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An SS man said to Werner: "You, in the air force uniform, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Werner was so angry that Carla was frightened he would start a fight. But he spoke calmly. "Giving blankets to old people who are cold," he said. "Is that against the law now?"
"You should be fighting on the eastern front."
"I'm going there tomorrow. How about you?"
"Take care what you say."
"If you would be kind enough to arrest me before I go, you might save my life."
The man turned away.
The gears of the bus crashed and its engine note rose. Carla and Werner turned to look. At every window was a face, and they were all different: babbling, drooling, laughing hysterically, distracted, or distorted with spiritual distress--all insane. Psychiatric patients being taken away by the SS. The mad leading the mad.
The bus pulled away.
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"I might have liked Russia, if I'd been allowed to see it," Woody said to his father.
"I feel the same."
"I didn't even get any decent photographs."
They were sitting in the grand lobby of the Hotel Moskva, near the entrance to the subway station. Their bags were packed and they were on their way home.
Woody said: "I have to tell Greg Peshkov that I met a Volodya Peshkov. Though Volodya was not so pleased about it. I guess anyone with connections in the West might fall under suspicion."
"You bet your socks."
"Anyway, we got what we came for--that's the main thing. The allies are committed to the United Nations organization."
"Yes," said Gus with satisfaction. "Stalin took some persuading, but he saw sense in the end. You helped with that, I think, by your straight-talking to Peshkov."
"You've fought for this all your life, Papa."
"I don't mind admitting that this is a pretty good moment."
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A worrying thought crossed Woody's mind. "You're not going to retire now, are you?"
Gus laughed. "No. We've won agreement in principle, but the job has only just begun."
Cordell Hull had already left Moscow, but some of his aides were still there, and now one of them approached the Dewars. Woody knew him, a young man called Ray Baker. "I have a message for you, Senator," he said. He seemed nervous.
"Well, you just caught me in time--I'm about to leave," said Gus. "What is it?"
"It's about your son Charles--Chuck."
Gus went pale and said: "What is the message, Ray?"
The young man was having trouble speaking. "Sir, it's bad news. He's been in a battle in the Solomon Islands."
"Is he wounded?"
"No, sir, it's worse."
