Bond, James Bond

Now, here’s a memory….

On our fourth day in Leningrad I was faced with a Bond, that’s James Bond, like situation. I was unprepared for the role I was about to play because, as you know, I’m not the Bond type. I’m more an Inspector Clouseau type. Standing outside the Winter Palace in the heat of the Cold War I held a small piece of paper that had suddenly been thrust into my hands by a beautiful young woman. The women with her coat collar pulled up and her hat pulled down hid behind dark glasses. What a movie scene. The paper contained a meaningless set of numbers. The fear and anticipation that I saw in the tenseness of her lips instinctively caused me to do a Bond imitation. With a stealthy move that did not betray my Clouseau like heritage I quickly tucked the paper away while all the time projecting an unflappable demeanor of relaxed confidence. 

I looked at her. Who was she? 

Before I could say anything she quietly said, “Follow me.” 

Turning away she walked toward the tour bus parking lot but suddenly stopped and said, “I’m Zoe. I was your guide Tuesday. 

‘Zoe” I said in a voice too joyfully loud to please her. I didn’t recognize ….” 

“Not so loud. Listen! I just have a second.” 

Quietly and seamlessly Zoe told me her story and just as quickly turned and left, moving her way between rows of buses, and was gone. 

I found a bench. 

This is Zoe’s story. It is a true story. 

 Zoe had been one of our tour guides in Leningrad, but with her disguise and the fact that I was not expecting to find a face I knew she appeared as a stranger. She was a language student and besides English Zoe was fluent in a number of other languages which I no longer remember. The critical point is that Zoe was talented, outgoing, and a dreamer in a society that crushed dreamers. She was asking for help. 

Or was she? 

As I sat on the bench my first thoughts ran directly to self-preservation. It did not seem like a good idea to receive a mysterious note from a strangely disguised young woman in the center of the Soviet Union with the Gulags only a train ride away. Was this a set up?  Was I about to be a 6 pm news item?  

I had to get back to the tour. I had only been away for a few minutes though it seemed like an eternity, so I moved back to where they were gathering. I stopped. Took out the paper. Looked at the numbers. I memorized the numbers.  

Now bear with me for a moment while I reveal a personal and private fact. Memorization has never been my long suit. Deed long ago put a paper in my wallet containing every fact, number, prescription, size, and name that I would ever need in a moment of crisis. I was firmly instructed to never leave the house without that piece of paper. 

Now here I was in front of the Winter Palace, the very palace where Czar Nicholas II had his last moments of freedom. 

Then I remembered Zoe’s last words. Memorize AND tear the note into small pieces and slowly scatter.  

I had forgotten to tear AND scatter. I carefully found the paper and even more carefully scattered the pieces confident that I was not being observed.  

I found Deed and the group. 

Are there degrees or stages of paranoia?  

On the drive back to our hotel I’m sure I saw 9, maybe 10 KGB agents with other suspicious people lurking in the hotel lobby and in the hallways. 

In our room I told Deed, in a near whisper, not to say a word. I closed the curtains and collapsed in a chair. 

Deed thoughtfully and with an instant sympathetic assessment of the situation said, “What the hell is all this fool…………” 

When I returned from the bathroom I told Deed Zoe’s story and my adventure. 

But first I needed a minute of private time to devise a secret code. Taking out my small travel notebook I deftly substituted letters for numbers. I looked at my results and said to myself with a sense of satisfaction, “Well, that should work.” 

I’m not sure if there are stages of paranoia, but from past experiences I recognized by Deed’s tapping right foot that she had just passed the 8th stage of impatience, so I rushed back to Deed’s tapping right foot and Zoe’s story.  

Zoe told me that last Spring she had conducted a tour of American grain farmers who were visiting with Soviet farmers in the Ukraine. One of the American farmers soon became captivated by Zoe’s charm and in less than two days they quickly discovered the early stages of love.  

His name was Gary and he worked a 1,000-acre farm north of Lincoln, Nebraska and knew that Zoe would soon be reassigned to another tour. During their last evening together, out of the blue, he asked her to marry him and come back with him to Nebraska. 

Zoe told me, there in the parking lot, that she was emotionally unprepared for his proposal. Overwhelmed by a thousand doubts and fears she said, “No.” The next day she was sent away.  

Zoe never saw her American farmer again. 

The mysterious numbers that Zoe first thrust into my hands were Gary’s phone number. Before she was sent off to another tour Gary gave her his phone number saying he would wait for her call.  

To the best of my understanding that exchange took place 4 months ago. Zoe was afraid to place the call from Russia and was asking me to call Gary when I got home and tell him she loved him and would marry him. 

When I looked up at Deed she just sat there on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were fixed on me, but she didn’t move or say a word. I waited. In these situations one never really knows how long to wait --- and is the ball in my court or hers. Marriage is very complex. There are always mine fields around the next bend. 

Two can play this game so I sat and cracked my knuckles. 

That did it. 

She looked at me and then slowly came over and kissed me on the top of my head, “You mean to tell me you took some phone number, changed the numbers for letters, and think that the KGB won’t be able to crack your code? Is that your mighty plan? 

I was caught off guard. Deed has the knack of doing that to me. I thought we were going to talk about Zoe. About Gary and weddings and even what Deed would wear to the wedding.  

Not at all. 

Deed skipped by Zoe and went right after my secret code which, by the way, I thought was brilliant considering the pressure I was under with time constraints and all that other stuff. 

So I held firm and replied, “Oh yeah, they have to find it first.” 

At Soviet airport customs on the way home. I asked Deed to remember Gary’s number and nimbly destroyed my code. 

 The very hour we arrived home, exhausted and nearly brain dead, I phoned Gary in Nebraska. At first he treated me like a scam caller telling him he had won 6 million dollars and a new car. When I mentioned Zoe and his trip to Russia his tone did not change. I repeated Zoe’s message.  

Still nothing from Gary. I supplied Gary with more information about Zoe.  

Silence from Nebraska. 

I described her. I more carefully described Zoe. 

More silence.    

Finally, Gary said I had the wrong phone number and politely ended the call. 

During this call Deed was naturally on the kitchen phone. 

When he hung up I went into the kitchen and said to Deed, “That was a waste. He’s the wrong person or changed his mind. Maybe I got the number wrong.” 

Deed just smiled and said, “No, you got the right person. That was Zoe’s Gary.” Deed turned and went upstairs to unpack. 

I hate when Deed does that. 

I bolted up the stairs after her and stood in the bedroom doorway demanding her to fill in the blanks. “What was I missing?” 

So Deed filled in the blanks. 

Here is Deed’s interpretation of the phone call. 

She found Gary to be a very astute and cautious man. He was someone a woman could depend upon. Deed said Gary was not going to say or do anything that could compromise or put Zoe at risk. For all he knew I could have been a Russian agent or a hundred other kind of wacko types. He was right not to even hint of any knowledge of her or any connection to Russia. 

He had what he wanted. You gave him everything that he hoped for without compromising Zoe’s safety. 

Deed returned to her unpacking then looked up and said, “He’s probably contacting the embassy in Washington this very moment. Gary’s going back to get Zoe. There’s going to be a wedding.”