They sat at a table. Valentina wore an off-the-shoulder gown of expensive silk, a gift from some lovestruck member of the politburo. The American was a bit under-dressed. Just enough not to be noticed.

"I'm asking you, Miss Starkova. As a sign of friendship between our two nations."

"And I told you I'm not interested." The woman they called "Firebird" smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with barely-restrained energy. The waiter brought a bottle of Italian wine, another gift from one of the tables in the cafe. Valentina spoke a few words in Russian and the waiter disappeared. She continued.

"Although I appreciate the offer, I do not fancy the allure of New York and Hollywood. I do not care for your so-called culture, and your government appeals to be even less. I am...content."

The American smiled. "Is Kasimir...content?"

Valentina narrowed her eyes, the fire inside smoldered to hard, fine points.

"Whatever you think you know of Kasimir and his condition, let me assure you that the Kremlin has the situation well in hand. Your government is failing, Mr. Jaspers. Its people grow tired and despondent. They look to the stars and see our achievements...we fill their hearts with hope. For a better tomorrow. Who's to say that they don't want to leave your shores for ours?" Her eyes looked up from the courtyard and scanned the night sky. "Or up there, where we forge an even brighter future."

The American rose to his feet. "Well, then. I can see that your mind is made up, Valentina."

She tilted her head. "And?"

He smiled again, placing a hand on her own. "Though I am curious...intelligence sources tell me that your uranium mines are gone, yes? That one of the Troika rules Moscow and even you don't dare enter? And when was the last time you saw Alexei outside of that cell where they keep him like some lab animal?"

He patted her hand.

"The Urals, yes? When was the last time you paid a visit to our good, dear friend Kasimir?"