Joseph Kanon - Defectors

“What’s this about your staying the night?” Frank said. “Gareth’s dead?” Still pitch-perfect.

“The office thinks it’s safer, until they know. Two Western agents, so soon. So maybe another.”

“They think they’re connected? How?”

“I don’t know. A precaution only.”

“Do you think they are?”

“Me? No. The Englishman—” He glanced quickly at Simon, flustered. “A crime of sex.”

“God,” Frank said. “Gareth. What did he do? Pick up someone behind the Metropol? It wasn’t Sergei, was it?”

“They don’t know,” Boris said, embarrassed again. “Maybe a quarrel. Maybe a stranger. Not the Metropol. You know where?”

Frank grunted no.

“Novodevichy Cemetery.”

“Novodevichy?” Frank said, jarred. “When was this?”

“The time is uncertain. Maybe yesterday. Maybe before.”

“You mean he could have been lying there dead while we were—? What in God’s name was he doing there?”

“He lives nearby. It would be a convenient place to meet somebody.”

“What if we’d seen him?” Frank said, still unsettled. “Was he just—lying there? On some grave?”

“The caretaker’s shed.”

“God. To go like that,” Frank said. “So—sordid.”

“Unless arranged. To give that appearance.”

“Is that what they think?”

Boris shrugged. “They’re investigating.”

“Well, of course you’re always welcome to stay,” Frank said, as if it were simply a weekend invitation. “We’ve put Simon in the guest room, but there’s the back bedroom. Would that be okay? Jo, can we fix that up for Boris?”

“Of course,” she said, joining them. “Poor Gareth. We just saw him.”

“Yes?” Boris said.

“At the Aragvi. You were there. In his cups. As usual. Why would anyone want to kill Gareth. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Simon glanced at her, saying nothing.

“It’s crazy,” she said. “Someone going around killing— What for? I mean, they’re not even agents anymore.”

“Not for us. But maybe one for them,” Boris said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“A plant. All along.”

Frank looked over at him. “Elizaveta,” he said.

Boris nodded.

“She’s back? Christ.”

Another nod. “They brought her in. She always said—”

“Elizaveta?” Simon said, at sea.

Boris glanced over, waiting for Frank’s lead to go on. Service business.

“She’s our Torquemada. The foreign agents. She thinks we’re all really double agents, or why else would we have come? She used to make life hell for everybody. Donald couldn’t work for years. Guy—well, you can imagine. Files and more files. Until they pensioned her out. I thought.” This to Boris.

“A special assignment. When she heard about the English—”

“But not Perry,” Joanna said.

“No, but an English. She always said the English would do this.”

“She thought the Americans were too dumb,” Frank said, explaining. “New to the game. But the Brits. She thinks they think the way she does. So now what?” he said to Boris. “Gareth gets killed and who did it?”

“The double agent. Gareth found out.”

“Gareth? She really is batty, you know.”

Boris shrugged, noncommittal.

“And Perry knew too?”

“Maybe not connected,” Boris said.

“So, theory one,” Frank said, holding up a finger. “Somebody’s bumping us all off, one by one. For reasons—well, we don’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t like us. Theory two, Gareth found out there was a double agent and threatened to expose him. Presumably another Brit. Elizaveta would be disappointed otherwise. All those years chasing MI6 and now, snap. If she gets him. And three, Perry—well a tragedy, but it happens. And Gareth got involved with a rough customer who beat him to death, or whatever he did. Which happened a few weeks later. So which makes the most sense? But instead we get old Elizaveta back, making trouble for everybody.” He made an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s hope we find out what happened before she makes a real mess. Come on, Boris, let’s have some soup,” he said, putting his arm around Boris’s shoulder. “The Service will get through this too.”

Simon watched them head for the stairs, Frank as smooth as a dancer, every step effortless. The way he’d always been, knowing what to do. For a second Simon felt a rush of the old admiration, following behind, Frank making everything all right. Boris’s friend.

“And now Boris for dinner,” Joanna said.

But Frank made that all right too, never mentioning Gareth, instead getting Boris to tell one of his stories about the war, when the Germans had Moscow practically in sight. Simon listened quietly, imagining the evenings with Perry and Marzena, the stories from Arzamas, how the letter started, names. I made notes. When Jo cleared the dishes, he went out on the porch for a smoke, just to get away, his chest tight. There were still a few streaks of light in the sky, the way it had looked that first night at the airport, before everything.

“You okay?” Frank said, coming out.

Simon nodded. “I keep thinking I’ll say the wrong thing.”

“You won’t. Just keep your head. Nobody’s looking at you.”

“Or you.”

“Yet. It’s a bad break, Elizaveta. Now they won’t bury it, they’ll investigate. Most of them are like Boris—they don’t want to know, just get him in the ground. But she’ll want a hunt, every foreigner.”

“You’ve been here twelve years. You’re—”

“Foreign. It’s something primal with them. And she’s the worst. She held up my security clearance for two years.”

“Yours?”

“And she’s still not sure.” He stopped, then smiled to himself. “God, I’d love to see her face. When she hears. Well, let’s hope she has her hands full with the Brits. At least until Wednesday. And I’m senior. She’ll have to work her way up to me. We should be all right.”

“Should be.”

“Should be. She prides herself on being thorough. About nothing. Ah, Boris.” He turned toward the door. “Here, have one of these. Not those Dymoks. They’ll kill you.”

“Good Russian cigarette.” He stepped onto the porch, taking a puff of his. “Still light. In Leningrad, the white nights. I have never seen, but everyone likes.”

“Why don’t you come too?”

“No. Is already arranged. With Service people there. Maybe I go to Sochi.”

Frank laughed. “And get a tan? I can’t see you just lying on the beach.”

“I like the sun. Good for the health. Comrade Burgess goes there. Well, not now. I think Elizaveta will start with him, no?”

“I suppose he was the closest to Gareth.”

“But not for sex,” Boris said, uncomfortable.

“No, I don’t think so. Anyway, not since Sergei.”

Boris nodded. “Like a marriage. So why Novodevichy? To meet someone else? Sergei says no. He wouldn’t.” Sergei already questioned.

“Sergei wouldn’t know.”

“Possible,” Boris said, thinking about it.

“And Gareth— We won’t speak ill of the dead, but loyalty wasn’t exactly his strong suit.”

“He was loyal to the Party,” Boris said simply, another puzzle piece.

“Well, that’s a different kind of marriage.”

Boris looked up. “For life.” All that mattered.

They heard the phone ring and Joanna answering it. No one said anything, listening, apprehensive, the hour late. A call from the Lubyanka? Marzena hearing night sounds? They all turned when Jo came to the porch.

“It was Hannah. They want to bring Ian. They have him for the weekend apparently. I could hardly say no. We’ll just set another place.”

“The more the merrier,” Frank said, his shoulders relaxing.