misleading. We’ll cut it.”
Zadiev looked surprised for the briefest moment, and then nodded, as though he had expected no less from someone as fair-minded as Sharon obviously was. “It’s nice to make progress,” he said, and pressed the button to advance the tape.
Twenty-five minutes later, when the tape ended, they had worked it out. Some four minutes of additional footage would be cut; another two and a half minutes of voice-over narration here and there—references to Russia’s political strategy—would be replaced with continuous background music. Otherwise the documentary would run as taped.
Sharon felt confident in her choice, even though she knew others at UBC, particularly Wayne Taggart, would erupt with outrage at letting the Russians interfere with UBC -material. Too bad. The Russian team had obviously earned its reputation for brutality, but that was no reason to distort the truth or mix politics with sports. She was ready to defend what she had done.
“We’ll be running the new version about 2:00 a.m., Madrid time,” Sharon said, putting her notes into her handbag. “I doubt we’ll have time to get you a cassette in advance, but you have my word that the changes we’ve agreed on will all be made.”
Zadiev smiled thinly and helped himself to another ounce of vodka. “If they’re not, I’m sure both of us will hear about it soon enough. Our diplomatic people in Washington and New York like watching American TV and making reports on the transatlantic telephone. Especially when they know they’re waking someone over here out of a sound sleep. Now about the other matter you mentioned.”
He dug into his file and pulled out a publicity press kit on Katya Romanova.
Sharon studied it for a moment. “Tell me, is it true that you’ve brought her here to Spain to counter the bad publicity your soccer team picked up? Because if that’s true, I can’t understand why you’re keeping her away from us.”
In mock helplessness, Zadiev put up his hands to shield himself. “I’ll give you a straight answer, in two parts. One: Officially, Katya is in Madrid because her brother, Sergei Romanov, is a member of the Soviet soccer team.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t see the connection.”
“As a traveling companion. The state allows each player one family member free of charge on long tours. Married players generally bring their wives, but Sergei is not married, and the Romanov parents are no longer living. So the sister comes along. It’s not uncommon. As a matter of fact, I myself am another example.”
“You?”
“My younger brother Dimitri is also on the team.” Zadiev twirled the vodka glass slowly with his fingertips, as though debating whether to have another. “I’ve often suspected I was given this assignment so the state could get some work out of me while I’m squandering a month’s travel expenses.”
Sharon nodded. “And the state’s getting some work out of Katya while she’s here too, is that the idea?”
“That was my second point. As a matter of public relations, when you have ‘the little girl who won the West in Moscow,’ as your own press keeps saying, it never hurts to show her off.”
“So why didn’t you let us tape her tonight?”
Zadiev turned up an empty palm. “She speaks good English—why don’t you ask her? From what I’m told, refusing to appear was her idea.”
10
“We’re in a television studio here at Madrid’s Bernabeau Stadium, where in exactly twenty-five days the championship of world soccer will be decided,” Rachel Quinn said easily. “With me is the senior member of the American team, Keith Palermo.”
They shook hands for the camera. His handshake felt rough, hard, like a laborer’s. They sat on high stools in front of the narrow blue backdrop curtain. She had already decided to save the goal-tending demonstration for last, so the viewers at home would stay tuned for the action.
“Everyone knows the American team
Zadiev looked surprised for the briefest moment, and then nodded, as though he had expected no less from someone as fair-minded as Sharon obviously was. “It’s nice to make progress,” he said, and pressed the button to advance the tape.
Twenty-five minutes later, when the tape ended, they had worked it out. Some four minutes of additional footage would be cut; another two and a half minutes of voice-over narration here and there—references to Russia’s political strategy—would be replaced with continuous background music. Otherwise the documentary would run as taped.
Sharon felt confident in her choice, even though she knew others at UBC, particularly Wayne Taggart, would erupt with outrage at letting the Russians interfere with UBC -material. Too bad. The Russian team had obviously earned its reputation for brutality, but that was no reason to distort the truth or mix politics with sports. She was ready to defend what she had done.
“We’ll be running the new version about 2:00 a.m., Madrid time,” Sharon said, putting her notes into her handbag. “I doubt we’ll have time to get you a cassette in advance, but you have my word that the changes we’ve agreed on will all be made.”
Zadiev smiled thinly and helped himself to another ounce of vodka. “If they’re not, I’m sure both of us will hear about it soon enough. Our diplomatic people in Washington and New York like watching American TV and making reports on the transatlantic telephone. Especially when they know they’re waking someone over here out of a sound sleep. Now about the other matter you mentioned.”
He dug into his file and pulled out a publicity press kit on Katya Romanova.
Sharon studied it for a moment. “Tell me, is it true that you’ve brought her here to Spain to counter the bad publicity your soccer team picked up? Because if that’s true, I can’t understand why you’re keeping her away from us.”
In mock helplessness, Zadiev put up his hands to shield himself. “I’ll give you a straight answer, in two parts. One: Officially, Katya is in Madrid because her brother, Sergei Romanov, is a member of the Soviet soccer team.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t see the connection.”
“As a traveling companion. The state allows each player one family member free of charge on long tours. Married players generally bring their wives, but Sergei is not married, and the Romanov parents are no longer living. So the sister comes along. It’s not uncommon. As a matter of fact, I myself am another example.”
“You?”
“My younger brother Dimitri is also on the team.” Zadiev twirled the vodka glass slowly with his fingertips, as though debating whether to have another. “I’ve often suspected I was given this assignment so the state could get some work out of me while I’m squandering a month’s travel expenses.”
Sharon nodded. “And the state’s getting some work out of Katya while she’s here too, is that the idea?”
“That was my second point. As a matter of public relations, when you have ‘the little girl who won the West in Moscow,’ as your own press keeps saying, it never hurts to show her off.”
“So why didn’t you let us tape her tonight?”
Zadiev turned up an empty palm. “She speaks good English—why don’t you ask her? From what I’m told, refusing to appear was her idea.”
10
“We’re in a television studio here at Madrid’s Bernabeau Stadium, where in exactly twenty-five days the championship of world soccer will be decided,” Rachel Quinn said easily. “With me is the senior member of the American team, Keith Palermo.”
They shook hands for the camera. His handshake felt rough, hard, like a laborer’s. They sat on high stools in front of the narrow blue backdrop curtain. She had already decided to save the goal-tending demonstration for last, so the viewers at home would stay tuned for the action.
“Everyone knows the American team
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