It was a bitterly cold day, and most passers-by on Moscow's Kutuzovsky Prospekt hurried past the bus stop at Badaev factory. Buses came and went, but a tall American diplomat in a sports jacket stood peering at Lamppost 35, which was marked with a crude circle in charcoal. Finally, he jumped into a waiting car and roared off toward the Moscow River. Shortly afterward, another American ducked into a house at 5-6 Pushkin Street, where he surreptitiously reached behind a hallway radiator. As he was about to pocket the paper-wrapped matchbox that had...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
