Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“I want to know where he was looking. If there was a pattern. You think he just pulled names out of a hat?”

“Tell you the truth, I didn’t give it a thought. As long as the names checked out.”

“And they did. So where was he getting them?”

“His memory box, I always thought,” Riordan said, tapping his head. “These are people he knew, some of them.”

“But not all. So there’s another source, not just him. Someone else.”

Riordan stared at him, then got up, a weary shuffling.

“All right, you got an itch about this, scratch it. But-I don’t have to say, anything in here stays here. You know that, right?”

“You think I care whether Schaeffer’s Red or not? There’s only one Communist I’m interested in. You and Minot can have all the rest. I never even saw these, all right?”

Riordan said nothing for a moment, then picked up his hat. “The door locks behind you. I’m just saying, there’s a lot of privileged stuff here.”

“And I’m trying to get you more. One more friendly witness.”

“Just don’t do it solo.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give him to you.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“What?”

“You get too close, all by yourself, you could get hurt. He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Like before. Wouldn’t think twice.” He put on his hat. “Safety in numbers.”

When he’d gone, the room turned eerily silent, and Ben found himself moving quietly, too, as if he had broken in and had to make sure no noise reached the night watchman. He slid the file drawer out carefully, guest list in his other hand. The easiest way would be to eliminate the obvious names first, then move on to the ones he didn’t know, but it was hard to be methodical. Even when a name had no file he would bump up against another one, not on the list, that seemed vaguely familiar. Paulette Goddard was there, but only as an ex-wife cross-reference to the thick Chaplin file. Ben flipped through this-every speech he’d ever made, every interview, anonymous evaluations of his opinions, a full dossier of meaningless paper, flecked with little drops of professional envy. But someone had taken the time to compile it. Out of curiosity, he looked for his own name, but neither he nor Liesl had attracted anyone’s attention-nor Danny, for that matter, unless the sources had a special file drawer of their own. A Warners director had solicited contributions for the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, and his films had been reviewed for left-wing sentiments. Feldman, a front office crony Ben knew only by sight, had attended an Anti-Fascist League fund-raiser 1938, Ambassador Hotel, with Gail Simco, ex-CP, 1940. His girlfriend? A party seven years ago. It was when he found a file on Warner himself-production decisions made on Mission to Moscow — that the full craziness of it all struck him. He looked around Minot’s silent office, drawer after drawer of trivia and innuendo, put together during the war, consuming time and expense, to prepare for the war in their imaginations. And Danny a willing part of it. Had his sense by then been blunted, too? Crazy wasn’t necessarily harmless. The files were an arsenal. They were getting ready.

His fingers stopped, surprised, at the tab with Rosemary’s name on it.

“Subject (real name Risa Meyer) raised CP household. Father (Jacob) arrested NYC 1933 strike action, later official ILGWU. Mother (Irene) seamstress, also ILGWU. Both CP 1927–1939, membership on record. Resignation 1939. No evidence subsequent membership but source (G) believes remained socialist. Subject attended Pine Hill, Monticello, NY, children’s summer camp known for CP indoctrination. No known official CP affiliation, but background suggests further investigation.”

Attached were supporting documents, even a camp roster, a list of her magazine subscriptions-obtained how? — SAG membership date, a copy of the police report of her father’s arrest, none of it important or secret, yet sitting in a file, available. He looked at it again, feeling squeamish, as if he’d opened a lingerie drawer, a private place where he wasn’t supposed to be. No K source, at least. He’d reported on Ostermann, on friends. Why not jottings after a weekend at the Biltmore? But he wouldn’t have, one fine line he wouldn’t have crossed. As if Ben knew any longer what he wouldn’t have done.

He came back to her again after he’d checked more names off the list. Had Rosemary known? He thought of her at the party, enjoying her moment, not meeting Liesl’s eyes. Suggests further investigation. What if that had been Danny, listening closely?

The click of the key in the door startled him. He looked up, frozen, at Minot coming in, his hand still on the door, even more surprised. For a second neither of them moved.

“What are you doing?” Minot said finally, his voice flat, waiting to hear. He was in black tie, evidently on his way home from a formal evening.

“Checking files,” Ben said, trying to sound calm. “Riordan had to leave.”

“An eager beaver,” Minot said, squeezing out a small smile. “Dennis shouldn’t have done that.” He went over to his desk and took an envelope out of his in-box. “The files are private.”

“I was just checking my brother’s reports.”

“No offense.” He stopped, taking in the stack in front of Ben. “You understand, we promise people, when they help us. Well, like yourself. You wouldn’t want everyone-”

“The sources are coded.”

Minot nodded, his eyes darting involuntarily toward the bottom drawer, a quick check to see if it had been opened.

“But not impossible. To guess, I mean. We need to protect them. You’d want that, wouldn’t you? Your brother was very particular on that point. And even so. Well, it’s late. Need a lift? I’ve got a car waiting downstairs.”

“I’ll just put these back.”

“No, leave them,” Minot said firmly. “Sally can get them in the morning.”

He was moving to the door now, opening it, expecting Ben to follow.

“Anything for us yet?” he said pleasantly.

“No. I was hoping-” He opened his hand to the files.

“I think you’d find it easier with someone around. Help you navigate.” He switched off the light, closing the door behind them, testing the knob to make sure it had locked.

“What did you mean, even so?” Ben said. “About Danny. You said, ‘and even so.’ “

“Oh. Well, you know things happen. Even when you’re careful. Your brother was very careful. I don’t think anybody ever knew-that he gave us information about them. But somebody did find out. I can’t even remember how-Dennis, I suppose. Your brother chewed him out for it. Said it cost him a job.”

“Who found out?”

Minot slowed, looking at him. “Oh, I see. No, it’s not what you’re thinking. No grudges.”

“But if the guy-”

“It wouldn’t be,” he said evenly. “He became a friend of ours.”

“ After Danny-”

“A friend,” Minot said, cutting him off. “Like you. We trust our friends.” He glanced over. “Be a hell of a world if we didn’t, wouldn’t it?” He waved to the night watchman, his tone suddenly genial. “Frank, where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

“Right here. Not out on the town like some people,” the guard said, smiling at the tuxedo.

“Well, somebody’s got to do it. How’s the wife-better?” A politician’s memory, better than a room of files.

“Like new. I’ll tell her you asked,” he said, pleased, taking in Ben now.

Minot handed him the envelope from his in-box. “Somebody’ll be by for this. Sorry about the hour.”

“I’m here anyway,” Frank said, propping it on the fire extinguisher while he opened the door for them.

Outside a car was waiting, the driver idling the motor. Ben caught a glimpse of a woman’s crossed leg in the backseat, patient Mrs. Minot.