MAY. UNEXPECTEDLY AND unseasonably， the tem-
perature soared. Suddenly the earth was flooded with soft
shoots and walls came alive in a patchwork of yellows， blues，
pinks， and greens.
As summe~ cascaded briefly， Moscow became a swelter-
ing island in a ~sea of torrid air. KGB Headquarters， which
could talk to sat~lites， had no air conditioning. In the Emer-
gency Center， Captain Yuri Raikin， recently involuntarily
repatriated to Moscow and compulsorily assigned to the Sec-
ond Chlof Directorate s Political Security Service--the Sluzbha
---sat before a flagged map of Moscow and sweated.
Red flags for arrests， green for surveillance， yellow for
patrols， purple for reserves. That afternoon Moscow looked as
ff it were inundated with greeratly.
Yuri Raikin was twenty-six years old， with a high-
cheekboned Russian face and narrow， close-set eyes that he
thought made him look like a bandit. His body was uncharac-
teristically lean， fined down not underfed， the leanness em-
phasizing a swimmer s breadth of shoulder. Like the face， the
body tapered. It was clad in a gray Marks & Spencer suit.
From its lapel there dangled the ribbon of the Order of the
Red Banner.
He brushed a strand of damp hair from his eyes and
looked across the desk to where Sergeant Pavel Pashehenko
sat before banks of radio switches and a console that could be
used to reroute Moscow s traffic， direct fire brigade and army
antis， and contro! the airspace for forty miles around the city.
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