Tom Smith - Agent 6

– It’s not true!

Panin gestured for her to remain silent. He had only claimed this was the truth as the world knew it. In this truth, Raisa was a romantic figure besotted with Jesse Austin, convinced they were in the midst of a perfect love affair separated by nations. For Jesse it was no more than a forgotten night of sexual gratification. When she’d heard of the Soviet delegation going to New York, she’d forced her way onto the tour to reunite with him. Her dream was to claim asylum, live with him, abandoning her hated husband, Leo, who happened to be a secret-police officer. When she’d visited Jesse in Harlem they’d enjoyed a second sexual encounter. There was a photograph of Raisa Demidova, standing beside an unmade bed, crumpled sheets, dwarfed by the figure of Jesse Austin. Elena exclaimed again:

– I was there, not Raisa!

Impatient, Panin suggested that Elena appreciate that this version was the one created by the American authorities to defuse the situation. Continuing with the events, he explained that during this meeting between Jesse and Raisa, he’d told her that he would never leave his wife and she would have to return to Russia, to her husband. Consumed by jealousy and despair, Raisa had purchased a gun. Outside the United Nations, she’d shot Jesse Austin dead. She’d been caught holding the gun.

Elena could control herself no longer.

– It’s a lie! It’s all a lie!

Panin nodded, it was a lie. But it was the version of events that the United States had released to the press: it was the version of events they were demanding the Soviet Union support. The Soviet Union had agreed without condition. A lone shooter, no conspiracy and no greater powers at work – a story of unrequited love and a woman’s fury at being spurned. The remaining peace concerts had been cancelled. Frol Panin and many others in the Kremlin had worked hard in order that the delegation might return without too much of a delay. Finally, the students had been released and returned home. There was no news on when the body of Raisa Demidova might be returned.

In the back of limousine, observing the two girls absorb the narrative crafted around them, Panin addressed them on a separate matter.

– You must understand that Leo is a changed man. The news of his wife’s death has…

Panin searched for the correct word.

– Disturbed him. I’m not referring to the normal expression of grief. His reaction has gone far beyond that. He is not the man you remember. To be honest, I’m hoping that your return might help ground him.

The older girl, Zoya, spoke for the first time.

– What can we tell him?

– He will want to know everything that happened. He is trained to detect when he is being lied to. He is certain that the official version of events is a lie. Which of course it is. There is no question in his mind that there has been a conspiracy. You must decide for yourselves what you tell him. I place no limits on what you may talk to him about. Maybe you, Elena, are afraid of telling him the truth. But in his current state of mind, I would be more afraid of telling him a lie.

The elevator was still broken, and forced to walk up thirteen flights of stairs, Elena began to feel weak, her legs trembling. Coming up the final flight she could see their door. She stopped, unable to go any further, panicking at the thought of the man inside the apartment. How had Leo changed? She sat on the step.

– I can’t do it.

Leo had never hurt them, never raised his hand in anger or even shouted at them. Yet she was scared. There had always been something about him that had unsettled her. From time to time she would catch him sitting on his own, looking down at his hands as if wondering if they belonged to him. She would catch him staring out of the window, his mind elsewhere, and even though everyone drifted into daydreams with him it wasn’t idle thoughts. Darkness collected around him like clumps of static dust. If he realized he was being watched he would force a smile but it would be brittle, on the surface only, and the darkness remained. The thought of Leo without Raisa frightened Elena.

Zoya whispered:

– He loves you. Remember that.

– Maybe he only loved us because of Raisa?

– That’s not true.

– Maybe he only wanted children because of her? What if everything we love about him was because of her?

– You know that’s not true.

Zoya did not sound entirely convinced. Frol Panin crouched down.

– I’m going to be with you. There’s nothing to worry about. They reached the landing. Frol Panin knocked on the door.

Despite neither trusting Panin nor knowing anything about him, Elena was glad he was here. He was calm and measured. Physically he was no match for Leo; however, she couldn’t imagine it would be easy for anyone to ignore his instructions – they were spoken with such authority. The three of them waited. Footsteps could be heard. The door opened.

The man standing before them was unrecognizable as their father. His eyes were swollen with grief and appeared to be inhumanly large. His cheeks were sallow, sucked inwards. There was insanity in his movements. His hands w›

Disorientated by the long flight, the time difference, the emotions of the past week and this reunion, Elena briefly wondered if she’d walked into a different apartment. The furniture had been moved, their beds stacked up, chairs pushed aside as if to make space for a dance. The kitchen table had been positioned in the centre of the room directly under the light. The tabletop was covered with clippings from Soviet papers about the murder of Jesse Austin. There were sheets of intricate handwritten notes, photographs of Jesse. There were photographs of Raisa. A chair had been placed opposite the table. The set-up was unmistakable. It was ready for an interrogation. Leo’s voice was scratched and hoarse:

– Tell me everything.

Fingers knotted tightly together again, Leo listened with ferocious concentration as Elena recounted events in New York. She became emotional, muddling some of the points, confusing names and offering rambling justifications. At such points Leo interrupted, asking for nothing more than the facts, requesting clarification and demonstrating a pedantic desire for exact details. He didn’t lose his temper, he didn’t shout, and this absence of emotion was perturbing. Something has died inside of him, Elena thought, as she reached the end of her account. Leo said:

– Please give me your diary.

Elena looked up, confused. Leo repeated the request:

– Your diary, give it to me.

Elena looked up at her sister, then back at Leo.

– My diary?

– Your diary, yes, where is it?

– Everything was confiscated by the Americans, they took our clothes, our suitcases, everything. My diary was in it.

Leo stood up, pacing the room.

– I should have read it.

He shook his head angry with himself. Elena didn’t understand.

– My diary?

– I found it before you left, under your mattress. I put it back. It would have contained information about this man Mikael Ivanov. Am I right? You would’ve speculated on his feelings for you. You would have detailed what he’d asked you to do. You were in love. You were blind. I would have seen the relationship was a fraud.

Leo suddenly stopped walking, raising his hands to his face.

– If I’d read the diary I could’ve figured it all out. I could’ve stopped the whole thing. I could’ve stopped you from going. Raisa would be alive now. If I’d just behaved as an agent. I thought it would be wrong to go through your things. But that is who I am. Tt I do. Those are my only skills. I could have saved Raisa’s life.