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No one from the FSB was waiting for him back at the hotel, as far as he could determine. Somehow he felt safer amid the luxurious trappings of the finest hotel in Moscow, as if the locals wouldn’t dare intervene here. Then again, the FSB didn’t know his name. They knew only the name “Robert Langfitt.” That was all the old lady knew, too.

Unless his face had been caught by a CCTV camera. Paul hadn’t noticed any in or on Ludmilla’s apartment building. But if he’d been identified . . . he didn’t want to think about that. Because then Galkin would know he’d been going around Moscow looking into his past, that he’d met with the woman who’d recruited Galkin to work for the Kremlin. And maybe then he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

Paul had courted danger. The question was, would he face the consequences?

He went directly to their suite, didn’t find Tatyana there. On his iPhone was a text from her telling him to meet her at eight at a restaurant on Novinskiy Boulevard called Selfie.

On the other iPhone was a Signal message from Addison that simply read, Congrats!

For what? Paul wondered.

Another Signal message, this one from Aaron, saying, Success, thank you .

The tracker he’d put inside Galkin’s briefcase. For a moment, he’d actually forgotten he’d done it.

A few hours later, he left for dinner, taking Galkin’s Bentley to the restaurant. Lowercase English letters on the outside of a modern building spelled out “selfie.” Inside, the décor was very hip, with a sleek open kitchen. He found Tatyana and her mother at a desirable-looking table, rapt in conversation.

*

They stayed at the restaurant until past midnight. After many vodka toasts, mother and daughter were fairly blitzed. They said a protracted goodbye—Tatyana and Paul were leaving Moscow in the morning—and Paul finally managed to trundle Tatyana into the waiting Bentley and back to the hotel.

He took her arm as she walked unsteadily into the empty lobby.

Then he saw that the lobby wasn’t quite empty. Two men in ill-fitting suits and one in a green uniform were standing before the reception desk, questioning the night clerk.

Maybe this was routine . . . but maybe it wasn’t.

Were they FSB, and were they looking for an American businessman named Langfitt? They wouldn’t find him here. But what if they had a photo of “Langfitt’s” face, from a camera Paul hadn’t spotted? When he walked by, they’d see him, they’d detain him . . .

He switched places with Tatyana so she would be on the side nearer the reception desk and he wouldn’t be as visible, and together they passed by reception and reached the elevators, Tatyana tottering, her heels clearly uncomfortable after a long day.

Before they could push a button, though, Paul heard a loud male voice calling out in Russian. It was Arkady, approaching the elevator, and he seemed a little unsteady himself. Like father, like daughter. Gripping his briefcase in one hand, Galkin gave his daughter a half hug with the other and said something in Russian about doch’ , which Paul knew meant “daughter.” He reeked of cigars and booze. Then Galkin turned to Paul. “How was your last day in Moscow?”

“Very nice, thanks.”

“Your meetings go well?”

“Quite well, thanks.”

“What you do after meetings? While my daughter and my ex-wife are spending my money?”

Why was he asking? “Mostly walked around aimlessly.”

“Yes?”

“Beautiful city.”

A long pause, and Galkin’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes glittering. “Why you go to Bauman?”

Paul’s stomach sank. He must have had me followed , he realized.

Laughing, Tatyana said in disbelief, “You went to the Bauman Institute?”

“I did,” Paul said to her. “I knew your father went to school there, and I knew it was important to him, so I read about it. Saw an interesting mention of its architecture.” Turning to Galkin, he said, “Partly nineteenth century, partly Soviet, but it’s harmonious. It works.” Paul the architecture critic. How much did Galkin know about what his son-in-law had researched at his alma mater?

Had he been followed to Ludmilla’s apartment, too? He would have no way to explain that.

Galkin gave Paul a hard look. “Architecture of Bauman not interesting” was all he said.