Joseph Kanon - Defectors

“I think they thought he was unlucky. And the trial—”

“Soviet theater,” Frank said mischievously. “You can’t blame them. They’re so good at it and they don’t get the chance much anymore. Not since Stalin.”

Boris lifted his head at this.

“Frank,” Hannah said, a mild scold, looking around to gauge the reaction at the table.

“It’s just us,” Frank said. “Nobody’s listening.”

“You’ll give Simon the wrong impression.” She turned to him again. “Eisenhower was embarrassed, you could see it. When Powers was captured. But the one you never saw was Dulles. You’d think— Nothing. Not even an apology.”

“What about the pill? The poison?” Saul Rubin said. “I read somewhere people think he should have taken it.”

“Some, I guess,” Simon said.

“I don’t see it. I mean, what the hell was he supposed to know? A pilot. Taking pictures.”

“I guess the idea was to—avoid what happened. The trial.”

“It’s a lot to ask, no? I mean, I was doing a lot more than taking pictures and nobody ever gave me a pill. They give one to you?” he said to Ian.

“No,” Ian said, sipping some wine.

“I thought all that went out with the OSS,” Frank said. “Behind-enemy-lines stuff.”

“Aren’t we?” Joanna said, then caught Frank’s expression. “I mean, it’s not like a real war. But if you’re spying—”

“It’s the same,” Boris said.

“Not that I think anybody should have to do that. A suicide capsule. What information could be worth that?”

“That depends on the times,” Saul said. “When Hannah was carrying the plans for the bomb, for the design, talk about a matter of life and death. Of course, she didn’t have to do anything like that, she was too clever for them.” He looked at Simon. “You ever hear the story of what happened in Albuquerque?”

“Oh, Saul.”

“Cool as a cucumber. She’s got the papers in her purse, the most valuable piece of paper in the world right then, and she gets to the train station and they’re inspecting bags. IDs, all that. Why then? Who knew? Maybe just routine. But she’s got to get on the train. So she’s wearing a sun hat and she takes it off and slips the paper in the hat, you know, behind that ribbon that goes around on top. And she gets to the MP and she says, here, would you hold this? While she opens her purse to find her ID. So he’s holding the plans for the bomb while she’s fishing around in there. So then thanks, here’s your hat, and she’s on the train. It’s one for the books. She never broke a sweat.”

“I sweated plenty later,” she said, then looked down, thoughtful, twisting her ring. “I don’t know. How can we know what we would have done? I think I would have taken the pill. It was a different time. We thought, they have the bomb, they could destroy the Soviet Union. The Party. Everything we worked for. For them to have that power— So we did what we did. And that made us criminals. To somebody like Dulles. He should talk. But I’ll tell you one thing. Whatever I did, it never caused the death of a single American. Not one. That’s important to me.”

Simon looked at her, astonished, but the others at the table were either nodding in agreement or indifferent, a self-deception they’d agreed to accept.

“I still think of myself as American,” Hannah said. “Not one American life—”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Ian said abruptly, his voice so English that the words seemed foreign.

The table was silent for a moment, as if some invisible trip wire had been snapped and people were waiting for something to go off. Hannah blinked, as still as the others.

Ian looked up, feeling the disturbance. “Sorry. I just meant—” he said, then let it go.

“I understand that,” Joanna said to Hannah, smoothing things over. “I still feel American. Though I guess I’m not. What do you think, Boris? Am I a Russian lady yet?”

“Good Soviet,” Boris said, taking the question seriously. “Not every Soviet is born in Russia. A question of choice.”

“And we made it, didn’t we?” Joanna said wryly, looking around, as if the dacha, the bright day were visible proof of good judgment. “Well, we’d better start or we’ll be pie-eyed before we eat. Eva made her cold borscht to start. Perfect day for it, isn’t it?”

“Should we call Marzena?” Hannah said. “Maybe something’s—”

“No, she’ll swan in when she’s good and ready. I’ll just get the soup. Ian, would you give me a hand?” she said, a polite rescue.

He stood up. “Elizaveta wants to see me Monday,” he said, blurting it. “First thing.”

Another awkward silence.

Joanna put her hand on his arm. “Never mind. The old cow’s been trying to scare people for years. And nothing ever comes of it.”

“It’s like being summoned by the headmaster.” He glanced down toward Boris. “It’s not right. Treating us this way. After all we’ve—”

“Come on. Soup,” Joanna said, still trying to deflate it.

But Ian was standing his ground, looking directly at Boris now, the responsible party, the only Russian.

“She is not the Service,” Boris said, his voice tentative, trying to get it right. “Maybe the old days, not now. It’s in your book.” He waved his hand to include Frank. “It’s like that, not her.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to read—” Hannah started.

“But why pick on me?” Ian said.

Boris smiled. “Me too. Pick, pick.” He made a beaking gesture with his hand. “Everybody. Her way, that’s all.”

“Bloody awful, if you ask me,” Ian said, but retreating now. “They shouldn’t allow it. Sorry,” he said to Joanna.

“Come on. You’ll feel better with some food in you,” she said, beginning to lead him away. “There she is.” She waved to Marzena, coming out of the trees. “Just in time. Oh good, she’s brought her dog.” Simon glanced up. An edge no one could have missed.

“She never makes any trouble,” Frank said. “The dog.”

Hannah waited until Ian was in the house. “She probably wants to see him about Gareth. As if he’d have anything to do with something like that. She really does go too far. I know she’s been loyal to the Service.” A nod to Boris. “But sometimes—”

“What you said before,” Simon interrupted, before Boris could answer. “About Time. Do you get it here?” Moving away from Gareth.

“At the Institute,” Hannah said, slightly surprised. “They get all the Western publications. For analysis. Of course, it’s a restricted list, but Time, a few others, I get to keep up pretty well. Although like I said, sometimes it makes me so darned mad, the way they—”

“We’re going to be in Look,” Frank said. “They’re coming to take pictures. ‘The author at home.’ ”

“Are they allowing that?” Hannah said, another glance to Boris.

“Oh yes, all approved. Part of the ‘active measures.’ Shame Look’s not here today. Get the whole gang. America’s Most Wanted.”

“Frank,” Hannah said, disapproving.

“Shame who’s not here?” Marzena said, finally at the table. “Pani, be quiet.”

The men stood, everyone saying hello.

“A photographer. We’re going to be in an American magazine, me and Jo. Simon too, if he’s not too shy,” he said, smiling at him.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Saul said. “They’ll probably make you look—”

“I know. But Simon says it’s good for the book. Publicity.”

“Things have a way of changing,” Saul said. “One day they think one thing, then—” He paused, a side glance to Boris. “Remember in the beginning? How they didn’t want us photographed at all?”