"Do you know what became ofhim?" She crushed out her cigarette and said, "Do you really want toknow?"

"He's the final part of thepuzzle," I offered. "I can only tell you what I heard from the CIA.After Helsinki, he and his wife were flown to America. They were given newidentities and settled in California, where his wife gave birth to a son. Thenthree months later they told me Yuri was killed in an automobileaccident."

"You think the KGB had himkilled?"

No, I don't believe they did. It wasdefinitely a freak accident, Mr. Massey. And I'm certain the CIA didn't killhim for that matter. In many ways, had it not been for him, the missionwouldn't have been so successful. But I suppose his death was probablyconvenient for both the Kremlin and Washington. There was one less person alivewho knew the real truth."

:"What happened to his wife andson?"

"I have no idea, I'm afraid."

I sat there for several moments, takingit all in. Beyond the glass the rain had stopped. The sun appeared from behindthe sullen Moscow clouds, glinting off the Kremlin's golden domes and thebright, candy-colored whorls of St. Basil's.

I looked back. "May I ask you apersonal question?"

She smiled. "That depends on howpersonal."

"Did you ever remarry?"

She laughed gently. "Good lord, whatan odd question. But the answer is no. Sasha eventually married a nice Russianimmigrant in Israel. They have a son they named Ivan Alexei Yuri. And adaughter, Rachel, whom you met when you arrived."

She smiled. "I loved two remarkablemen in my life, Mr. Massey. My husband and Alex. And that's really been quiteenough."

So you really did love AlexStanski?"

"Yes, I loved him. Not in the way Iloved Ivan, but I loved him. It was never destined to have a happy ending, Ithink we both knew that. What is it they say? A lost soul. That summed up Alexperfectly. I think he knew he'd die on the mission, perhaps even wanted to. Ithink he always knew his destiny was to die in Moscow. To kill Stalin was worththe sacrifice of his life and the ultimate revenge for what had happened to hisfamily. And in paying that price Alex did the world a great service, Mr.Massey. There were as many sighs of relief in Moscow as in Washington when Stalindied."

The door opened softly. The dark-hairedgirl stood there. She had changed into a blouse and skirt and she lookedremarkably beautiful, her long legs tanned and her hair down about hershoulders. "Nana, the embassy car is here for the airport."

The girl smiled at me and I smiled back.She had the same features as her grandmother. The same brown eyes and presence.I guessed she must have looked much like Anna Khorev had over forty yearsbefore. I could understand Alex Stanski, and even my father, falling in lovewith her, "Thank you, Rachel. We're almost finished. Tell the driver we'llbe with him in a minute."

The girl smiled at me again."Promise me you won't keep my grandmother much longer?"

"I promise."

She left, closing the door after her. AnnaKhorev stood. "So there you have it, Mr. Massey. I've told you everythingI can. I'm afraid you must excuse me now. Rachel and I have a flight to Israelto catch. I hope you understand? It's been a brief visit, but one I've wantedto make for a long time."

"May I ask one more question?"

"And what's that?"

"Do you really think my father wouldhave killed you and Alex?" She thought for several moments, then she said,"No, I don't believe he would have. Though God knows what the outcomewould have been if Yuri Lukin hadn't done what he did. Your father came toMoscow because he was ordered. But I think if it had come down to it, hewouldn't have killed us. He would have stopped us, certainly, but figured someway of getting us out of Moscow. He was a fine man, Mr. Massey. He was a fatheryou would have been proud of, And to be honest, maybe I was a little in lovewith him, too."

Finally, she glanced at her watch beforepicking up the bunch of white orchids I had brought. "We have some time,so why don't you ride with us in the car, Mr. Massey? We can drop you at yourhotel on the way to the airport. And if you don't mind I'd like to pay a visitto Novodevichy on the way."

The sun came out as we walked together tothe graves. Rachel had waited in the car and as the sunlight washed downthrough the chestnut trees the graveyard hardly seemed like the same place. Thesky was clear and blue and the dry heat of the afternoon lingered under thetrees. Old women walked among the shaded pathways with bunches of flowers andbottles of vodka, come to sit and talk and drink with their departed.

When we came to the two gravestones AnnaKhorev placed a spray of orchids on each of them.

I stood back then, to let her say herfinal prayer. She wasn't crying, but I saw the pain in her eyes when shefinally turned back.

"I decided a long time ago that thiswill be my final resting place when my day comes, Mr. Massey. I know Ivan, myhusband, would have understood."

"I'm certain he would have." Ilooked at her, stuck for something to say, seeing the faraway look in her browneyes. "Everything that happened that night must seem like a dream."

It was all I could offer.

"Sometimes I wonder did it reallyhappen. And wonder who would believe it."

I do.

She half smiled and went to say something,glancing at the two graves as if there was something else I should know, butthen she seemed to change her mind and shivered.

"Are you ready, Mr. Massey? I'mafraid graveyards are not one of my favorite places. Even on a warm, sunnyMoscow day.

I nodded and took her arm and we walkedback to the car.

I heard that Anna Khorev died six monthslater.

There was nothing in the newspapers butBob Vitali called from Langley and said he thought I'd want to know she hadpassed away in the Sharet Hospital in Jerusalem. She had suffered from lungcancer. The funeral was to be in Moscow four days later.

I ordered plane tickets, for some reasonwanting to be part of the end of things.

it was snowing when I landed atSheremetyevo, the fields and steppes of Russia frozen like some vast ghostlytapestry, flurries of snow sweeping the Moscow streets, the country in theharsh grip of another bitter winter, and I thought it must have been like thisall those years ago when Alex Stanski and Anna made their way across Russia.

The funeral at Novodevichy was a smallaffair and it had already started when I arrived. A half-dozen or more Israeliembassy staff were huddled around the open grave as an Orthodox priest chantedhis prayers for the dead and the snow gusted around us.

I saw Anna Khorev's granddaughter holdingon to the arm of a handsome woman in her forties whom I guessed was Sasha, boththeir faces pale with grief. The coffin was open and I took my turn to kissAnna Khorev's cold marble face and say my final goodbye. For a brief moment Ilooked down at her, thinking how beautiful she looked even in death, then Iwalked back and stood at the edge of the mourners as the gravediggers went towork, Something remarkable happened then.

As I stood watching the coffin being loweredinto the frozen ground, I noticed an old couple standing arm in arm among themourners. The woman's face was deeply wrinkled, but under the headscarf shewore could see a fading tint of red in her graying hair. The man was very old,his body almost bent double with age.

He wore a black leather glove on hisstiff left hand.

I felt a shiver go through me.

The couple waited until the coffin hadbeen lowered into the ground before the old man came forward and placed a bunchof winter roses in the open grave. When he stepped back he stood there forseveral moments, then I saw his eyes look over at Alex Stanski's headstone. Fora long time the old man stood there, as if lost in thought, until the womantook his arm and kissed his cheek and led him away.