Joseph Kanon - Defectors

“You see how she is,” she said to Simon, looking at the dog, curled up next to the chair by the stove. “Always waiting. It makes me so sad to see it.”

“What about you? How are you doing?” Frank said.

“Ouf. How would I be? Sometimes like Pani, sometimes— It’s something new, to be alone like this. You hear sounds at night and then, no sleep.”

“You’re safe here. It’s a Service compound.”

“And he was safe? Perry?”

“Marzena—”

“Yes, I know, you already told me. Foolish. But maybe not so foolish. I don’t believe he would do that to himself. To me. They sent him into exile. So why not—”

“Exile. Half of Russia wants a residence permit for Moscow. A dacha.”

“Where he can’t work. For him, exile. They didn’t trust him. And you know, when they don’t trust you— So why not? Why foolish?”

“He should never have signed the letter.”

“Oh, a letter,” she said, waving her hand, dismissive. “Such a serious thing. To ask for world peace. Don’t you want world peace?” she said to Simon.

“Everybody does,” Frank said. “But they don’t send letters to international congresses. I know he meant well but it was—awkward. For the Party.”

“So he has to leave Arzamas. Why not just shoot him there?”

“Marzena.”

“And now what? Do they take back the flat? This house? How do I live? I’m afraid.”

“You’re Perry’s widow. The Service always looks after its own. Especially if—”

“He’s famous. Yes, you told me.” She turned to Simon. “You know, when we met, I had no idea he was famous. A nice man. Quiet. How would I know? Then I saw the photographs. When he arrived, the reception. Like a hero. The meeting with Fuchs. You know, they were both at Los Alamos and they never knew each other? So there was a laugh about that, how careful the Service was, they didn’t even know each other. And then what? The letter. Other scientists too, not just him. End the arms race. Not disloyal, a good Communist. Always. And poof.” She waved her arm again. “No clearance. No work. Politically unreliable. Perry, who gave them everything. And no one talks to us. Just you,” she said to Frank. “The others run away, like mice. So he sits here. No more letters. No more anything. And then, when everybody forgets—no one looking—they do it. Tell me I’m wrong,” she said to Frank, suddenly fierce.

“You’re wrong,” he said calmly. “The Service doesn’t work that way. Stop. You’ll make yourself—”

“Crazy. Yes, I feel crazy sometimes. What if I’m right? Then I’m next?”

“You’re not right,” Frank said, still calm.

“Then what was it?” she said, a catch in her voice, real pain. “How could he do it?”

Frank said nothing, letting the air settle, then put his empty glass on the table. “We have to be going,” he said. “You’ll be all right? No more appliances to fix?”

An involuntary smile. “How can you laugh?”

“I’m not laughing. It’s hard. I know.”

She nodded, her face softer, as if she had been stroked. “Oh, and now you’re worried, how will she be tomorrow? With people. The first time since—”

“I’m not worried.”

“No? I think Joanna is. If I ruin her party.” She looked up. “But I won’t.” She put her hand on Simon. “You’ll talk to me, won’t you? Tell me about America. You know, Perry always liked it there. He said he wished I could see it.”

Simon looked at her, at a loss.

“Of course, not possible.” She glanced over at Frank. “You really think it will be all right, about the flat?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, tomorrow. I won’t say anything in front of the others. My foolishness. It’s different with you. Who’s coming?”

“The Rubins.”

She smiled, the hint of a giggle.

“What?”

“All spies.” She touched Simon’s arm. “Except you. Yes? Everybody but you.”

They went back a different way, through woods so thick they had to walk single file.

“She liked you,” Frank said, his teasing voice. “Better watch out. She’s already buried two.”

Simon looked up at the back of Frank’s head, surprised at his tone.

“She was married before?”

“That’s why she was at Arzamas. A Polish physicist. Radiation poisoning. And there was Perry. He never had a chance.”

“Is it true what she said? They fired him for signing a letter?”

“It wasn’t just any letter. Scientists everywhere. Put an end to weapon research. As if it was up to them. He was lucky. In the old days he would have been shot.”

“But he wasn’t,” Simon said, a question.

Frank shook his head. “That’s just Marzena’s way of explaining it to herself. If the Service did it, then he didn’t.”

“Why did he?”

Frank was silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Do we ever? But it wasn’t the Service. He had no access, not after he left. He wasn’t going to make any trouble. Besides, the atomic spies—there’s a certain obligation. They’re heroes here. Look at the Rubins. She was just a courier and they get a big apartment on Gorky Street. Watch this branch.”

Simon ducked.

“If I had to guess,” Frank said, “I’d say when he stopped working—that was the end of things for him. That’s where he lived, not the real world. Signing letters, for Christ’s sake. What did he think would happen?”

“You liked him.”

Frank turned. “They’re just down the road, so we saw a lot of them. He had the time and nobody to talk to. Except Marzena, but that gets to be a little one-note.”

Simon looked at him. He talked. I made notes.

“And what does she do now?” Simon said. Frightened by night sounds.

“Oh, the Service will take care of her. She won’t have to worry. Now what?” he said, stopping at the edge of the woods, Boris’s car back in the driveway.

Joanna, picking something in the garden, spotted them and ran over.

“Boris is here. He’s staying the night,” she said, visibly upset.

“What?”

“He’s worried that something might—”

“Might what? What’s wrong?”

“Gareth. He’s been killed. It’s awful. Another one, so soon after Perry, so they’re worried—”

“Gareth?” Frank said, his tone flawless, shocked.

Simon blinked, saying nothing.

“He’s been killed,” Joanna said again. “Murdered.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. Boris will tell you. He just said murdered. He wants to make sure you’re—you don’t think it’s true, do you, that it has anything to do with Perry? That somebody—”

“No. I don’t know. Where is he?”

“Inside. I didn’t know what to say. About his staying.”

“Let me talk to him. Gareth?” he said again, trying to absorb it.

“I know and we just saw him a few days ago,” Jo said. “Oh, there’s Eva. I’d better say good-bye.”

Boris had come out on the porch and waved in their direction.

“Careful,” Frank said, his voice low. “He’ll say he’s here to protect me.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Mm. Just be careful.”

“Too bad Perry didn’t—” Simon stopped. “Why didn’t he have a Boris?”

“He did, for a while,” Frank said, turning toward the porch.

Simon looked up at Boris again, feeling a click in his head, a camera shutter opening. No need when Perry had Frank, a friend, not a babysitter. Much more effective. Someone he could talk to. Did he suspect? He talked. I made notes. And how many of them now would go to DiAngelis? The full Service file? Or just enough to clinch the deal, a few names, the file a protected asset. Assuming there was anything in it. Years since Arzamas, his science out of date, his letter writing behind him. And talking to his wife, even better, something a Boris couldn’t have done. The family friend. Unless she was listening too, provided by the Service, another Sergei. Everybody listening. Careful what you say. Boris was coming down the stairs, relieved to see them.