Olen Steinhauer - The Tourist

"She was arrested."

Primkov nodded. "In 1979. Later that year she hung herself with her own pants."

Janet Simmons leaned back, overcome by the feeling that she'd just listened to an entire life. A mysterious life, full of holes, but a life nonetheless. Her desire, at that moment, was to sit down with Ellen Perkins and ask why? for each decision she'd ever made. She couldn't understand Primakov's love for such an obviously unbalanced woman, but the fascination… She shook herself free of these thoughts. "So, Milo was in North Carolina with his aunt and uncle. Did he know who they were, who his mother was?"

"Yes, of course. Wilma and Theo were honest people, and Milo was four when he came to them-he remembered his mother. But it was a secret. Ellen believed-maybe rightly-that if the authorities knew who Milo was, they'd use him as leverage to get at her. So Wilma and Theo told everyone they'd gotten him from an adoption agency. Wilma told me that Ellen would sometimes arrive under a false name to visit Milo. Usually, they'd only learn about the visit afterward. She'd tap on Milo's window, he'd climb out, and they'd go walking through the night. It terrified Wilma. She worried that Milo would go with anyone who tapped on his window. Then, of course, the visits stopped when he was nine.”

“Did they tell him what happened?"

"After a while, yes. He already knew about me. Occasionally- maybe once a year-I visited. I didn't try to bring him back with me. He was an American. He had no need for another father-Theo was a good man. Only at their funeral did I learn that I'd inherited custody. If I had any doubts, they disappeared when I met Minnie, Milo's grandmother, who kept making excuses for why her husband, Bill, hadn't come to his own daughter's funeral. I wasn't going to let them take him."

"So he did go to Russia."

"Yes," said Primakov, then narrowed his eyes. "He didn't put that on his Company application, did he? Not on his school transcripts either. That was my idea. Back then, we still thought of the world as divided between East and West. A different East and West from now. I didn't want that working against him in the future. So we settled on a little fiction. Three years in an orphanage after his aunt and uncle's death. There was no need for anyone to know they weren't his real parents. For all purposes, they were his parents."

"It's a bit much to ask a kid," Simmons suggested. "To lie about three years of his life."

"Most kids, maybe. But not Milo. Remember, he received visits from a mother who was a wanted criminal. Each visit, Ellen reminded him that their relationship was a secret. He already had a special place in his brain for a secret life. I just added a few things to it."

"But the cold war ended," she insisted. "You could have set the record straight."

"Tell that to him," said Primakov. "I did. But Milo asked me how his employers would react if they knew a twenty-year-old kid had pulled the wool over their eyes? Milo knows how institutions work. Point out their flaws, and they'll bite you for the favor."

This, Simmons had to concede, was true.

"He hated Russia, you know. I tried-I tried every day to show him the beauty of Moscow and his Russian heritage, but he'd spent too long in America. All he saw was the corruption and dirt. He actually told me, right in front of my daughters-and in flawless Russian, which only made it worse-that I worked for the People's Oppressors. But what really hurt was when he said I wasn't even aware of my crimes, that I was stuck in a petit-bourgeois cocoon." He paused, brows raised. "See what I mean? I suddenly felt as if Ellen were standing there, shouting at me."

The irony made even Janet Simmons smile. "But you didn't leave him alone, did you? Two weeks ago, you crashed his vacation. Why?"

Primakov chewed the inside of his mouth as if realigning his dentures. "Ms. Simmons, you're obviously getting at something with all this. I've been open with you because I know Milo is in your custody, and I don't believe any of this will harm my son. Like you say, it's not the cold war anymore. But if you want me to go on, I need something from you. I need you to tell me what's going on with Milo. I saw him at Disney World, yes, but since then I haven't seen or heard from him."

"He's being held for murder."

"Murder? Who?"

"Among others, Thomas Grainger, a CIA officer."

"Tom Grainger?" he said, then shook his head. "I don't believe it. Tom was as close to a father figure as Milo, as an adult, ever had. Certainly more than I was."

"He's confessed to the murder."

"Did he say why?"

"I'm not at liberty to share that."

The old man nodded, a finger grazing his cheek. "Of course, I did hear about Tom's death. I'm not saying this because he's my boy, you understand. I'm bourgeois enough to believe in fair punishment for a crime."

"I don't doubt that."

"I just don't think…" He paused, looking into her cool eyes. "Forget it. I'm an old man, and I talk a lot of tripe. Disney World. That's what you wanted to know about."

"Yes."

"Simple. I wanted to know what had happened to Angela Yates. She was an excellent agent, a real compliment to your great nation.”

“You knew her?"

"Sure," he said. "I even approached Miss Yates with the offer of a job."

"What kind of job?"

"Intelligence. She was an intelligent woman."

"Wait a minute," Janet began, then stopped. "Are you telling me you tried to turn Angela Yates?"

Primakov nodded, but slowly, as if measuring how much he could say. "Homeland Security, the CIA, and NSA-they all try to turn members of the United Nations every hour of every day. Is it so unforgivable for the United Nations to try the same?"

"I-" Again, she had to stop. "You talk as if you've got some intelligence agency here."

"Please!" Primakov exclaimed, again showing his hands. "The United Nations has nothing of the sort. Your country, for one, wouldn't abide it. Of course, if someone wants to share some knowledge with us, we'd be foolish not to accept it."

"What did Angela say?"

"An unequivocal no. Very patriotic, that one. I even tried to sweeten the pot. I told her the United Nations was interested in going after the Tiger. But still, she refused."

"When was this?"

"Last year. October."

"Do you know how much work she did tracking the Tiger after that?"

"I have some idea.”

“How?"

"Because I fed her information whenever I had it to share." They watched each other a moment, then Primakov continued.

"Look. We didn't want the credit for catching the Tiger. We only wanted him stopped. His assassinations were disrupting European economies and causing unrest in Africa. Usually, she didn't know the information came from us. She considered herself extremely lucky. You can argue she was."

"What about Milo?"

"What about him?"

"Why didn't you feed him information? He was following the Tiger."

Primakov thought about his answer before speaking: "Milo Weaver is my son. I can love him, yes. I can make sure my parentage doesn't ruin his career. But I also know that, as my son, he has my own limitations."

"Such as?"

"Such as not being as clever as Angela Yates. He caught the Tiger, yes, but only because the Tiger wanted to be caught." Primakov blinked at her. "Don't get me wrong, Ms. Simmons. Milo's very clever. He's just not quite as smart as his old, now dead, friend."

Primakov took a bite of cold egg, and Simmons said, "You really are very well informed, Yevgeny."

He inclined his head. "Thank you."

"What do you know about Roman Ugrimov?"

Primakov dropped his fork; it clattered on the plate. "Excuse me, Ms. Simmons, but Roman Ugrimov is as much of a shit as Milo's grandfather. Another pedophile-did you know? Some years ago he killed his underaged pregnant girlfriend in Venice simply to make a point." He pushed away his plate, his appetite now completely ruined.