other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

take care of his family back in Israel will be busy trying to get his wifeinto bed if she looks only slightly better than Godzilla is somethingthat can't bother him because he's not aware of it, and probably neverwill be.To kill time, I walked the streets of the city, somehow always endingup in a large square where yuppies and homeless people sattogether on wooden benches, the yuppies trying to get some fresh airas they munched their sandwiches, the homeless staring at them, hopingthey would not finish so that a meal could be picked out of thegarbage.I had an urge to pass by the Soviet embassy, just to see where itwas and how I should approach it. But I knew that it would be exposingmyself to whoever was watching the place. It was better that Icome there on foot at the last minute and just walk straight in.I took the subway to Silver Spring, heading back to the hotel, onlyto find that I was far too restless to sit in the room and watch television.Tomorrow I was to make my move; I wanted it to be that timealready.In the evening, the downtown city took on a different look. Themen were still wrapped in suits and ties, although most collars wereworn slightly open. But the women had changed, going through atotal metamorphosis, unless, as was very possible, it was a whole differentbreed of woman out there. They were long and sexy and movedmore like cats than like any other animal, and the so-called wateringholes (better known as meat markets) were full.I made stops at some of them and sat for a while in conversation.But I was too edgy to feel comfortable, and by eleven I realized it wastime to head back.I got up early, and by the time I was dressed and into my thirdcigarette, I was starting to get over my habitual hangover.The sky was cloudy and there was a constant drizzle; the weathercouldn't have been better if I'd ordered it myself. I was wearing casualpants and a simple shirt with a yellow sweater. I was also wearing agray wind jacket with a fold-in hood. I would wear the hood whenentering the embassy; that way, no surveillance could actually see whoI was or photograph my face.By eleven, I was in front of the embassy. The weather had startedto clear, but there was still reason enough for the hood. The iron gatewas open, and the surveillance cameras didn't move in my direction. ILTHE OTHEK SIDE OF DECEPTIOS / 101walked quickly up the marble stairs and entered the main door.The place was virtually empty; there was no one but me and anunimpressive blond woman behind the counter. She looked at me,smiling. I walked straight up to her."Can I help you, sir?" she said with a heavy Russian accent. Iknew that the Soviets preferred to employ Soviet citizens in theirembassies whenever possible.I was fairly sure that the waiting area was bugged by the Amerlcanssince the access to it was so easy. "I would like to get somebrochures on the Soviet Union," I said."What sort of brochures?""Whatever you have."Her smile faded somewhat. "Just one moment, please." She turnedand disappeared behind a small wall. I saw a notepad on the counterand a pencil on a string. I took the pencil and scribbled the words "Iwant to talk to security" on the notepad. When she came back, shehanded me a thin booklet that looked as though it came straight froma printing house in the fifties. If this was a travel brochure, it wasn'tvery appetizing. I turned the small ad to face her. "Thank you, is thisall you have?" I said.Her smile was not there when she raised her eyes and stared backat me. "Why don't you have a seat, sir. I will see if there is anythingelse I might have.""Thank you very much." I turned and headed for the woodenbench under a poster of Lenin's tomb at night. The woman disappearedbehind the small wall again. When she came back, several minuteslater, she sat down in her chair, ignoring me. I couldn't see whatshe was doing behind the counter, but it took all her concentration.I had to wait patiently; at least she hadn't asked me to leave. I washoping that they hadn't misinterpreted the note as a threat to theirsecurity and called the police. Well, if they did I had a story ready forthem, albeit one I'd prefer not to use.After about fifteen minutes, a well-dressed, solid-looking mancame in from a door behind the receptionist. He leaned and spoke tothe woman and then left. She stood up and, smiling again, signaled meto come over.I moved fairly fast and leaned on the counter. "Yes?""We need your passport for identification if you want more information."Without hesitation, I pulled out my Israeli passport and handed itover. "Here.""Thank you." She got up. "Please have a seat." She nodded in the