Nadezhda For a CPA and a homemaker, it's interesting that the Bakers live just fifteen minutes from the Pentagon. But as it turns out, Jane isn't the only community volunteer in the marriage. They're just volunteers for a community that is far, far away from the suburbs surrounding Washington, DC. Tonight they're farther from the Pentagon than that, though. Jane is, at least. And not too far: she's driving alone with a restless child this morning, a child who is asking forgetful questions about where they are going and why. They are going to visit mommy's friend. They are going to a park. Mommy doesn't know if there is a playground at the park, but she knows there is a pond. No, we can't go swimming; the water will be too cold. Maybe there will still be ducks. Maybe we can feed the ducks. Maybe Lisa is right and mommy's friend will want to go find a playground. Yes, if you ask him nicely he will probably push you on the swingset, but you have to say...
Nadezhda Early spring. The air is cool during the day, quite crisp at night. And it is night, now. There was a hard journey, tense but -- luckily -- not too fraught. He knows there is a car waiting for him. He knows the kind of car to look for, the location it is supposed to be in, and the code phrase to use. There is the dusky blue-grey Buick Riviera, parked in the shadows between shipping containers, almost invisible unless you're looking for it. And in the driver's seat, a woman in a light jacket, with red hair not quite to her shoulders, the neat bob matched by equally neat bangs. Ruslan There are precious few flights between Washington D.C. and Moscow, and most of the travelers are diplomats on official business or, in rare cases, state-sanctioned businessmen. There is no way Ruslan could have flown here; not with his ties, not with his purposes. So it was a shipping freighter for him. Nearly a month at sea, much of it alone in the cargo hold, subsisting on hardtack, re...