Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

“I’m not. We don’t detain people in America.”

“No doubt that explains why you have so much crime.”

“So can I go?”

“For now. I have persuaded Chief Novotny that you’re not such a dangerous character. It is as I predicted — an official protest would upset him. But I wish you had followed my advice. Now he will have to take an interest. So much work for everyone. Well.” He opened his hand, a follow-me gesture. “I must ask, however, that you do not go far. We are not so accommodating as that. So you will stay in Prague.”

“Until when?”

“Until we have no more questions.” He stepped aside to let Nick pass. “Of course you have my personal sympathies. It is a difficult thing, a parent’s death.”

“Thank you.” He was almost at the door.

“Oh, one last question. I forgot. Your father-the report does not say-did he by any chance lose control of his bowels?”

Nick stopped. “Yes. Why?”

“I was curious. For the details. Sometimes the reports- Thank you.”

He opened the door. Chief Novotny, glowering. Next to him a man in a raincoat, extending his hand.

“Mr Warren? Jeff Foster, American embassy.”

Nick froze for a minute, his hand stuck in midair. Then he took Foster’s, aware of Zimmerman watching him, not wanting him to catch the look on his face as he recognized the coat, the sandy hair, the man on the bridge with Molly.

“You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Foster said outside. “We called Kemper. He never heard of you.” Nick stared at him, his mind racing. Together on the bridge. “You okay?”

Say something. “I met him in London.”

“Yeah? He never met you. Now he’s got bells and whistles going off all over the place. Here,” Foster said, indicating the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the embassy. There’s a little reception committee waiting to hear what you have to say. It better be good.”

“Look, we did meet, at a party. I knew he was CIA. I wanted to get out of here and I figured that would get your attention.”

“You got that part right.” He nodded toward the police building. “You probably got their attention now too.”

“How?”

“You think the Czechs don’t monitor our calls? Christ, it’s how half the country makes its living.”

“Well, sorry. It was all I could think of.”

“Sorry.”

“Back off, okay? I came to see my father. He killed himself and I got hauled into a Czech police station-what would you do? It worked, didn’t it? I’m not going to tell anybody Kemper’s CIA, I don’t give a shit. I’m not trying to make trouble for anybody. I just want to get out of here.”

Foster looked at him, surprised. “He killed himself?”

“He’s dead. Maybe they think I did it, I don’t know. Didn’t Molly tell you?” Nick said, watching him closely.

“Nobody told me anything,” Foster said smoothly. “I got a message sent up there’s an American in jail says he works for Jack Kemper and would I go and get him. Now I’ve got this mess. He doesn’t know you. You don’t know him. How’d you know he was CIA, anyway?” Actually looking around as he spoke.

“I didn’t,” Nick said, not wanting to involve Larry. “I just figured it was a safe bet. All you embassy guys are, aren’t you?”

Foster held up his hand. “I just work here.”

“Yeah, stamping passports.”

“Okay, let’s just calm down. We’ll go for a little ride and you tell the good folks what you told me.”

“You tell them. Look, I’ve been answering questions all day. You’re supposed to be on my side, remember? I’m just an American who pushed a button for help. The wrong button, I guess. Tell Kemper I’m sorry, his secret’s safe with me. Tell him he has a nice wife. We sat together at dinner, that’s why I remembered his name. That’s all it is.”

“That’s all.”

“I won’t be hard to find if you want me tomorrow. The police are making me stay in Prague. Can they do that, by the way?”

Foster nodded. “It’s their country.”

“So can we skip the debriefing? I’m not a spook. I’m not anything — just tired. I just want to go back to the hotel.” Did he? What would he say? Careful of her now. Quicksilver.

Foster was looking at him. “Some stunt.” Then he smiled. “You don’t know what you started. They’ve even got the ambassador jumping around.”

“Well, make my apologies.”

“You’ll have to do that one yourself.” He looked at him again, assessing. “Okay, tomorrow. He’s got a dinner tonight anyway. You’re out, that’s the main thing. We don’t want the Czechs thinking it’s anything serious. That would really start something. Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

“I’ll walk.”

“That makes it harder for them,” Foster said, sliding his eyes toward a parked car. Two men. “They’ll have to go slow, and it messes up traffic. Easier to follow a car.”

“I’ll never be alone again, huh?”

“Not in Prague.”

“Nicholas?” He heard a voice at his side. Anna. How long had she been there? “Everything is all right?”

He nodded. She glanced at Foster, then handed Nick a piece of paper.

“It’s the address. For the funeral.”

“The funeral?” Already arranged.

“Yes, tomorrow. If you would come.”

He looked down at the paper. A meaningless street name. “Tomorrow? Aren’t they going to do an autopsy?”

She shook her head. “No one said. There’s no need.”

He grabbed her arms. “Anna, he didn’t kill himself. They should-”

But she shrank from him, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “Please.” She turned her back to Foster, who felt awkward enough to step toward the car. “You don’t understand,” she said to Nick, almost a whisper. “How it is here. It’s better not to wait.”

“Better? For whom, the police? I won’t let them do this.”

“You won’t?”

“I’m his family.”

“I’m his family here, Nicholas. Me.” She glared at him, then lowered her head. “It’s not for you to decide.”

“But don’t you want to know?”

“What? I know he’s dead. It’s enough.” She moved back. “What I said before-I know you meant well. But now, leave Prague. There’s nothing more for you to do here.” She nodded at the paper in his hand. “Ten o’clock,” she said, and walked away.

Nick got into the back seat with Foster, behind the driver, who had a Marine’s shaved head.

“What was that all about? I thought you said he killed himself.”

“She’s his wife. What would you say?” He looked away, feeling in his pocket for a cigarette. “Let her think it was an accident.”

“An accident. With an autopsy.” Foster leaned forward to the driver. “The Alcron, over on Wenceslas.” The car swung into the street. “You don’t want to get involved in anything,” he said to Nick. “Not here. There’s only so much we can do, you know. We can make a little noise if they haul you in for no reason, but if there’s anything wrong-”

“I’m on my own, I know.” He lit the cigarette. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong, not that way. They think he killed himself. Everybody does.”

“But not you.”

Nick looked at him. “He must have.”

“I’m sorry. They said you found him. That’s rough.”

“Yes.”

“After all these years.”

“You know who he was?”

“Well, after I heard the name. He’s the one that got away.” Foster paused. “Must be a hell of a thing to live with.”

The car was quiet with the tension of someone not rising to the bait.

“You guys keep tabs on him? Keep the files up to date?”