toward the woman to whisper some furtive secret. Two long evening shadows loomed ominously behind the couple.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” Boris clasped his hands together and leaned toward them. Gilda noticed a wide wedding band on one finger. It looked tight, as if his finger had grown fat after he had put it on. “Some lemonade? Perhaps a vodka tonic for Matthew?” Boris grinned at Matthew and put his arm around his shoulder jovially. “This man, he does not drink my vodka.”
“Not at eleven in the morning, I don’t.”
Who knew KGB officers were such a barrel of laughs? Gilda thought.
Boris turned to Gilda. “I want you to know that every day, this man is waking up at sunrise with the crows to prance through the streets. Every day, he is running around the city like a squirrel.”
Matthew grinned sheepishly, but he clearly didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking.
Boris placed his hands on Matthew’s shoulders and regarded him with ironic intensity. “This is no way to get a woman, Matthew.”
“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“I am professional,” said Boris, patting Matthew’s arm. “I know these things.”
“Look, aren’t we here to take a look at your artifacts? There’s a lot going on in the office today and we need to get back soon.”
“I see you are in great hurry.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” said Gilda, who found Boris instantly likable. “I have all day.”
Matthew shot her an annoyed glance.
“Excuse me for a moment,” said Boris. “I go to unlock the safe.”
“So no girlfriend, huh?” Gilda whispered when she thought Boris was out of earshot.
“That’s a story I’d rather not get into right now,” said Matthew.
A moment later Boris returned, inexplicably dressed in a beige trench coat. For some reason, he had also tied a colorful silk scarf around his neck.
Was he batty, or were the scarf and trench coat themselves artifacts—things that had been owned by spies?
Matthew beamed with excitement. “Is that what I’m hoping it is?”
“That all depends on what you are hoping, Matthew,” said Boris, almost flirtatiously.
“I’ve never seen one of these made in the form of jewelry before!”
“It is quite something, isn’t it? I think it suits me.”
Gilda realized they were focusing on something pinned to Boris’s scarf—a brooch made of dark red glass, set in the shape of a five-pointed star.
“Does it work the way I think it does?”
“I’ve already taken five pictures of you.”
“What is it?” Gilda asked. “Is there a hidden camera in that brooch?”
“Look closely, Gilda.”
Gilda stared at the dark center of the brooch.
“I just took a picture of you.” Boris removed the brooch, and Gilda saw that the piece of jewelry actually concealed the lens of a tiny camera that Boris had kept hidden behind his trench coat and scarf.
“You see,” said Boris, “this cable connects the camera to a little switch the spy keeps in her pocket to open the camera lens. While you make pleasant conversation over a glass of wine or shop at the market, nobody knows that you’re secretly taking pictures of their whereabouts or maybe even secret documents.”
“It’s a Minox camera,” said Matthew, gazing at the contraption lovingly. “The gold standard of Cold War spying. Gilda, you probably remember seeing the ‘buttonhole camera’ in the museum—the same basic principle, but instead of jewelry, a button on an overcoat would open up to reveal a camera lens, and the person wearing it would squeeze a shutter cable in the coat’s pocket to snap a secret picture.”
“The problem with these old Minox cameras,” said Boris, “was that you have to wear an overcoat. No place to hide them if you are wearing bikini, right, Matthew?”
“Now they can hide a video camera in a pair of sunglasses or a ballpoint pen,” said Matthew, ignoring Boris’s talk of spying while dressed in a bikini. “They
“Can I offer you something to drink?” Boris clasped his hands together and leaned toward them. Gilda noticed a wide wedding band on one finger. It looked tight, as if his finger had grown fat after he had put it on. “Some lemonade? Perhaps a vodka tonic for Matthew?” Boris grinned at Matthew and put his arm around his shoulder jovially. “This man, he does not drink my vodka.”
“Not at eleven in the morning, I don’t.”
Who knew KGB officers were such a barrel of laughs? Gilda thought.
Boris turned to Gilda. “I want you to know that every day, this man is waking up at sunrise with the crows to prance through the streets. Every day, he is running around the city like a squirrel.”
Matthew grinned sheepishly, but he clearly didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking.
Boris placed his hands on Matthew’s shoulders and regarded him with ironic intensity. “This is no way to get a woman, Matthew.”
“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“I am professional,” said Boris, patting Matthew’s arm. “I know these things.”
“Look, aren’t we here to take a look at your artifacts? There’s a lot going on in the office today and we need to get back soon.”
“I see you are in great hurry.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” said Gilda, who found Boris instantly likable. “I have all day.”
Matthew shot her an annoyed glance.
“Excuse me for a moment,” said Boris. “I go to unlock the safe.”
“So no girlfriend, huh?” Gilda whispered when she thought Boris was out of earshot.
“That’s a story I’d rather not get into right now,” said Matthew.
A moment later Boris returned, inexplicably dressed in a beige trench coat. For some reason, he had also tied a colorful silk scarf around his neck.
Was he batty, or were the scarf and trench coat themselves artifacts—things that had been owned by spies?
Matthew beamed with excitement. “Is that what I’m hoping it is?”
“That all depends on what you are hoping, Matthew,” said Boris, almost flirtatiously.
“I’ve never seen one of these made in the form of jewelry before!”
“It is quite something, isn’t it? I think it suits me.”
Gilda realized they were focusing on something pinned to Boris’s scarf—a brooch made of dark red glass, set in the shape of a five-pointed star.
“Does it work the way I think it does?”
“I’ve already taken five pictures of you.”
“What is it?” Gilda asked. “Is there a hidden camera in that brooch?”
“Look closely, Gilda.”
Gilda stared at the dark center of the brooch.
“I just took a picture of you.” Boris removed the brooch, and Gilda saw that the piece of jewelry actually concealed the lens of a tiny camera that Boris had kept hidden behind his trench coat and scarf.
“You see,” said Boris, “this cable connects the camera to a little switch the spy keeps in her pocket to open the camera lens. While you make pleasant conversation over a glass of wine or shop at the market, nobody knows that you’re secretly taking pictures of their whereabouts or maybe even secret documents.”
“It’s a Minox camera,” said Matthew, gazing at the contraption lovingly. “The gold standard of Cold War spying. Gilda, you probably remember seeing the ‘buttonhole camera’ in the museum—the same basic principle, but instead of jewelry, a button on an overcoat would open up to reveal a camera lens, and the person wearing it would squeeze a shutter cable in the coat’s pocket to snap a secret picture.”
“The problem with these old Minox cameras,” said Boris, “was that you have to wear an overcoat. No place to hide them if you are wearing bikini, right, Matthew?”
“Now they can hide a video camera in a pair of sunglasses or a ballpoint pen,” said Matthew, ignoring Boris’s talk of spying while dressed in a bikini. “They
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