“That’s what I’ve heard at the movies.”
“I understand,” Serov said. “Somebody should tell Hollywood that Nostrovia! as a toast is meaningless, and also that all Russians are not monsters. What I propose as a toast—Za to, chtoby sbyvalus mechty—means ‘Let our dreams come true.’”
“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Justice Jackson said.
“So will I,” Ginger said, and again met Cronley’s eyes and smiled at him.
Oh, Jesus! Cronley thought.
“Would it be impolitic of me to ask again how your investigation into the escape of Burgdorf and von Dietelburg is progressing?” Serov asked. “We’re all wondering how that could have happened.”
Talk about brass balls!
The odds are ninety-nine to one that you arranged it!
“I’ll let Jim answer that, Colonel,” Jackson said. “He’s in charge of the investigation.”
“Well, Ivan—”
“Excuse me, Jim,” Serov interrupted him and snapped his fingers to attract the attention of a waiter hovering nearby.
“Herr Oberst?” the waiter said.
Serov pointed to the table where Tiny Dunwiddie and Max Ostrowski were sitting with the nurse and the baby.
“Send a bottle of the champagne to that table with my compliments,” he said.
“Jawohl, Herr Oberst.”
“Curiosity overwhelms me,” Serov said. “Who is the infant whose protection requires the services of two of DCI’s best agents? And the attention of a very senior Army nurse?”
“That’s John Jay McCloy’s love child, Ivan,” Cronley said. “I suppose that now that you’ve spotted them, that secret’s no longer so secret.”
“My God, Jim,” Jackson said. His tone suggested he was more amused at the injecting of the assistant secretary of war than shocked.
“That is my son,” Ginger said, evenly.
Cronley was not finished.
“We’re all friends here, Ivan. So, tell me—what’s the gossip on Lubyanka Square? Does Nikolaevich Merkulov go home to Mrs. Merkulov every night? Or does he have a little something on the side? Maybe a ballet dancer?”
Serov’s face went white and his eyes flashed. He stood up.
“Sometimes, Cronley, you go too far,” he said, angrily. He nodded his head toward Jackson. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Justice. I just remembered an appointment.”
He stormed out of the dining room.
Everyone at the table exchanged glances.
“Was that wise, Jim?” Jackson asked.
“It was stupid,” Ginger snapped.
“Oh, good ol’ Ivan’ll be back,” Cronley replied. “He wants something. I told him the escape is off-limits here.”
“What?” Jackson asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I will.”