Michael said, “We’ve decided to put you on the plane. Consider that done. The communiqué my friend Sergei here sends to Moscow will depend in large part on your attitude, which so far is piss-poor. He could describe your work here as so successful that you went home early. On the other hand, I would guess that an investigator who’s sent back for harming relations between the United States and the Soviet Union, for abusing the hospitality of the German republic and for stealing the property of this station will get a cold reception. Do you want to clean a latrine in Siberia for the rest of your miserable life? That’s your choice.”

“I’d like to help,” Arkady said.

“That’s better. What are you looking for in Munich? Why have you been poking around Radio Liberty? How is Stas helping you? Where’s my phone?”

“I have an idea,” Arkady suggested.

“Tell me,” Michael said.

“Call.”

“Call who?”

“Yourself. Maybe you’ll hear a ring.”

There was silence for a moment. “That’s it? Renko, you’re worse than an asshole, you’re a suicide.”

Arkady said, “You can’t send me back. This is Germany.”

Michael hopped off the edge of the desk. He had the springy step of an athlete, a faint sunglass mask around his eyes and a tarry smell of sweat and after-shave. “That’s why you’re going. Renko, you’re a refugee. What do you think the Germans do with people like you? I think you know Lieutenant Schiller.”

The guards pulled Arkady to his feet. Quick as a dog, Federov jumped up.

An ashtray, phone and facsimile machine furnished Ludmilla’s desk, and as Michael strode across the room and opened the door for Peter Schiller, Arkady saw that next to its Transmit button, the fax had the number that had called Rudy Rosen and asked, “Where is Red Square?”

Peter said, “I hear you’re going home.”

“Look at that fax,” Arkady said.

This seemed to be an occasion that the lieutenant had waited for. He bent Arkady’s arm behind his back and screwed his wrist so that he rose to the balls of his feet. “Everywhere I go, you are making a mess.”

“Take a look.”

“Theft, trespass, resisting police. Another Soviet tourist.” Peter swung Arkady toward the door. “Bring the phone you found, please,” he told Michael.

“We’re dropping charges to speed the repatriation process,” Michael said.

Federov followed. “The consulate rearranged his visa. We have a seat for him on the flight today. This can all be done quietly.”

“Oh, no,” Peter said. He held Arkady like a prize. “If he has broken German law, he’s in my hands.”