Despite Stas’s urging, Irina stopped at the far side of the booths. Arkady mouthed the word “Go,” and he and Michael watched Stas lead her through the exit.

It turned out that Michael did have something to say. “Congratulations. Now that you got her in, she’ll probably be killed. Just remember, you brought her back.”

“I know.”

A German television crew was negotiating the price of bringing in a video camera. The Emergency Committee, a colonel of customs informed them, had only that morning banned the transmission of video images by foreign reporters. The colonel accepted an informal bond of a hundred Deutsche marks to ensure that the crew didn’t violate the Committee’s laws. The other camera crews ahead of Arkady all had to make their own financial arrangements with customs and then race to their cars. Arkady’s Soviet passport was a disappointment, a no-sale. Like a cashier, the customs officer just waved him through.

An open double door led to the waiting hall and a reception line of emotional families waving cellophane-wrapped bouquets. Arkady watched for dry-eyed men with heavy athletic bags. Since Sheremetyevo’s metal detectors were haphazardly manned, the only persons sure to be unarmed and unprotected were arriving passengers. He held the canvas bag to his chest and hoped that Rita’s call saying that he had the painting had gotten through.

Arkady recognized a small figure in a raincoat sitting alone in a row of chairs halfway down the waiting hall. Polina was reading a newspaper—Pravda by the look of it. Not a difficult guess, he admitted, since most papers had been banned the day before. He stopped for a cigarette by the flight board. Amazing. Here was an entire nation that could go about its business and keep its eyes down. Maybe history was nothing but a microscope. How many people had actually stormed the Winter Palace? Everyone else was searching for bread, trying to stay warm, or getting drunk.

Polina pulled her hair away from her eyes to give Arkady a sharp glance, dropped her newspaper and marched out. Through the window, he watched her join a male friend who was sitting on a scooter at the curb. The friend came to attention and moved to the rear saddle. Polina sat in front, stomped the starter pedal with more fury than weight and drove off.

Arkady walked up the hall, took the seat she had left and looked at the newspaper, which said, “The measures that are being taken are temporary. They in no way signal a renunciation of the course aimed at profound reforms.… ”

Under the newspaper were car keys and a note that said, “White Zhiguli license X65523MO. You shouldn’t have come back.” Translated from Polina-ese, this meant, “Welcome home.”