Chapter Nine
Tuesday, October 21
6:30 PM
Caesar’s Palace
Las Vegas
Trying to maintain his patience and keeping an open “American hospitality” mood, Mike Waterloo drove with his station wagon crammed full of Russians. Six members of the disarmament team rode with him as he fought through the evening traffic clogging the Las Vegas Strip.
After their days in the DAF, he had come to know all the inspectors by name, though now they treated him like a mere chauffeur, talking among themselves in guttural Russian, excluding him from the conversation. He clenched his jaws so that a ripple of muscles stood out on his gaunt cheeks, making no comment as the Russians guffawed, sharing a joke—possibly at his expense. He would never know. Their humor struck him as forced, with a slightly hysterical
