“But of course, Vladimir, my dear—of course I missed you! Could it be otherwise, ever?”
Laniq sat curled on a chair, talking into the telephone. Her transformation had been amazing, thought Tedor. Not many hours before, they had set their conveyor down a score of miles south of Moscow, in a heavily wooded area. Dressed like city folk and equipped with all the counterfeit documents they needed, they had confiscated an auto (Laniq’s forged paper placed them high in the Communist nobility) and motored to Moscow.
There they entered the apartment Laniq maintained, Laniq excused herself, left Tedor in the living room with some good vodka, and went into the bedroom to change her clothing.
Tedor had to whistle when she returned.
The gown clung to her body, dazzling white, patterned with gems,
