"Yes, Comrade Colonel," the lieutenant said. He spoke into an inter-office communicator, then looked up. "Minister Blagonravov will be able to see you in a few minutes, sir."
Ilya Simonov stared nervously and unseeingly out a window while he waited. Gorki Park lay across the way. It, like Moscow in general, had changed a good deal in Simonov's memory. Everything in Russia had changed a good deal, he realized. And was changing. And what was the end to be? Or was there ever an end? Of course not. There is no end, ever. Only new changes to come.
The lieutenant said, "The Minister is free now, Comrade Colonel."
Ilya Simonov muttered something to him and pushed his way through the heavy door.
Blagonravov looked up from his desk and rumbled affectionately, "Ilya! It's good to see you. Have a drink! You've lost weight, Ilya!"
His top field man sank into the same chair he'd occupied nine months before, and accepted the ice-cold vodka.
Blagonravov poured another drink for himself, then scowled at the other. "Where have you been? When you first went off to Prague, I got reports from you almost every day. These last few months I've hardly heard from you." He rumbled his version of a chuckle. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think there was a woman."
Ilya Simonov looked at him wanly. "That too, Kliment."
"You are jesting!"
"No. Not really. I had hoped to become engaged—soon."