Yuri with his back turned smiled at his guest’s anecdote and held the teapot’s lid with four fingers as he poured steaming golden liquid into two elegant cups. He carefully dropped in a few white lumps and stirred with a tiny silver spoon. Looking over his shoulder he inquired of his guest, “Biscuit?” with a sly wink. It was an inside joke between them, a reference to a debacle that happened decades ago and which changed each time they brought it up. One of them would recount the details inaccurately while the other would correct him and in the process portray certain facts with plain disregard to the truth. It could be gleaned from their easy demeanor that there was an obvious fondness between them which no actors could have feigned so well.
Yuri gently carried the rattling tray and set it down on the low table between the two sofas opposite. With a quick pinch he hitched his trousers and settled onto the stiff cushion. He gestured with his open hand toward the arranged service, signalling to his comrade, who he knew as George, that he was welcome to help himself. George reached over to gingerly lift his teacup, and Yuri followed suit.
George held the scalding cup under his chin and let the vapor waft round his nostrils. Almond. Unmistakable, and not his favorite flavor. He smiled at Yuri, set the cup on the table and said, “I’ll let this cool a bit.” Yuri looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
As the two men commenced their discussion, George began feeling tense. He wanted to get straight to business, but Yuri remained aloof, deflecting each of George’s artfully phrased inquiries. It would not be enough to obtain the information he had come for through polite allusion. After a few more rounds of what resembled idle chatter, George decided to ask outright.
“The summit next month,” he insisted, clearing his throat, “Are your people still committed to the framework we discussed in Vienna?”
Yuri’s tight-lipped grimace didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid I must speak to you about. You see, there’s been an unfortunate… and radical… change of plans. In fact, the entire conference will officially be called off tomorrow morning, and it won’t be rescheduled for any time in the foreseeable future. I’m sorry to say that I’ve only come to meet with you as a… professional courtesy.”
George was stunned. He’d been totally unprepared for this turn of events and it set him on edge. “What kind of change of plans, exactly?” he asked. Although it wasn’t unusual in their line of work for situations to evolve rapidly, something as big as what appeared to be the dissolution of diplomatic relations should have been detected much earlier by his network back home. Certainly before they’d dispatched him.
Yuri delivered a blank stare that indicated he would reveal no more details. George continued questioning. “So that’s it then? Should I assume our rendezvous with your minister tomorrow has been called off as well? It’s a shame they had me come all this way.” He furrowed his brow as he scrutinized the state of affairs, trying to find some undisclosed detail that would explain the unusual cancelation of what should have been a simple exchange. He played out the various scenarios in his mind, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that things were much worse than Yuri was letting on. He glanced at his tea, cooling on the table.
As Yuri spoke again he stared at one of the little red anemones embroidered on the cream-colored couch. “These things, you know how they are. Word comes down from the top, and we all fall in line. To tell you the truth I was caught off guard myself. There was simply no choice. In fact, they don’t even know I’m meeting with you now.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his closely shaven scalp and shook his head a little.
George let out a heavy sigh, brushed the legs of his suit trousers, and stood up. “Well, there’s no sense staying tonight. I’ll need to get word back as soon as I can.” He made as if to leave.
“Ah, you may not wish to go just yet!” Yuri exclaimed as he sprang to his feet. “The weather here tends to change very quickly, and it’s just as likely to turn foul the moment you step outside.”
George stared out the panorama windows which encircled the apartment of the luxury high-rise. It was nearing twilight and the cobalt sky was cloudless. He shifted anxiously and frowned at the outline of the city. A glimmer of cold apprehension touched the creases of his face as re recalled the unusual layers of extra security that had been stationed in the building when he’d arrived. After a moment he turned to Yuri and somberly acknowledged, “I can see what you mean.”
Yuri shifted on his feet and had a hard time meeting George’s eyes. “Well. I’d better depart before they come to check on you.” he abruptly declared, gathering his overcoat. He slung the coat over his arm then stood looking toward the door as if he were unsure of what to do next. Then, he turned back to his colleague, squared himself, and pronounced in a solemn tone: “It has been a pleasure and an honor.” They held each other’s gaze a moment. George made that vacant little half-smile he often did and responded in a quiet voice, “Yes. Yes, I suppose it has.”
Yuri strode out of the flat and George heard the door latch softly behind him. He sat unmoving for several minutes, thinking of the choices that had led him here, and weighing his options. He thought of all the information he knew—the information that Yuri’s superiors knew he knew. Leaning forward, he considered the undrunk tea. As he contemplated these things, someone outside tried the door handle, then started a ceaseless and insistent knocking. It was nearly dark out. After a brief moment spent hesitating, George raised the delicate vessel and swiftly drained his cup.