“Another part of your virtual harem?” she had asked.

Don Tomás had replied in the most relaxed manner imaginable, “Absolutely.”

This evening no sound from the vocal part of the virtual harem was coming through the door as she passed. She hoped nothing had happened to him.

She glanced at her mail and dumped it on the dining table. Then she stood perfectly still. Was everything exactly as she had left it? Was there something that she sensed, but could not quite put a finger on? Alex was unsure. Coupled with the appearance of the man at the bar in the Athenian, the evening had taken on a strange spin. Or was she just overanxious about a Ukraine trip that she didn’t want to make?

She sighed. She dismissed it. She placed the flowers in a vase.

She was in bed by midnight. She set the alarm for 6:00 a.m. Then, as she settled in to sleep, her eyes shot open. A realization hit her.

The man she had seen at the bar in the Athenian?

He was Fred, one of the two newcomers at the gym. Away from the gym, in a Burberry raincoat instead of basketball togs, she hadn’t recognized him. Chances were that he couldn’t figure out why he thought he knew her. Well, now she could relax. At least she knew why she recognized him and from where.

She closed her eyes. Minutes after her head hit the pillow, she was sleeping soundly.

The next morning at 7:54 a.m., Alexandra walked through the entrance to Room 6776 B at the main building of the United States State Department, a vast complex covering two city blocks. To come in out of the cold she used the Twenty-first Street entrance, which had been built in the 1930s as the War Department for the US Army.

The handsome marble-clad art deco lobby had a curious mural featuring peaceful Americans at work and prayer. They were surrounded by protective soldiers in gas masks, cannons, and then-new-fangled four engine bombers. Out of embarrassment at the martial theme, the State Department had long hidden the picture behind a curtain, but later more tolerant minds had prevailed.

Alex’s meeting was not in that part of the building but in the much larger part built onto the original structure under Eisenhower. The two components had different floor plans that Alex always found disorienting when she paid a visit.

She arrived in a small conference chamber with a circular table and six chairs.

The room tone was flat. Soundproofing. It was like being in a clinic for hearing aids. One window with double glass overlooked an inner courtyard with a statue of Atlas holding up the globe.

At the desk, a small, trim man adjusted his spectacles but did not look up. He had a mop of gray hair and a reddish face. He wore a crimson tie and a cream-colored shirt. He was flanked by a half-finished container of Starbucks, the tall one with the full day’s caffeine punch. He had a look to him that she thought she recognized, one of those surly old State Department retirees who get called back for special assignments.

“Alexandra LaDuca,” he said, finally glancing up.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she said. “Yes. I’m Alex.”

He stood. He was a smaller man than she had initially thought, not much more than five foot four. Over the years, she had learned to be wary of tiny people who might harbor king-sized complexes.

“I’m Michael Cerny. State Department. Please sit,” he said. He indicated that she could take any seat at the table.

“I’m afraid I don’t even know what this is about,” she said. She sat, choosing a seat that allowed several empty chairs between them.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “This is the government. We’re soldiers, aren’t we? We march forward. Orders.”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Sometimes,” he agreed.

“I suppose you better bring me up to date,” she said. “Explain where I’ll be marching. You talk and I’ll listen.”

“Quite,” he said. “Excellent. Tell me. Water? Coffee? Tea?” he asked. There was a service on a side table, which held all three.

“Just some water,” she said.

He fetched it. She glanced around the room. One reading chair. Reading lamps. Prints from second-rate paintings. Landscapes meant to offend no one. Bookcases without a single book. Michael Cerny sat down again.

He related that he was actually retired from the State Department after thirty-five years but had returned for a special ten-week assignment. She was off to a good start, assuming he could be believed. She had called that one perfectly.

“Well,” he said at length. “You have an overseas mission coming up. The president is going to Ukraine,” he said. “Official state visit. Arriving February fifteenth.”

She glanced at a calendar. It was January seventh. The trip was five weeks and two days away.

Cerny kept talking. He was, he explained immodestly, an expert on Ukraine, having done two tours in the capital, Kiev, and one in Washington on the Kiev desk, the office that handled Ukraine.

“I’m not an expert on that part of the world,” she said. “The Ukraine.”

“I suppose then, that’s where we should start,” he said, “with terminology. They don’t call it that with the definite article any more,” he said, his tone almost professorial. “Let’s backtrack a little. In English, the country was formerly usually referred to with the definite article. The Ukraine, as in the Netherlands or the Congo or the Sudan. However, usage without the article is more frequent since the country’s independence.”

“Thanks for the tip,” she said.

“Don’t mention it. The modern name of the country is derived from the term ukraina in the sense of ‘borderland, frontier region, or marches,’ ” he said. “Not that you care, but these meanings can be derived from the Proto-Slavic root kraj-, meaning ‘edge, border.’ In Russian, a modern parallel for this might be-”

“The Russian word okraina,” she said. “Meaning ‘outskirts’ and kraj meaning ‘border district.’ I speak Russian fluently.”

“Your language skills are the major reason you’re here,” he said.

She sipped some water.

“But why do I make the point?” he asked. “Because Ukraine has always been exactly that. A border district. A frontier. A dangerous unruly place. Europe ends there and Asia begins. Asia begins there and Europe ends. One could put forth the theory that civilization sometimes ends there and chaos begins.”

Alex smiled. Cerny was coming across as a windbag, but at least he was an entertaining and knowledgeable windbag.

“Now,” he continued, “I’m not so dumb as to think that you don’t pick up rumors within the government, same as everyone else,” he said. “Particularly with a fiancé who is employed by the Secret Service. So you probably knew already about the visit.”

“I’d heard a few rumors,” she admitted.

“Of course you have,” he said. “In any event, the intent of the trip is to bolster the pro-Western regime elected in the pomaranchevya revolutsia, the ‘Orange Revolution’ of 2004 and 2005. A secondary intent is for the president to look good here at home. We should get a good reception there.” He switched gears again. “I also note in your c.v. that you’re a member of a Christian church.”

“That’s a private matter, but yes, I am.”

“Then this should appeal to you. The Orange Revolution was widely supported by the Christian churches of the region.”

“Fine, but it’s not just a Christian thing,” she said. “Anything that threw off the old-style Soviet way of doing things would have its appeal to any fair-minded people, wouldn’t it? Religious freedom is for everyone, or did I misread the Constitution?”

“Point well taken,” he allowed. “You’re rather a live wire, aren’t you?”

“I like to believe in what I’m doing, particularly if I’m doing it for my country. I might be a little strange in that respect.”