Peter grabbed Arkady and pulled him aside. “You can’t leave me with this.”

“I trust you.”

“My short experience with you suggests that’s a curse. What am I going to do with it?”

“Hang it someplace with a constant temperature. Be an anonymous donor. Just don’t give it to your grandfather. You know, the story about Malevich wasn’t a lie. He did bring his paintings to Berlin to keep them safe. For the time being, do what he did.”

“It seems to me that Malevich’s mistake was going back. What if Rita calls Moscow and says you took the painting? If Albov and Gubenko know you’re coming, they’ll be waiting for you.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t be able to find them, so they have to find me.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

“Peter, you’re too good. You’d scare them away.”

Peter shifted reluctantly.

Arkady said, “Life can’t all be fast cars and automatic weapons. You finally have a task worthy of you.”

“They’ll kill you at the airport or on the way in. Revolutions are for settling scores. What’s an extra body? At least here I can throw you in jail.”

“That sounds inviting.”

“We can keep you alive and extradite Albov and Gubenko.”

“No one has ever successfully extradited anyone from the Soviet Union. And who knows what government will be in place tomorrow? Max might be Minister of Finance and Gubenko might be Minister of Sport. Besides, if there’s a decent investigation into Ali and his friends, I think you’ll be glad I’m far away.”

A soft gong announced the last boarding call. Peter said, “Germany goes straight downhill every time Russians show up.”

“And vice versa,” Arkady said.

“Remember, there’s always a cell waiting for you in Munich.”

“Danke.”

“Be careful.”

Peter scanned the boarding line as Arkady joined Stas and Irina. From halfway down the ramp, Arkady could see Peter’s head over the crowd, still carrying out the duty of a rear guard. At last glimpse, Peter took a firm grip on the shawl and slipped away.

The Canvas Bag fit in the overhead compartment. Arkady sat on the aisle, Stas by the window, Irina in between. When they lifted off, Stas’s face took on an even more ironic expression than usual. Irina held on to Arkady’s arm. She looked exhausted, blank, not unhappy. Arkady thought the three of them resembled refugees so confused that they were going the wrong way.

A number of passengers seemed to be journalists and photographers burdened with carry-on gear. No one wanted to spend two hours at a baggage claim while a revolution was going on.

Stas said, “The Emergency Committee starts off by saying Gorby’s sick. Three hours later, one of the ringleaders drops from hypertension. This is a strange coup.”