Chapter 18: Calculated Moves

Istanbul, 6 March 1990, morning 

Lloyd Gannis helped Maxine Remington methodically put together her persona of journalist Fredrika Juvanen from Finland. Maxine's appearance and Fredrika's are subtly different from one another. In place of Maxine's natural auburn hair, a blonde wig with gentle waves drapes about her face. A pair of chic glasses gave her a facade of intellectualism, and a few strategically placed makeup touches changed the shape of her face and gradually hid her eye-catching features. 

Maxine examined the change when she looked at herself in the mirror. It was crucial that Fredrika Juvanen's appearance stood apart from her own in order to avoid being recognised. Through the frames of the glasses, the hazel eyes that had so frequently witnessed the nuances of espionage now returned the resolve that had motivated Maxine throughout her career. 

After giving the mirror one last look, Maxine was pleased with the image that appeared there: Fredrika Juvanen was looking back at her, her persona being as meticulously crafted as any of her CIA operations. Fredrika had been very helpful throughout Maxine's attempt to deal with the blackmail plot: to get close to Rozagin during the initial phase in Moscow, look into Canan Furat's rental agency and penthouse, and confront Rozagin after his fateful night with Isabelle Luciani. 

Maxine boarded a flight to Moscow the next hour. As the plane taxied down the runway, she reviewed her mission briefing. She thought about her team, who were not physically present with her, but whose skills and insights had contributed to the plan she was about to execute. 

----- 

Moscow, 6 March 1990, evening 

Upon her arrival, Maxine, under the guise of Fredrika Juvanen, presented her Finnish passport to the customs officers at Sheremetyevo International Airport. Before allowing her entry, the officials checked her identification, and she entered the airport with the assurance of someone who had previously used these escalators. With the practiced ease of someone who has traveled across these borders before, she presents her valid Soviet visa. Her cover story, which she has developed over time, is perfectly consistent with her interactions with Rozagin in the past. 

The brisk Moscow air greeted her outside the terminal, carrying memories of her past and the weight of her mission. Maxine searched the area for a taxi. One finally appeared after some waiting—taxis were scarce in Moscow at the time. Maxine entered it and gave the location of Pyotr and Dita Rozagin's residence. 

The taxi coasted to a halt before an imposing residence that cast a shadow over the neighboring apartments. The building was a reminder of the wealth and privilege of the Soviet elite, even in the capital of a communist state. Maxine left a generous tip for the driver; taxis were a rarity and a luxury in Moscow during those times. Stepping out, she absorbed the moment, bracing herself for the rendezvous that could pivot her mission's trajectory. 

With a final glance around, Maxine approached the building, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the evening. She reached out and rang the doorbell. 

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing the figures of Pyotr Rozagin and his wife, Dita. With a slight nod and a hint of a smile, Maxine greeted them in Finnish-accented Russian, "Dobryy den', I hope I'm not disturbing." 

Rozagin's gaze held a flicker of recognition, as if he sensed that beneath the surface of this Finnish journalist, a deeper truth lay hidden. 

----- 

As Maxine stepped into the Rozagins' home, a sense of familiarity washed over her—a familiarity that was both genuine and manufactured, woven into the fabric of her carefully constructed identity as Fredrika Juvanen. She allowed a warm smile to grace her lips, her demeanor shifting seamlessly into that of an inquisitive journalist. Pyotr and Dita invited her to join them in the sitting room. 

"Thank you for welcoming me once again, Mr. and Mrs. Rozagin," she said, her accent lending an air of authenticity to her words. "I must say, the experience of visiting Istanbul for the exhibition was truly eye-opening. The comrades that read Kansan Uutiset were captivated by my coverage, and they eagerly anticipate more cultural insights from the Soviet Union in the newspaper." 

Rozagin's expression brightened, his pride evident. "I'm pleased to hear that the article was well-received. Cultural exchange is a powerful tool, capable of bridging divides and fostering understanding," he remarked, his words laced with a sense of purpose. 

Dita, sitting nearby, observed the interaction with a mix of curiosity and scrutiny. Her elegant demeanor masked an undercurrent of possessiveness, a trait Maxine had noted before. She remained attentive, her gaze occasionally drifting to her husband as if to reaffirm their connection. 

Maxine took advantage of the opportunity as the talk went on to sow the seeds of doubt and inquiry. She discussed the intricate web of international ties while making references to the possible threats that high-ranking officials like Rozagin would encounter in a constantly shifting political environment. Her choice of words was deliberate, with each sentence holding nuanced meanings that could only be understood by those familiar with the world of espionage. 

Maxine watched intently as Pyotr's demeanor shifted, his gaze faltering momentarily—a telltale sign that her words had struck a chord. Dita, on the other hand, remained calm and collected. She was focused on the conversation between her husband and the Finnish journalist. Maxine's observations confirmed her suspicions that Dita was not yet aware of the blackmail plot or the photographs that held Pyotr's secrets. 

The moment had come to tread carefully. Maxine had planned to reveal her true identity to Pyotr and uncover the full extent of the blackmail plot, but she also knew that doing so in front of Dita would be risky. Speaking openly would be the same as showing the incriminating photographs to Dita. However, if she tried to have a private conversation with Pyotr, it could arouse Dita's suspicion and jealousy, which could complicate Maxine's mission. Maxine's thoughts raced as she tried to think of a method to have a private talk with Pyotr without raising Dita's suspicions. She couldn't risk bringing up the sensitive nature of their conversation because it would just fuel Dita's worries. 

Maxine's eyes scanned the room, looking for clues that could help her navigate the delicate situation. And then, she saw it: a newspaper resting on the table nearby. This gave her an idea. 

Casually, Maxine's attention shifted back to Pyotr as their conversation flowed. "Mr. Rozagin," she said, her tone filled with genuine enthusiasm, "I've actually brought a copy of the newspaper with the article I wrote about the Istanbul exhibition. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring it with me today. Would it be permissible for me to arrange its delivery to your office at the Soviet Ministry of Culture tomorrow? I believe you would want to keep it for your archives." 

Pyotr's expression shifted. It was a subtle, yet deliberate, clue—a way of conveying that Maxine wanted to have a private conversation at his office. The message was layered beneath the innocuous words, meant only for Pyotr's ears. 

"That's a kind thought, Miss Juvanen," Pyotr replied, his tone warm and appreciative. "I'd be glad to have it. I will tell my secretary tomorrow that I am expecting a delivery to my office." 

Maxine smiled graciously, her heart filled with relief. The first step of her plan had been a success. Pyotr's response was exactly what she had hoped for: an opportunity to meet with him privately without arousing Dita's suspicion. 

"Wonderful," Maxine said. "It would save me from the embarrassment of forgetting such an important detail." 

When the moment was right, Maxine sensed the perfect opportunity to gracefully conclude the visit. She offered her appreciation to Pyotr and Dita for their hospitality, her smile genuine and her demeanor that of a courteous guest who had enjoyed their company. The final exchange of pleasantries, infused with layers of meaning that only they could decipher, served as a fitting conclusion to their meeting. 

----- 

Moscow, 7 March 1990, morning 

The next day, Maxine (as Fredrika Juvanen) arrived at the Soviet Ministry of Culture, ready to execute the next phase of her plan. She had taken extra precautions, ensuring that her appearance was consistent with the one Pyotr Rozagin knew from their previous interactions. Her glasses, blonde wig, and carefully chosen outfit allowed her to slip seamlessly into her role as the Finnish journalist. 

Upon entering the ministry building, she was met with the familiar sights and sounds of bureaucracy. The air was thick with history and power, the presence of the Soviet government felt in every corner. With a sense of purpose, she approached the reception desk, where a stern-faced secretary looked up from her paperwork. 

"Good morning," Maxine greeted in Russian, her accent a blend of Finnish charm. "I'm here to deliver a newspaper article to Mr. Rozagin." 

The secretary regarded her with a mix of curiosity and mild skepticism. "You're from Kansan Uutiset, correct?" 

Maxine nodded with a warm smile. "Yes, that's correct. I believe Mr. Rozagin is expecting this article." 

After a brief phone call, the secretary instructed Maxine to wait in the reception area. Maxine's heart raced as she took a seat, her mind focused on the upcoming meeting. She had to play her cards right, knowing that her conversation with Pyotr Rozagin could shape the course of their mission. 

After a short wait, the secretary approached Maxine. "Miss Juvanen, Mr. Rozagin will see you now. His office is on the second floor, last door on the right." 

"Thank you," Maxine said, rising from her seat. She made her way to the second floor, her steps confident as she walked down the corridor. 

Maxine approached Rozagin's office door, her sense of purpose driving her forward. She knocked lightly, her heart beating in anticipation. 

"Come in," Pyotr's voice called from within. 

Maxine pushed open the door, her expression a mix of warmth and professionalism. She stepped into the office, her eyes meeting Pyotr Rozagin's as he looked up from his desk. Dita Rozagin was nowhere to be seen, exactly what Maxine had hoped for. 

"Mr. Rozagin," she greeted him, her voice carrying a touch of formality, "thank you for allowing me to visit your office. I apologize for not having the article with me, as I mentioned earlier. However, I wanted to take this opportunity to personally express my gratitude for your time during my visit to Istanbul." 

Pyotr Rozagin inclined his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "It was my pleasure, Miss Juvanen. Cultural exchange is a cornerstone of diplomacy." 

Maxine nodded appreciatively. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Rozagin. However, there's a matter of greater importance that I believe we need to discuss." 

Pyotr's brows furrowed slightly, his interest piqued. "A matter of greater importance? Please, do elaborate." 

Maxine took a deep breath and spoke in a serious tone. "I am not just a journalist, Mr. Rozagin. My real identity is known to only a few people. I am an operative who has been tasked with uncovering a conspiracy. This conspiracy involves high-ranking officials, hidden agendas, and the potential to destabilize the government." 

Pyotr's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what Maxine had said. "A conspiracy?" he asked again, his voice cautious. 

Maxine looked Pyotr Rozagin in the eye, unfazed. "Yes, Mr. Rozagin. The conspiracy is centered around you and the information you have. I am an agent of the CIA, assigned to protect you from that conspiracy." 

Maxine's revelation changed the atmosphere in Pyotr Rozagin's office. The air became heavy with tension, and the gravity of the situation was palpable. 

Rozagin was surprised by Maxine's words, and his eyes widened in shock. "The CIA?" he asked. "You're saying that you're here on behalf of the Americans? What do they want from me?" 

Maxine maintained her calm, unwavering gaze, recognizing the delicate balance she was walking. She knew that her revelation had the potential to trigger a range of emotions, including fear and suspicion. Her next words were crucial, her tone measured but sincere. "Yes, Mr. Rozagin. I understand that this might be unexpected, given the tense relationship between our countries, but the world is not always as straightforward as it seems. We know that you are part of Gorbachev's reform faction, who wants change in the Soviet Union. We believe that people like you could play a critical role in shaping the future of your country." 

The seconds ticked by, and then, suddenly, Rozagin's chair scraped against the floor as he stood up abruptly. Maxine's instincts were sharp and ready, as she sensed a mix of fear and uncertainty in Rozagin's expression. He strode purposefully towards the office door. Maxine's CIA training was put to the test as she assessed the situation. Subduing Rozagin was a last resort, but she couldn't afford to hesitate. With controlled force, Maxine grabbed Rozagin's wrist, a firm but not aggressive grip, to stop his movement without causing harm. Her other hand remained poised, ready to intervene further if necessary. 

Maxine braced herself for Rozagin's reaction as her grasp on his wrist tightened. To her amazement, Rozagin's abrupt action was not an attempt to resist or flee. Instead, his eyes were filled with a mix of fear and resolve as he approached the door and quickly turned the latch. 

The sound of the door lock clicking shut echoed in the room, sealing them inside. Rozagin's quick actions surprised Maxine at first, but she quickly adjusted her plan. His intentions became clear as he made his way to the windows, purposefully drawing the curtains closed. The bright daylight was quickly replaced by a dim, shadowy atmosphere, cocooning them in a space that was now hidden from prying eyes. 

Rozagin turned back to Maxine, his expression a blend of urgency and caution. "I can't be seen with you if you're indeed a CIA agent," he said, his voice hushed but resolute. "This is far more dangerous than I could have imagined. The KGB is always watching, always looking for signs of foreign interference." 

Maxine seized the opportunity to gather more information. "Has anyone met with you recently, someone who might have tried to exert influence or pressure?" 

Rozagin's brow furrowed as he pondered her question, his gaze distant as he delved into his memories. "Yes," he finally replied, his tone heavy with concern. "There was a woman who came to see me in this very office not long ago. She had photographs—pictures of me in situations that were... compromising." 

"Mr. Rozagin, that woman and the compromising photographs are part of the very conspiracy I'm talking about," Maxine said. "My mission is to investigate this conspiracy and prevent it from advancing any further." 

Rozagin's gaze held hers, his eyes filled with a mix of surprise and a growing understanding. "You're here to protect me," he said, his voice a mixture of realization and gratitude. 

Maxine nodded. "Yes, Mr. Rozagin. I have been working to uncover the layers of this intricate plot. We know about the encounter you had in Istanbul, the one you had with Isabelle Luciani." She paused, offering a reassuring smile. "As you might recall, I met you as you return to your hotel the morning after, and I'm aware that photographs were secretly taken during that night." 

Rozagin's cheeks reddened, a mixture of embarrassment and regret crossing his features. He had underestimated the reach of those who sought to exploit him. "I was careless," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "I never thought such a private moment would be used against me. Isabelle... she seemed too perfect, too conveniently placed." 

Maxine's expression was understanding. "It's not unusual for even the most careful people to be caught off guard in situations like this," she said. "The perpetrators are experts at exploiting people's weaknesses." 

The dim illumination in the room cast a shadow over Maxine's face, but her voice was clear and determined. "Our investigation has been fruitful," she said. "We have made progress in unraveling the conspiracy. Canan Furat, who introduced Isabelle to you, has been apprehended. The photographer, Koray Horozoglu, who took the compromising photos, is also in custody." 

Rozagin's features shifted from embarrassment to a mix of surprise and curiosity. "And Isabelle Luciani?" 

Maxine's tone was confident and assured. "Yes, we have also detained her." 

Rozagin's face relaxed, a sigh of relief passing his lips. "I'm grateful to you and your team for apprehending some of those responsible." But I'm afraid we're already too late. The photos... they have been used to threaten me." 

Maxine's attention sharpened as she leaned in slightly, her voice intent. "Tell me, Mr. Rozagin, how has the blackmailer been using these photographs to threaten you? What are their demands? And do you have any suspicions about who might be behind this?" 

Rozagin's face tightened, his expression reflecting the gravity of the situation. "They have threatened to expose the photographs to my wife, Dita," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of distress and frustration. "Dita has a... jealous personality. The blackmailer knows this and has used it against me. They are aware that she is British, and they've warned that the issue could escalate to the international scene, tarnishing not just my reputation, but also causing a scandal that could attract the attention of the Western press." 

"As for their identity, I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete," Rozagin continued. 

"Now, Mr. Rozagin, let's talk about their demands," Maxine shifted the discussion. "What exactly are they asking of you? What do they want you to do?" 

Rozagin's jaw tightened, a flicker of reluctance crossing his features. "They want me to disclose the reformist faction's plans and strategies for reform within the Soviet government." 

Maxine's eyebrows raised slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Do you actually possess those plans and strategies, Mr. Rozagin?" 

Rozagin looked at Maxine with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. "I am part of the reformist faction," he said. "I am involved in the discussions and brainstorming of ideas about potential changes within the Soviet government. However, I cannot share these plans easily, especially if there are other parts of the government that oppose such change. And I fear that even if I were to comply, they won't stop there. They would continue making demands, using the photographs as a leash around my neck." 

Maxine's focus moved as she honed in on a critical detail. "Now, let's discuss the blackmailer. You mentioned that you have your suspicions. Can you tell me more about what you've observed? Anything that might help us identify who this person is?" 

Rozagin's brows furrowed as he recalled his encounter with the blackmailer. "During our first meeting, I saw her face clearly. She is a Russian woman, tall—very tall, in fact. She has icy blue eyes and short blonde hair. I don't know her name, but I strongly suspect she is connected to the KGB. The way she spoke, her demeanor—it all pointed to someone with knowledge of espionage tactics." 

Maxine's mind instantly connected the connections as Rozagin's remarks lingered in the air. He gave a description that was eerily similar to someone she had already encountered—a tough foe who had left both physical and emotional scars. In her memories, Maxine reflected on a mission gone wrong, a betrayal, and the nearly fatal confrontation that had defined her history as Rozagin spoke. 

Sofya Vedenina.

 "Now, given their demands, has the blackmailer issued any specific ultimatum or deadline for you to submit the plans? Any further instructions?" Maxine asked. 

Rozagin's expression grew even more strained, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency. "Yes, they've given me a deadline—ten days from that first meeting, 26 February. They expect me to provide them with the reformist faction's plans within that timeframe." 

Maxine took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. "Ten days after 26 February. That makes the deadline tomorrow, then. Have the blackmailers arranged for a specific method or location to receive the plans?" she asked. "Do you have any further instructions for the handover? We need to understand their next move and formulate a plan accordingly." 

Rozagin responded, "Yes, they send an anonymous letter that arrived at my office during my leave of absence. It instructed me to make contact at a discreet location—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Moscow. They specified the information they want to see: our plans to expand coverage about the world outside the Soviet Union on public television and other media." 

"Mr. Rozagin," Maxine explained, "we have an opportunity here." The fact that we know the blackmailer's location and broad demands allows us to turn the tables on them. To secure your safety and the success of our goal, we must strategize our approach." 

She paused, allowing Rozagin to process her words before continuing. "As for the deadline tomorrow, we must take advantage of it. We can set up a decoy. We can offer them fake documents instead of giving them what they want. These documents will appear to be the plans of the reformist faction, but they will contain false information. We'll discreetly attach a tracer device to the package containing the fake plans. This will allow us to track their movements and gather valuable intelligence on their network." 

Rozagin's face changed from one of skepticism to one of cautious optimism. "And what if they find the device when inspecting it?" 

Maxine replied, "We'll make sure the gadget is well-hidden and covered up inside the package. It was created by our expertise to be almost imperceptible to casual examination. But before they leave, we need to make sure they don't become suspicious and open the package." 

Rozagin's expression shifted from uncertainty to cautious optimism. "And what's our next step? Do we follow them immediately?" 

Maxine nodded. "Yes, Mr. Rozagin. As soon as they take possession of the documents, I'll initiate the tracking process. Our goal will be to monitor their movements while maintaining a safe distance. This will give us insights into their network, their intentions, and any potential allies they might have." 

As the plan solidified, Maxine knew she had to act swiftly. She turned her attention to Rozagin, her tone direct. "Please prepare the false documents, Mr. Rozagin. These will be the bait we use to lure the blackmailer. We need them to believe that you're complying with their demands." 

Rozagin nodded in agreement. "I understand, Miss Juvanen. I will do as you say."

 Maxine's next task was to assemble the package. She turned to Rozagin once again. "I must leave now to prepare the package. Also, we should plan for the meeting between you and the blackmailer." 

Rozagin's expression showed a mix of anticipation and concern. "How should I behave during the meeting?" 

Maxine calmly and clearly replied, "Act like you're cooperating, but don't say too much. We need to make sure they take the bait without getting suspicious. Once they leave with the package, I'll start tracking them and follow their movements. Stay calm and cautious." 

Rozagin's nod indicated his understanding. "I'll do my best, Miss Juvanen." 

With the plan in motion, Maxine left Rozagin's office to prepare the package. 

----- 

Before going back to her hotel room, Maxine walked through the streets of Moscow, her sharp eyes darting around. She was on the lookout for the perfect item for her next move. 

Maxine spotted a weathered second-hand shop that promised vintage items. She pushed through the crowd and entered, greeted by the soft jingle of a bell above the door. The shop was a haven of nostalgia, filled with objects that whispered of stories from eras past. 

Maxine's eyes searched the shelves and racks for the perfect item to discreetly carry the fake documents. She saw a brown leather briefcase that was worn but still sturdy. It looked professional and would be perfect for her purpose. She picked it up and examined it closely, admiring the fine craftsmanship that was a product of a different era. It had an air of sophistication despite its age, and Maxine knew it was the right choice. She negotiated with the vendor, the exchange of rubles for the briefcase sealing the deal. 

Walking through the city with the leather case in hand, Maxine's thoughts converged on Rozagin and the blackmailer. The briefcase would contain the falsified documents that would appease the blackmailer, and a tracking device that would allow Maxine to follow them. It was a game of strategy, and Maxine was determined to outwit her adversaries. 

In her hotel room, Maxine placed the brown leather briefcase onto the table, her focus directed. Dim light and drawn curtains cloaked her activities from prying eyes. The soft glow of a solitary lamp cast shadows, infusing an aura of secrecy into her mission. 

Maxine pulled out a compact electronic tracking device which Val Pulgram had constructed for her. This device, no larger than a matchbox, emitted traceable radio waves with a range of up to a kilometer and boasted a battery life of approximately one week. To monitor these waves, Val had provided Maxine with a receiver featuring a display indicating the signal's general direction. Maxine believed this was precisely the reason she had enlisted Val's expertise—to develop such gadgets for their espionage operations. 

Maxine analyzed the briefcase's interior, considering the best way to conceal the tracking device. She knew that the placement of the tracking device had to be strategic, ensuring it remained hidden while still allowing it to effectively transmit signals. Maxine's fingers deftly moved as she examined the briefcase's lining, looking for seams, pockets, or compartments that could serve as suitable hiding spots. 

Her eyes fell on a small, discreet pocket nestled within the lining. It was a perfect hiding spot—secluded and unobtrusive. Maxine's fingers deftly maneuvered as she created a concealed compartment that could accommodate the tracking device. She knew that attention to detail was paramount, ensuring that the device would be both securely stowed and easily accessible for tracking. 

Maxine's hands moved with practiced precision as she attached the tracking device to the inside of the pocket. She used thin strips of adhesive that would secure the device without leaving any visible traces. As the device settled into its hiding place, she felt a surge of satisfaction. The briefcase had become more than a simple accessory—it was now an essential tool in her mission to expose the blackmailer's network. 

After completing the preparations, Maxine took a break. She leaned back and thought about the next steps of the mission. She then contacted her team in Istanbul using a shortwave radio and transmitted a series of coded signals that only she and her team knew. 

With the crackling of static in the background, Maxine pressed the transmit button and began relaying her updates. She explained the progress she had made, from her encounter with Rozagin to the preparations with the brown leather briefcase. She detailed her plan to set up the blackmailer with fake documents containing a tracking device, ensuring that her team would be ready to assist as needed. 

With her communication complete, Maxine listened for the response from her team. The shortwave radio crackled again as Val acknowledged the update. She assured Maxine that they were ready to provide assistance and support as needed. She confirmed that they had resources available to help Maxine navigate Moscow and to facilitate her departure if the situation called for it. 

After finalizing their strategy and ensuring that everyone was on the same page, Maxine signed off. Now, there was one final task to tackle before the operation could proceed. 

----- 

Moscow, 7 March 1990, night 

Leaving her hotel, Maxine headed to Pyotr Rozagin's residence. She approached the entrance with careful consideration, the night air carrying a sense of tension. Maxine pressed the doorbell and waited. 

The door creaked open, revealing Pyotr Rozagin standing in the threshold. Maxine's sharp eyes took in the subtle tension in his posture, a reflection of the gravity of the situation they were embroiled in. "Mr. Rozagin," she acknowledged in a low, steady voice. 

Rozagin's nod came with a trace of unease. "Ah, Miss Juvanen." 

The door swung open wider, revealing another figure standing slightly behind Rozagin--Dita. Maxine's attention shifted to her. Dita's eyes bore a hint of suspicion, a trait that had likely served her well in the tumultuous world they inhabited. 

At times like these, creativity could be an agent's greatest asset. 

"I apologize for disturbing you so late, but I was contacted by a comrade who works at the Finnish embassy here. He asked me to give you this," Maxine said, showing the briefcase. "He said it contains materials that you might want to read before your meeting with Ambassador Talvitie tomorrow." 

Rozagin nodded as he received the briefcase. "Thank you, Miss Juvanen." 

Dita looked suspiciously between Maxine and the briefcase. She sounded skeptical as she asked, "Why didn't your friend deliver this personally? Why involve you in this matter?" 

Maxine responded in a measured and respectful tone, even though she could sense the underlying tension. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Rozagin. My friend believes this is a situation that requires delicate handling and thinks it's wiser to use an intermediary." 

Dita's lips curved into a semblance of a smile, though it held no warmth. "Delicate handling, indeed. And does this 'delicate handling' involve late-night meetings and secrets?" 

In that brief exchange, Dita analyzed Maxine's demeanor—the steady gaze, the measured tone, the unwavering confidence. It was as if Maxine knew more than she let on, as if she held a secret that was just out of Dita's grasp. And Dita hated being left in the dark. 

Rozagin interjected, his tone firm. "Dita, this is a matter of importance for the country. Miss Juvanen is assisting us in a crucial endeavor. But I won't hold you back any longer, Miss Juvanen. If I happen to meet your comrade tomorrow, I will thank him." 

Maxine's gaze locked with Rozagin's, a silent understanding passing between them. With that, the brief encounter concluded, and Maxine felt the weight of Dita's scrutiny ease as Rozagin took possession of the brown leather briefcase. 

"Good night, Mr. Rozagin," Maxine replied with respect. With a nod, she turned and walked away from the Rozagins' home. Once more, the night's shadows enveloped her, the intricate dance persisting—each step calculated, every maneuver a strategic move in the espionage game they were ensnared in. 

The political landscape was in flux, and Maxine couldn't escape the irony of her own role in this world of espionage. The Cold War's grip was loosening, but the shadows it cast still stretched across Moscow's streets. The city's architecture told a story of a nation's aspirations, the grandeur of the Soviet era juxtaposed against the burgeoning winds of capitalism. 

With every step, Maxine's thoughts intertwined with the pulse of the city. Moscow in 1990 was a tapestry woven from the threads of the past and the threads of an uncertain future. And as an agent on a mission that was as intricate as the city itself, Maxine was poised to become a part of that tapestry, adding her own layer to the ever-evolving story of espionage and intrigue.

-----