarrassment. I don’t want Michael to forget episodes like that.”

“When Max defected back to Moscow, wasn’t that embarrassing?”

Stas took a deep breath. “It was embarrassing to me and to Irina. Actually, it was embarrassing to everyone. We’d had security problems before.”

“Michael said so. An explosion?”

“That’s why we have the gates and big walls now. But to have the head of the Russian section defect back to Moscow is a security problem on a different level.”

“I’d think that Michael would hate Max even more than he hates you.”

“You’d think so.” Stas looked at his empty glass. “I’ve known Max for ten years. I was always struck by how he could get along with the Americans and us. He changed, depending where he was and who he was with. You and I are Russians. Max is liquid. He changes shape. He fills the container whatever the container is. In a fluid situation, he’s king. He came back from Moscow more of a businessman than he was before. The Americans can’t help believing Max because he’s like a mirror. To them he looks like another American.”

“What kind of business is he involved in?”

“I don’t know. Before he left he used to say a fortune could be made out of the collapse of the Soviet Union. He said it was like any huge bankruptcy; there were still assets and property. What’s the biggest landowner in the Soviet Union? Who owns the biggest office buildings, the best resorts, the only decent apartment houses?”

“The Party.”

“The Communist party. Max said that all it had to do was change its name, call itself a company and restructure. Dump the shareholders, keep the goods.”

Arkady wasn’t aware at what point he had set his bag down, but he discovered himself sitting on the couch. Bread, cheese and cigarettes were on the table. A floor fixture pointed light in three directions. The balcony door was open to street sounds and night air.