Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

“You must have made some impression. He’s never talked to anyone before.”

“He didn’t then, either. Except about you. We met on the Charles Bridge and then we went for a walk. That’s when he asked me to get in touch with you.”

“On a bridge. Just like in the movies. In your trench-coats.”

“Well, it’s like that there. You have to talk outside.”

“And maybe somebody was putting you on. How do you know it was him? How do I know?”

“He said if you asked that to tell you he always remembered how you helped with the shirt. Whatever that means. He said you’d know.”

He felt his stomach move again, another tilt. The snowy street. The drain.

She looked at him. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

Nick nodded and then signaled to the waiter for another round. “Now what? I’m supposed to call him up and chat about old times?”

“No, he wants to see you.”

“What makes you think I want to see him?”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss.

“What did you expect? I’d be so thrilled he wants to see me after twenty years that I’d catch the next plane?”

“I don’t know what I expected. I thought you’d be-I don’t know, curious.”

“Curious. Is that how you’d feel if you saw a ghost?”

She looked at him for a minute, studying his face. “No. I guess I’d feel scared.”

“I don’t feel scared,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Let me tell you about my father. He walked out on us. Just left. Defected. That’s the word everybody prefers. Gives it a sort of ideological cast. But what he really did was run. And we had to clean up the mess. My mother. Larry. Christ, not to mention the country. Sometimes I think that’s the worst thing he did. That stupid fucking committee-he made them legitimate. They got something right finally. They just stepped right into it, and after that there was no stopping them. There were Communists in the State Department. Well, one. And they couldn’t get him. So then how many others? And on and on. That’s another little gift he left us.”

“You can’t blame him for that,” she said quietly.

“But he did it,” he said, placing his hand on hers for emphasis. “That’s the point. They were right. Before him they had nothing. And then-” He caught himself, pulled back his hand, and took another drink. “We had to pretend he was dead. And after a while he was dead. I don’t want to bring him back. You saw a ghost, that’s all.”

He stopped, waiting for her reply, but she said nothing.

“You know what I did the day he gave his press conference? That was the first time he came back from the dead. I played baseball. There was a game that afternoon and I saw him on television and I thought, Oh God, it’s starting all over again, everybody will know, they’ll throw me out of the game or look embarrassed or something. They’ll know. But they didn’t. I went to the park and nobody said a thing-the kids, the coaches, nobody. We just played ball, as if nothing had happened. Because it hadn’t. That’s when I realized it was over. I wasn’t his son anymore. I was somebody else.” He looked at her. “I’m still somebody else.”

“If you say so.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I don’t believe you.”

He felt the lurch again, found out, back at the table with Doris Kemper.

“Have it your way. You delivered your message. Why did you, anyway? I mean, why bother? What’s in it for you?”

“I told you. He promised to talk to me.”

“And you believed him? He’s been known not to tell the truth, you know. In fact, he’s famous for it.”

“He’s not like that.”

“Really. What is he like?”

“He’s-” She searched for a word. “Sad.”

Nick looked at her, not quite sure how to take this. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Forget it.”

“Old-sad,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s old. Don’t be angry. He just wants to see you.”

“So why not pick up the phone? They have phones there, don’t they? Why you? I don’t get it.”

“He wants me to bring you.”

Nick stared at her, dumbfounded. “Come again?”

“He said you’d need a cover. I guess that’s me. You’d be with me. He told me you had a different name. I didn’t realize it was that Warren.”

“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. He walks up to you at a party and says go get my son and I’ll give you an interview. But don’t tell anybody, because I’m being watched. And you agree to do it? This doesn’t strike you as a little crazy? If you’re that hard up for a story, why not interview Barbara Hutton? Nobody remembers her either.”

“I’m just telling you what he said.”

“But why go through this? He’s not a prisoner, you know. He’s allowed visitors.”

“I know. I kept wondering about that too. What I think is, he doesn’t want them to know who you are. I don’t know why. He wants them to think you’re somebody else.”

“Your fiance.”

“Look, I thought it was crazy too. All the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Why do you think it took me so long? But I kept thinking about it. First of all, it’s like that there. They’re all a little spooky. Jiri thought everybody’s phone was tapped. So maybe it’s crazy, but they ought to know. They live there. They’re always arranging to meet in parks, things like that. So I thought, well, maybe he thinks that way. He’s used to it. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought there was something else. Not just being careful. Like he had it all worked out. The problem was, I couldn’t figure out what. Then it occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t supposed to know, but you would. That you’d know what he meant.” She had been leaning forward, her voice eager, but now she sat back, opening her hands. “So I thought I’d better tell you. Just in case.”

Nick shook his head, staring at the glass. “What exactly did he say to you?”

“Exactly? He wants to see you. Don’t tell anybody. He said you’d understand.”

“No, about the shirt.”

“Oh.” She frowned, concentrating. “Tell him I always remembered how he helped with the shirt. He’ll know.” Like that, anyway. I don’t know exactly. At the time, I didn’t think-is it some kind of code?“

The word made Nick smile. “No. And this isn’t Nancy Drew either. No codes. No invisible ink. There was a shirt, so yes, I know it’s him. That’s it.”

“But what do you think it means?”

Nick looked at the table for a minute so she would think he was trying to sort out his thoughts, not push them away. It was starting again. Secrets. Listening at doors. But it didn’t have to start. All he had to do was push it away.

“I think it means you met an old man at a party. Maybe he’s sorry about what happened. So am I. But that doesn’t mean I want to see him. It’s a little late for apologies.”

“You’re wrong. There’s something else-it’s not that simple.”

“Look, I’m sorry you came all this way-”

“I was coming anyway,” she said, annoyed. “Don’t worry.” Then she leaned forward again, making a last effort. “What if I’m right? How could you not want to know?”

He looked at her, then signaled for the bill. “It takes practice. After a while, it works. Everything goes away and the last thing you want to do is bring it back. What do you think would happen if we went? A few awkward days with someone I don’t even know anymore? All taped by you for some magazine?”

“That’s not fair. I never said I wanted to do that. You don’t have to take it out on me.”

“Take what out?”

“Whatever it is that’s making you like this.”

“Right. Sorry.” He pulled out some money to put on the plate with the bill.