The Prodigal Spy (32 page)

Nick followed him out of the room, then past the walls of impaled martyrs. “But we have to talk.”

“We will. Later.”

They were out on the cobblestoned square.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you exactly what to say.” He reached into his breast pocket and drew out an envelope.

“I can’t carry anything out,” Nick said, flustered, physically drawing away from it.

His father looked at him, then smiled, holding out the envelope. “No. These are tickets, for tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Benny Goodman. They’re hard to get. Everyone wants to see Benny. Nothing changes, you see.”

Nick said nothing, feeling teased. An evening out.

“I didn’t know he was still alive,” he said finally. They were crossing the square toward the Czernin Palace. There were no cars.

“Oh yes. He’s very popular here–we’re a little behind. His goodwill tour. You’ll enjoy it. We can eat afterward.”

Nick stopped, annoyed. “Look, I need to talk to you.”

“I know,” his father said, putting a hand on his arm. “You’re worried. There’s no need. You’ll see.” He continued walking. “This is where Masaryk was killed, by the way.” He indicated the high palace walls. “In the interior courtyard.”

“They found the lighter,” Nick said suddenly.

“What lighter?” his father said, still walking.

“Yours. The one Mom gave you.”

Now he stopped, his face bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“They found it in the hotel room. That night. It’s in the police report.”

His father frowned, as if he’d misunderstood, then looked away, thinking to himself. Nick watched him as he stared at the ground, apparently at a loss. Was he thinking of what to say?

“That’s interesting,” he said finally, but not to Nick, working instead on some interior puzzle.

“Is that all you can say?” Nick said, thrown by his response.

“But how is that possible?” his father said, again to himself.

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“A police report? But it’s a mistake. The FBI handled the case, not the police.” He paused, still thinking. “Of course they would have been called first. At the hotel. But the FBI took it over. It was a Bureau case always. There’s nothing like that in their file.”

“How do you know?”

His father looked up at him. “Because I’ve seen it. Don’t you think I would have remembered that? Why would they leave it out?” He shook his head. “It’s a mistake.”

“No,” Nick said. But what made him so sure? “It’s in the police report. Don’t you understand what I’m saying? You can’t go back. They know.”

“Know what?” He looked at him again. “Oh, I see. I left it there. After I—” He paused, a new idea. “Is that what you think?”

“You tell me.”

“Nick, how could I have left it? I already told you—”

“You don’t tell me anything. Except what you want me to hear.”

“I’ll tell you again,” his father said quietly. “I wasn’t there.”

“Then how do you explain this?”

“I can’t.” He looked down. “I don’t know what it means. I have to think.”

“Let me know what you come up with. But maybe you should think twice about traveling.
They
think you were there. The statute of limitations doesn’t run out on this.”

His father touched Nick’s elbow. “You know who was there. We’ll find him. Trust me.” The cord again, pulled tighter.

“No questions asked,” Nick said. “I’m not supposed to know what’s going on. You said last night you had something valuable. What? Or am I not supposed to know that either?”

“It would be better.”

“No. I need to know what you’re doing. What I’m doing. You need to trust me. I’m not just a messenger.”

“No,” his father said. “You’re the key to everything.”

Nick stared at him.

“Listen to me, Nick. They’re not going to accuse me of anything. Not some old crime.” He glanced up. “Which I didn’t commit. They’re going to ask for me.”

“They’re what?”

“How else do you think this can work? A rescue mission to smuggle me out? I’m not worth an international incident. The Americans would never do that. It has to be a trade, a quiet trade. I can’t escape–think what that would mean for Anna. I have to go legally. A plane from Ruzyně. With the comrades waving.”

“What’s the trade?”

“They can offer Pentiakowsky, a prize catch. For one broken-down defector. Do you think Moscow would resist such a deal?”

“Why would they do that?” Nick said, trying to follow the thread. “Why would they ask for you in the first place?”

“Because you asked. You and your mother. A humanitarian request. You came to see me–I know, all this secrecy, but that’s only for now, until we’re ready. Once the arrangements start, it’s in their interest to protect me. They’ll have to know you were here so the story makes sense. There’s always the personal element, even in politics. You were shocked by what you saw. My health. I need an operation. That’s true, by the way, I do. They know that. I can’t get it here. So the trip would have a certain appeal, even to a dedicated old socialist. How we cling to life. So you appealed to your father, the other one. A man close to the President.”

“What?”

“Yes, to Larry. No one else. He can make the deal, arrange things. I’ll tell you what to say.”

The surprise of it made Nick feel giddy, as if a missed step were pitching him farther down. “Larry,” he said, trying to catch himself. “Why Larry?”

“Because he can do it. Arrange things. And he’ll believe you. He’ll know it’s not a trick.”

“No,” Nick said quickly, not wanting to hear the rest. “You don’t know what you’re asking. He can’t.” Isn’t it enough to involve me? He saw the mad plan spreading like a stain, touching everybody.

“I know what I’m asking. Do you think I would ask him if I didn’t have to? He took my family.” An edge, finally, in his calm voice, a bitterness not quite put away. “But now that’s an advantage. He owes me this much. One favor. He’ll do it.” He paused. “He’ll do it for you.”

And I’ll do it for you. A link snapping shut in a chain. Every link already assigned.

“It’s the right story,” his father continued, not seeing Nick’s face fall. “Pentiakowsky for an old spy? Never. But I’m not just an old spy. I have friends in high places.” He stopped. “A son in high places. Lucky for me, but even luckier for Moscow. To get Pentiakowsky back for a political favor? A stupid trade–but Americans can be stupid that way. Sentimental.” He looked at Nick. “They’ll believe you. Not just a messenger, you see. There is no story without you.”

Nick looked at the ground, feeling his chest tighten, his breath grow short. “You have it all worked out,” he said, thinking, all of us, he’ll use all of us. “What makes you think Larry will do it?”

“He wouldn’t. He’s not sentimental. Or his boss. It’s only the story, Nick. For Moscow. The truth is that I have to give them something.”

“Something valuable.”

His father nodded. “More valuable than Pentiakowsky. Then they’ll do it. It’s the only way.”

“Then why would Moscow let you go?”

“They don’t know I have it. They’ll be suspicious–that’s their nature–but they won’t know. There’s no trace–I’ve been careful. No one knows. Only you.”

“Not yet.”

“No, not yet.”

Nick waited, his silence an unspoken demand. His father looked back toward the open square, then wet his lips, an old man’s nervous gesture.

“I’m going to give them what they always wanted. Names. In America. I have a list. And documents.” He saw the dismay in Nick’s face. “I have to pay, Nick. You don’t get a fatted calf, not in real life. What else do I have?”

“And what happens to them, the people on your list?”

His father shrugged. “They’ll be replaced. Then it begins all over again. But meanwhile—”

“You get Silver,” Nick finished.

His father shook his head. “Not yet. But they can lead me to him. One of them. There’s a pattern, you see. People don’t change. There’s always a pattern if you can find it.”

“And you did.”

“I think so.” His father looked at him carefully, then said, “You disapprove.”

“They’re your people.”

“My people,” he said, almost scornfully. “Yes. Agents expect it, you know, sooner or later. Somebody always gives it away. What do you want me to say, Nick? That it’s not a dirty business?” He looked away. “It never seems so in the beginning. You just think you’re doing the right thing, like a soldier. But in the end—”

His voice drifted and Nick followed it down the gray street, unable to look at him.

“So you do want me to take something,” he said quietly. “The documents.”

“No, of course not. I would never put you at risk. I told you that. Anyway, they’re a passport for me. I take them.”

“Then how will Larry know that all this is for real?”

His father looked at him curiously, as if Nick hadn’t been listening. “Because it’s you. He’ll believe you.”

Nick’s chest, already tight, seemed to clench further. Not just a messenger.

“You see how important–that no one know. Just the fact of it, that such a list exists, is dangerous for me.” His father paused. “Now you.”

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

“No, protect you. I’ll tell you what to say when you leave, not before. Just in case. Who Larry should contact. No one else, just the principals. He must understand this. Everyone talks. On both sides. But if we move quickly—”

“Before your names can run for cover, you mean,” Nick said. “Your chips.”

“No,” he said, cut by the edge in Nick’s voice. “Before the leaks. There are always leaks. Before
he
knows. I wouldn’t be safe here.”

“You won’t be safe there either. They’ll know it was you.”

“That depends. Sometimes it’s better to let people stay in place for a while.”

“To watch them.”

His father nodded. “Or turn them. It’s been known to happen.”

“Come play on our side,” Nick said evenly. “Your choice.”

“Nick—”

“Do you know them, the people you’re going to sell?”

“No.”

“That must make it easier.”

“Yes, it does.” He looked at Nick steadily. “Your scruples are misplaced,” he said, his voice cool, a kind of reprimand. Then, backing down, “Nick, it’s the only way.” He turned, wanting to bring it to an end. “Walk with me. I’ll be late.”

Nick stared at his back, the familiar hunch of his shoulders, then took a step, pulled along.

“And what if they don’t leave them in place? Then what happens?”

“What you’d expect. The usual scurrying.”

“I mean, what happens to you? Your life wouldn’t be worth—”

“Like the old Comintern days? Send someone out to deal with me? Not anymore. I’ll be all right, once I’m there.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

He smiled a little. “Never bet against yourself, Nick.” Nick glanced up, recognizing it, his old rule of thumb, when they played cards at the cabin. “That sort of thing’s a little old-fashioned, even for the comrades. I’ll be all right, if we move quickly.”

“How quickly? Larry’s in Paris. You know, at the peace talks. He won’t be able to just drop everything.”

“To negotiate for me? Yes, he will. Nobody wants peace. But they’ll want this.”

I don’t want it, Nick thought, so clearly that for a second it seemed he’d said it out loud. But his father’s face, eager, full of plans, registered nothing, and Nick looked away before it could show on his own, the one betrayal his father did not expect. And was it true? Maybe it would be different later, when it was over. Maybe it was this he didn’t want, the plotting and covered tracks, looking over his shoulder, the tired city, gray, expecting the worst.

“Then why wait?” he said suddenly, an escape hatch. “I could go this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” His father turned to him. “So soon.”

“What’s the difference? Nobody knows I’m here anyway.”

“But they will later. They’ll check. Visa dates. The hotel. It has to look right. It wouldn’t make sense, your coming for a day. That’s not a visit.” He stopped. “Besides, I don’t want you to leave.”

“But the sooner we—”

“Just in case.”

“In case what?”

“In case.”

“Don’t bet against yourself,” Nick said,

“No. But sometimes—” He paused again. “In case it goes wrong,” he finished. “At least we have this time.” He put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “It’s not so long for a visit. I’ll show you things.” A weekend parent, offering treats.

Nick nodded, embarrassed. How could he go?

But before he could say anything else, make an excuse that would play, he saw his father look past him. He withdrew his hand, alert.

“V
alter, jak se máte
?”

Nick turned.

“Anna,” his father said, but it was another Anna, broader and short, slightly out of breath from climbing the hill. She said something in Czech, but his father answered in English, “No, we have ten minutes. I’ll walk with you. An American,” he said, nodding toward Nick, an explanation for the English. “I was showing him the way to the Loreto.”

“
Dobre odpoledne
,” Nick said, offering his hand. “Nick Warren.”

“How do you do? Anna Masaryk.”

“Masaryk?”

“My uncle,” she said automatically, smiling a little at his surprise.

For a second he was jarred, as if she had stepped out of history, straight from the death scene in the Czernin courtyard over the wall. But she was no older than his father, someone you could meet in the street.

“You heard they took Miloš‘s book?” she said to his father.

“Now it begins all over again. How many years this time? All that work.”

“Maybe he kept a copy.”

“What difference? They’ll never allow it now. They don’t want us to know.”

“You know,” his father said, consoling.

“Me? I always knew. But to prove it–they’ll never allow it. They’re afraid of the truth.” She caught Nick’s glance and said, “Excuse me. You’re visiting Prague?” Then Nick saw her look quickly at his father and back again, as if there were something she didn’t understand. Had she noticed the resemblance?

“He’s just been to the Národní Gallery,” his father said before he could answer. “Now the Loreto.” A tourist.