Page 265 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"Friday."

"Hell." Looking furious, Nina started packing.

On Wednesday, Dimka spoke to his uncle Volodya about the move. "It's not just about my career," he said. "I'm not in government for myself. I want to prove that Communism can work. But that means it has to change and improve. Now I'm afraid we could go backward."

"We'll get you back to Moscow as soon as we can," Volodya said.

"Thank you," Dimka said with fervent gratitude. His uncle had always been supportive.

"You deserve it," Volodya said warmly. "You're smart and you get things done, and we don't have a surplus of such people. I wish I had you in my office."

"I was never the military type."

"But, listen. After something like this has happened, you have to prove your loyalty by working hard and not complaining--and, most of all, not constantly begging to be sent back to Moscow. If you do all that for five years, I can start working on your return."

"Five years?"

"Until I can start. Don't count on less than ten. In fact, don't count on anything. We don't know how Brezhnev is going to work out."

In ten years the Soviet Union could slide back all the way to poverty and underdevelopment, Dimka thought. But there was no point in saying so. Volodya was not just his best chance--he was his only chance.

Dimka saw Natalya again on Thursday. She had a split lip. "Did Nik do that?" said Dimka angrily.

"I slipped on icy steps and fell on my face," she said.

"I don't believe you."

"It's true," she said, but she would not meet him in the furniture storeroom again.

On Friday morning a ZIL-130 panel truck arrived and parked outside Government House, and two men in overalls began to carry Dimka's and Nina's possessions down in the elevator.

When the truck was almost full, they stopped for a break. Nina made them sandwiches and tea. The phone rang, and the doorman said: "There's a messenger here from the Kremlin, has to deliver personally."

"Send him up," said Dimka.

Two minutes later, Natalya appeared at the door in a coat of champagne-colored mink. With her damaged lip, she looked like a ravaged goddess.

Dimka stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then he glanced at Nina.

She caught his guilty look, and glared at Natalya. Dimka wondered if the two women would fly at one another. He got ready to intervene.

Nina folded her arms across her chest. "So, Dimka," she said, "I suppose this is your little typist."

What was Dimka supposed to say? Yes? No? She's my lover?

Natalya looked defiant. "I'm not a typist," she said.

"Don't worry," said Nina. "I know exactly what you are."

That jibe was rich, Dimka thought, coming from the woman who had slept with a fat old general in order to get a dacha. But he did not say so.

Natalya looked haughty and handed him an official-looking envelope.

He tore it open. It was from Alexei Kosygin, the reforming economist. He had a strong power base so, despite his radical ideas, he had been made chairman of the Council of Ministers in the Brezhnev government.

Dimka's heart leaped. The letter offered him a job as aide to Kosygin--here in Moscow.

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