CHAPTER1

The stewardess bent low and held a tray of typical Aeroflot drinks in front of the passengers sitting in the three seats on the left side of row. The liquids in the plastic glasses came in three colors: neon yellow, brownish orange and pink. The jet bounced through some turbulence and all the drinks rolled around in their glasses like heavy motor oil. The man in the aisle seat and the woman in the middle seat next to him – the only two Americans on board the February 12, 1977, flight from Moscow to Kiev – looked at each other and made faces.

“Care for another fine Russian refreshment made entirely from materials not found in nature?” the man said to his traveling companion.

“Oh, why, I’d love to, but I’m trying to watch my weight. I’ll pass.”

The stewardess didn’t budge. She looked as if she hadn’t smiled since the last time she played jump rope.

“Nyet,“ the American woman said, shaking her head for emphasis.

The Russian in the window seat reached across the two Americans and chose one of the orange concoctions. The stewardess, still stone-faced, moved on to the next aisle. The American man nudged his friend.

“Barbara, ask him if he’d rather have a Pepsi.”

“No way! You ask him.”

“Me? I don’t know Russian. You can speak it a little at least. You’ve been over here a lot longer than I have. Just tell him