The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

And so, Maurice took Lora to Ananiev Lane. She, like Lida Khovanskaia before her, asked the ambassador in for a cup of coffee, and also to see how a common Soviet movie star lived. (Alas, not at all the way Brigitte Bardot lives.) Maurice agreed. In these cases he was amazingly amenable. The ambassador did not spend a long time there. The driver waited in the car for half an hour. And during that time nothing happened between Lora and De Jean.

A few days later, Maurice invited us over for breakfast. Everything was orderly and elegant. Breakfast was served in the reception hall, in the right corner near the window. For an hour-and-a-half we lived among antique tapestries and furniture worthy of a museum.

Later there came another invitation to the Briantsevs’ —not to Kriukovo, but to their Moscow apartment, which was in the Writers Building, on Cher-niakhovskii Street. De Jean accepted the invitation at first, but the next day I

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received a call at home from his interpreter, who asked to move the date of the meeting. Oh, what a fright the call from the French ambassador caused in my communal apartment! I wasn’t at home. When I returned, my neighbor, Valentina Zevakina, told me with wide-open and clearly frightened eyes that I had received a call from the French Embassy, from the ambassador himself, and that they had requested that I call the embassy immediately.

The second meeting at the Briantsevs’, officially a dinner, was only an intermediary step necessary to put Lora and Maurice on a more intimate footing, to bring them closer together smoothly and naturally.

When we left the Briantsevs’ and said good-bye, Maurice got into his car and left alone. Alla set out on foot, since she lived quite close. Lora jumped into my Volga, and ordered me to rush at top speed to Ananiev Lane. On the way Lora told me that De Jean would be visiting her in an hour, and that they had arranged this inconspicuously at dinner (this was what these dinners were for!), and that she didn’t know what to do, since this hadn’t been pre-arranged with Kunavin. When we arrived at the apartment on Ananiev Lane, we called every KGB number we knew: Kunavin, Vera Ivanovna, Melkumov, and even Gribanov himself—that is, his office. Imagine, dear reader, none answered their telephones, or the secretaries didn’t know where their bosses were. This happens sometimes, even in the KGB.

We were forced to make an independent decision, which, of course, is not recommended in KGB practice.

Lora said, “To be or not to be?”

I said, “Almost Hamlet.”

She said, “It’s funny. This is the first time in my life when it depends not on myself, but on the KGB.”

I said, “Babe, you gotta fall.”

And Carthage fell.

The affair between Lora and Maurice continued afterwards. She got ahead of General Gribanov’s schedule. He had to rework everything on the fly. It was obvious that Lora had captivated the ambassador; he was taken with her. And to be snared by her . . .

Getting ready for the dénouement, Gribanov ordered her to hold off. De Jean would call Lora at home, but she wouldn’t answer. And the meetings with Kho-vanskaia had also ceased. The poor ambassador remained without a woman’s attentions. They had barely given him a taste, and all of a sudden—well, there you go. But the predatory wolf from the KGB knew his business. He had planned precisely, taking into account even such factors as physiology.

During this short interlude, the necessary organizational tasks were completed. The first thing Gribanov did was to call Kunavin back from a vacation that had started several days beforehand. From Kazan he summoned Misha,

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Chapter Thirty-One

a KGB operative and a really big bruiser ready for anything. I had heard that he was used regularly in these types of cases—that is, when decisiveness and brute force were called for. Lora’s room on Ananiev Lane was wired; that is, there was a very sensitive microphone hidden somewhere, whose wires led to the apartment next door, where a short-wave radio transmitter and receiver were set up.

Gribanov himself decided to meet with Lora. This meeting took place in a private room at the Metropole Restaurant. Besides Oleg Mikhailovich, Melkumov, Kunavin, and Misha—and Lora, of course—were present. All of the tiniest details were planned. Kunavin told me about it later. Gribanov stated again that if everything went well, Lora would receive a room in Moscow. A room, not an apartment. The KGB men had a champagne toast. After Gribanov and Melkumov left, Lora remained in the company of Ku-navin and Misha, in order to get to know Misha better—after all, he was her husband, the very enthusiastic geologist. This was the role he had to play at the crucial moment. And to help him, he had a friend, Kunavin—also a dedicated geologist. Melkumov met with me; we went over my part in the script.

And, finally, the fateful day arrived for Maurice De Jean.