Tom Smith: Secret speech

Anisya threw out suggestions:

– Martemian Syrtsov.

– Too talkative.

– Artiom Nakhaev.

– He’d agree, take the papers and then panic, lose his nerve, and burn them.

– Niura Dmitrieva.

– She’d say yes but she’d hate us for asking. She wouldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t eat.

In the end, two names-that’s all they could agree upon. Lazar decided to keep one portion of the music hidden in the church, along with the larger icons, returning them to the trunk and pushing the altar back into position. Since Lazar was the most likely to be followed, Anisya and Maxim were to carry their share of the music to the two addresses. They would leave separately. Anisya was ready:

– I’ll go first.

Maxim shook his head:

– No. I will.

She guessed his reason for offering: if Maxim got away then the chances were that she would too.

They unlocked the main door, lifting up the thick timber beam. Anisya sensed Maxim hesitate, no doubt afraid, the danger of his predicament finally sinking in. Lazar shook his hand. Over her husband’s shoulder, Maxim looked at her. Once Lazar was done, Maxim stepped toward her. She gave him a hug and watched him set off into the night.

Lazar closed the door, locking it behind him, reiterating the plan:

– We wait ten minutes.

Alone with her husband, she stood near the front of the church. He joined her. To her surprise, rather than praying, he took hold of her hand.

Ten minutes had passed, they moved to the door. Lazar lifted the beam. The papers were in a bag, slung over her shoulder. Anisya stepped outside. They’d already said good-bye. She turned, watching in silence as Lazar shut the door behind her. She heard the beam lowered back in place. Walking toward the street, she checked for faces at the windows, movement in the shadows. Suddenly a hand gripped her wrist. Startled, she spun around.

– Maxim?

What was he doing here? Where was the music he was carrying? From behind the back of the church a voice called out, harsh and impatient:

– Leo?

Anisya saw a man dressed in a dark uniform-an MGB agent. There were more men behind him, clustering like cockroaches. Her questions melted away, concentrating on the name called out: Leo. With the tug of a single word the knot of lies unraveled. That was why he had no friends or family in the city, that was why he was so quiet in lessons with Lazar, he knew nothing of scripture or philosophy. That was why he’d wanted to leave the church first, not for her protection but to alert the surveillance, to prepare for their arrest. He was a Chekist, a secret police officer. He’d tricked her and her husband. He’d infiltrated their lives in order to gather as much information as possible, not just on them but on the people who sympathized with them, dealing a blow against the remaining pockets of resistance within the Church. Had attempting to seduce her been an objective handed down by his superiors? Had they identified her as weak, gullible and instructed this handsome officer to form a persona- Maxim -to manipulate her?

He spoke quietly, intimately, as though nothing had changed between them:

– Anisya, I give you one more chance. Come with me. I’ve made arrangements. They’re not interested in you. They’re after Lazar.

The sound of his voice, tender and concerned, was appalling. The offer he’d made earlier, to leave with him, hadn’t been a naive fantasy. It hadn’t been romantic. It had been the calculations of an agent. He continued:

– Take the advice you gave me, denounce Lazar. I can lie for you. I can protect you. It’s him they want. You will achieve nothing by remaining loyal.

LEO WAS RUNNING OUT OF TIME. Anisya had to understand that he was her only chance of survival, no matter what she thought of him. She would gain nothing by clinging to her principles. His superior officer Nikolai Borisov walked toward them. Forty years old, he had the body of an aging weight lifter, still strong but slackening with an excess of drink:

– Is she cooperating?

Leo stretched out his hand, his eyes pleading with her to hand him the bag.

– Please?

In reply she cried out as loud as she could:

– Lazar!

Nikolai stepped forward, slapping her with the back of his hand. He called out to his men:

– Go!

Axes were brought against the church door.

Leo saw hatred in Anisya’s face. Nikolai pulled the bag from her.

– He tried to save you, ungrateful bitch.

She leaned forward, whispering into Leo’s ear:

– You genuinely believed that I might end up loving you? Didn’t you?

Officers grabbed her arms. Pulled back, she smiled at him, a vicious smile:

– No one will ever love you. No one!

Leo turned his back on her, desperate for her to be taken away. Nikolai put a consoling hand on his shoulder:

– It would’ve been complicated explaining how she wasn’t a traitor anyway. It’s much better this way. Better for you. There are other women, Leo. There are always others.

Leo had completed his first arrest.

Anisya was wrong. He was already loved-by the State. He didn’t want the love of a traitor: that was no love at all. Deception, betrayal- these were an officer’s tools. He had a legitimate right to them. His country depended upon betrayal. A soldier before he became an MGB agent, he’d experienced savage necessity in the defeat of fascism. Even the most terrible of things could be excused by the greater good that they served.

He entered the church. Instead of attempting escape Lazar was kneeling near the altar, praying, awaiting his fate. Seeing Leo his proud defiance melted away. In that moment of understanding he seemed to age several years:

– Maxim?

For the first time since they’d known each other he looked to his protege for answers.

– My name is Leo Stepanovich Demidov.

For several seconds Lazar remained silent. Finally he said:

– You were recommended to me by the patriarch…

– Patriarch Krasikov is a good citizen.

Lazar shook his head, refusing to believe it. The patriarch was an informer. His protege was a spy sent to him by the highest religious figure. He’d been sacrificed to the State just as the Church of Sancta Sophia had been sacrificed. He was a fool, warning others to take care, preaching caution when standing beside him, taking notes, was an MGB officer.

Nikolai stepped forward:

– Where are the remaining papers?

Leo gestured at the altar:

– Underneath.

Three agents pushed it aside, revealing the trunk. Nikolai asked:

– Did he give you any other names?

Leo answered:

– Martemian Syrtsov. Artiom Nakhaev. Niura Dmitrieva. Moisei Semashko.

He caught sight of Lazar’s face: shock turned to disgust. Leo stepped up to him:

– Keep your eyes on the floor!

Lazar didn’t turn away. Leo pushed his face down:

– Eyes on the floor!

Lazar lifted his head again. This time Leo punched him. Slowly, with his lip split open, Lazar lifted his head, dripping blood, looking up at him, disgust mingled with defiance. Leo replied, as if Lazar’s eyes had asked him a question:

– I am a good man.

Holding his mentor by the hair, Leo didn’t stop, punch after punch, continuing mechanically like a wind-up toy soldier, repeating the same action over and over until his knuckles hurt, until his arms ached and the side of Lazar’s face turned soft. When he finally stopped and released him, Lazar slumped to the floor, blood pooling around his mouth, shaped like a speech bubble.

Nikolai hung an arm around Leo’s shoulder, watching as Lazar was carried out, leaving a trail of blood from the altar to the door. Nikolai lit a cigarette.

– The State needs people like us.