Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

When they reached Wenceslas, Nick offered to pay for the trip, but Bielak shook his head. “Buy me a drink sometime.” Then, when Nick’s hand was already on the door handle, Bielak held out the medal and said, “Tell me something. Your father, he knew he was sick.”

“Yes.”

“I mean, it was that. Knowing he was sick.” Convincing himself. Then, unexpectedly, “Do you think he ever had any regrets?”

Nick looked at him, dismayed. All that was left. “No,” he said firmly. “Never.”

Bielak sat back. “Well, that’s something to think about it, isn’t it?”

He found Zimmerman waiting in the lobby, his usual calm betrayed by an impatiently jiggling foot. When he stood up, Nick panicked, sure that he was looking at the pocket.

“So you’re back. A pleasant trip?” Zimmerman’s voice was angry.

“No.”

“Where were you?”

“At my father’s house.”

“You were told not to leave Prague.”

“I went to get this.” He opened the box, showing the medal.

“And this has a special significance for you? You surprise me.” Zimmerman nodded toward the door. “Do you know who he is?”

Nick shrugged. “I met him in the bar. You have my car, remember?”

“Again with the charades. Is it possible you don’t know?” Zimmerman shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Who is he?”

“It’s possible you don’t take me seriously. That would be a mistake. Have I not made myself clear to you? Your position?”

“You mean he’s one of yours?”

“Stop it. Listen to me carefully. Don’t make yourself too interesting. A man is questioned; his embassy immediately protests. He is ordered to stay in Prague, so he goes for a ride with-with someone who is known to do odd jobs for the security police. Please, don’t look surprised, there isn’t time.”

“Is that why your men didn’t follow us?”

“Their jurisdiction ends with Prague, Mr Warren. Naturally they thought I would alert the other department.”

“But you didn’t.”

Zimmerman looked away. “Such a call would take things out of my hands entirely. The security police have much to do these days-so many dangers to the state. It’s unwise to burden them with false alarms. Luckily, you returned.” He paused. “Don’t do it again. You did not, I trust, confide in Mr Bielak?”

“No.” Nick smiled. “In fact, I think he wanted to recruit me. Maybe he thinks it runs in the family.”

Zimmerman looked at him. “Maybe it does, Mr Warren. But that is not my concern. I brought your statement.” He pulled some papers out of his breast pocket. “Sign it, please.”

“It’s in Czech,” Nick said, a lawyer’s son.

Zimmerman sighed. “The second sheet is the English. Sign the copy.”

“But am I responsible for all of it, the Czech too?”

Zimmerman handed him the pen. “Sign it, Mr Warren.”

Nick read it through, a bureaucrat’s account. His father’s distress at his illness. In this version the depression had been deepened by Nick’s visit, a new twist. He raised his eyes, then took the pen.

“Does this mean I can go?”

“That will depend on the STB. But it would be useful, I think, for them to have my police report before they begin their own speculation. That much I can do.” He gestured toward the medal. “That’s a nice touch. They’ll like that. I hope Mr Bielak mentions it.”

“He will. Nothing else happened.”

“Assuming they believe him. I wonder, Mr Warren, has it occurred to you that you might have compromised him?”

He nodded at Nick’s surprised look. “Sometimes, you know, there’s nothing so dangerous as an innocent man. Everyone has to explain him. Why you picked him, of all people.” He took a breath. “Why your embassy was so eager to help. Why the police-well, the police are so often inept, losing people, not understanding the implications. For the STB there is nothing but implications. I hope they don’t find you too interesting. I hope, for example, they don’t find that you are involved with your intelligence group. Nothing would interest them more than that, not even other Czechs.”

Nick stared at him, chilled. Was Foster right? Had they monitored the call to Kemper? How long before they knew about it? He stood there, feeling the film in his pocket.

“You see,” Zimmerman finished. “Nothing so dangerous.”

“Well, at least you think I’m innocent,” Nick said, trying to be light.

“Only of murder, Mr Warren,” Zimmerman said. “For the rest-” He took back the paper. “Thank you for the statement. Don’t leave again. Don’t do anything. Do you understand?” He turned. “Oh, by the way, your car is fine. What did you say was wrong?”

“A knock in the engine.”

“Yes, that can happen. A knock for no reason. It’s often the case with a new car.”

Molly had double-locked the door.

“Thank God,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Getting this,” he said, handing her the medal box.

She opened it. “So that’s what Anna wanted.”

He didn’t correct her. “Did you see Jeff?”

She nodded.

“And?”

“Come for a walk,” she said, raising her eyes toward the ceiling. She picked up her jacket, then went over to put the box on the desk. “What’s this?” she said, touching the urn.

“My father. His ashes.”

She pulled her finger away, staring at it. “God. What are you going to do with it?”

“Take him home.”

She kept staring. “It’s so small.”

Outside, it had begun to drizzle, so instead of walking they crossed the street to the broad island in the middle where the trams ran. Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of Zimmerman’s men leave his car and follow them. The evening rush was over. Only a few people were waiting for the clanging bell of the approaching tram.

“What did he say?”

“What you thought. He couldn’t wait to get back to Washington with the news. He called them right after I talked to him.” Everything in place.

“Who did he tell?”

“His boss. Somebody called Ellis.”

“Who else?”

“I couldn’t exactly get a personnel chart, Nick,” she said wearily. “He hopes it might have gone up to the director. In other words, it’s around. People know.” The agencies were like a sieve, his father had said, secrets dripping through a hundred holes. Anybody. “But I don’t have to worry,” Molly said, her voice a parody of Foster’s. “You’ll never suspect a thing. The Bureau keeps things to itself.” The tram doors opened and they waited for people to get off. She turned to him. “I can keep on going. Be your playmate.” Nick said nothing.

They sat at the back of the nearly empty tram. Zimmerman’s shadow was in front, pretending to read a newspaper.

“Did he tell them before?” Nick said, his voice low. He leaned into her, making them a couple out for an evening’s ride, trying to find some privacy in the brightly lit car.

She shook her head. “Just that he had made contact.”

The tail turned a page, looking in their direction. Nick put his arm over the back of the seat. When she felt it, she looked at him, surprised, as if he were making a pass.

“The man in front is watching us,” he whispered.

But she kept her eyes on him, not bothering to turn her head.

“He didn’t mention you?” he said.

“I don’t think so,” she said, throaty, so close now that he could feel the heat of her breath. “You were right about that too. He wanted it to be his show.”

“Good.”

“Not for him.”

“What happened?”

“Ellis thought it was a joke-that Jeff was being taken for a ride, to embarrass the Bureau. Now it’s not so funny. Especially since you called Kemper to rescue you. Everybody wants to know what’s going on. How he died, whether he meant it about coming back. All of it. So they’re all over Jeff. He wants to call you in.”