“What possessed you to come here without warning?” he spat out when they were outside in a courtyard.
“Sorry. I didn’t know I had to request an audience with a friend!”
Walter looked from side to side. “Don’t get me wrong, Jack, but this isn’t the Avtozavod. I’m sorry it’s me who has to tell you this, but you’re not exactly popular right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your relationship with Hewitt. The OGPU think you might be connected to his counterrevolutionary activities.”
“Well, fortunately, you’re not like those OGPU guys, right?” Jack gave him a smile.
Walter maintained a circumspect expression. “Why are you here? I have a lot of work to do.”
“It’s about Hewitt. I went to visit him yesterday with his niece, and he asked us to get this letter to the new American ambassador.”
“Put that away!” said Walter when he saw an officer approaching. “Come with me.”
Walter led him through an endless dingy green corridor furnished with only a pair of wooden benches. He opened a rickety door and ushered Jack into an office. Once inside the little room, he adjusted his glasses and asked Jack for the letter.
“It doesn’t say anything in particular,” said Jack, trying to keep Walter on his side. “He just maintains his innocence and asks for a lawyer to be sent to represent him at his trial.”
“Nothing in particular? Here he labels his accusers as schemers! And you want me to send this? You must be out of your mind!”
“That’s precisely why I’ve brought it to you. If you think it’s unwise, imagine what the OGPU would do with the letter.”
“So why don’t you send it?”
“You said it yourself. I’m not well regarded at the moment.” He took it for granted that Walter would understand the dangers of his position.
“And all you can think of is to pass the risk on to me.”
“No, Walter. I’m just asking you to help make sure a fellow American gets a fair trial.”
“I don’t understand your obsession with that man. Getting involved will only bring you problems, you can be sure of that.”
“Look, if you don’t want to do it for Hewitt, do it for Elizabeth. His niece is innocent in all of this.”
“Oh really? Judging by her jewelry, I’d say she’s profited very nicely indeed from everything her uncle has stolen.”
“You should try to be more impartial. He hasn’t been tried yet, and you’re already sentencing him.”
Walter exhaled dramatically. He read the message again and looked at Jack, who held his gaze. Finally, Walter pocketed the letter. “I can’t promise anything. In the Soviet postal service, any suspicious letters are vetted. As soon as they see that it’s addressed to the embassy, they’ll intercept it, and if I send it to someone else to send on to the embassy, they’ll open it as soon as it’s delivered.” He paused to think. “The only option would be to send it to Dmitri, my contact in Moscow, and ask him as a special favor to hand it personally to an American official coming out of the embassy.”
“Thank you, Walter. I’m—”
“Don’t thank me. But please, don’t ask me for any more favors.” Without giving him a chance to reply, he rushed off, leaving Jack standing alone in the little room.
33
The news of Hewitt’s arrest spread like wildfire through the American village, causing fear that led to a slump in sales at the store. Jack couldn’t have cared less about the company accounts. His only concern was to get his hands on the passports that Ivan Zarko had promised him, and though he’d paid in advance, there was a delay. According to Zarko, the OGPU had stepped up surveillance, and his supplier said he thought he was being watched. With no option but to wait, Jack passed the days with the same sense of unease that he’d felt in the ispravdom. He spent his time behind the counter in the store, studying the Soviet Penal Code that Sue had given him, cleaning and recleaning the ever-emptier shelves, and trying to find a way to prevent Natasha from turning up at his house without warning and discovering Wilbur Hewitt’s niece sleeping under his roof.
“Why don’t you want me to come? You used to invite me to your house every other minute, and now when I suggest it, you always say no,” Natasha said after hearing yet another one of his excuses.
Jack took a deep breath. Until then he’d managed to avoid making her suspicious, saying that work was being done there and the house was a mess, but Natasha insisted that it didn’t matter how it looked.
“It’s chaos there at the moment. What’s wrong with wanting you to be comfortable?” answered Jack.
“And this hovel’s comfortable?” She waved her hand at the storeroom where Jack had set up the mattress they were lying on.
Jack raised his eyebrows and got up to poke the fire that was beginning to die down. It was true that the American store was anything but romantic. He tried to distract her with a kiss, but she moved her lips away.
“No, Jack. Last week you promised that we could go to your house this week, and . . .” She fell silent.
“And . . . ?”
Natasha burst into tears. Jack flushed red. It was the first time he’d seen her cry. He tried to console her, but Natasha moved away from him.
“No! I’ve wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that it was just gossip, that I didn’t care, I don’t know . . .” A sob stifled her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Natasha,” Jack sputtered.
“You know perfectly well!” She stood up and began dressing. “I’m talking about that American whore! The one you’re hiding in your house! The niece of that corrupt capitalist!”
“I’m not hiding any—”
“Oh no?” She picked up Jack’s pants and threw them in his face. “Then let’s go there now. Let’s go there and see whether I’m right!”
Jack looked at her, incredulous. He sputtered again. “You don’t understand . . . ,” he finally managed to say.
“It’s true, isn’t it? You lousy bastard!” she sobbed.
“For heaven’s sake! Don’t be hysterical. Elizabeth is sleeping at my house, but not for the reason you think. I . . .” He held her to try to stop her from leaving.
“Let go of me! Ugh! I don’t know what I saw in you that made me . . . What an idiot I’ve been!”
“Will you do me a favor, Natasha, and please calm down?” beseeched Jack. “I took Elizabeth in because she had nowhere to go. They’ve arrested her uncle. She came to me, desperate, in the middle of the night, and I didn’t have the heart to leave her on the street.”
“And that’s why you didn’t tell me anything? That’s why you lied, saying you were doing work on the house?”
“What the hell did you expect me to do? Tell you I’m protecting the niece of the man your father considers to be a counterrevolutionary criminal? I’ll be damned! You’re all crazy! Your father, you, Hewitt, Elizabeth . . . Tell me, what should I have done?”
“What you should have done is trust me! Why is that so difficult?” She freed her arm from his grip.
“Look who’s talking! The perfect Soviet, lover of honesty, but capable of deceiving her own father to avoid the shame of admitting that she’s sleeping with an American—”
A slap in the face cut him off. Jack fell silent. He’d never expected Natasha to react in this way.
“Get out of here!” he said.
Natasha didn’t reply. She finished getting dressed, picked up her case, and left the warehouse, giving the door such a slam that every shelf shook.
While he waited for the passports that Zarko was going to supply, Jack spent the next few nights going over the documents he had found in McMillan’s trunk.
There were reports on the most skilled workers, detailing their education, experience, and specializations. The list comprised the names of 150 American citizens, along with another twenty Russian nationals who’d received training in the United States. He studied the Americans’ names one by one
and compared them to his own reports. The list confirmed what he’d previously concluded: there was no link between the American workers and the sabotage. Though all the Soviet names were unknown to him, a little dot over one of them caught his attention. It was so tiny that he thought at first that it was a speck of dust, but when he tried to brush it away, he realized that it was a pencil mark. He read the marked name: Vladimir Mamayev. He hoped it would have some special significance, but without Sergei Loban’s cooperation, it would be impossible to find out.
There were also accounting documents listing money transfers made by the Soviets that corresponded to shipments of machinery from Berlin and Dearborn. Only one entry drew his attention, a payment from a different source from the rest, which all seemed to come from a single organization.
He hid the documents and slumped onto the sofa.
Vladimir Mamayev.
Why had McMillan marked that name with an almost imperceptible dot? He might never know. At any rate, he didn’t much care. According to Walter, Hewitt’s trial would take place at the end of May, and by that time, Jack would have fled to England, the country he’d chosen as his next destination.
Elizabeth was little trouble. She stayed shut away in his room waiting for news, passing the time choosing issues of the old American newspapers for her uncle Wilbur to read. Until he fled, he would feign an interest in the industrialist’s case and try to keep the earnings he’d saved up safe.
That night, he dreamed of Natasha. He woke in the early hours, longing for her. He regretted hiding Elizabeth’s presence from her. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible.
The thunder of the engines of the vehicles speeding through central Gorky made Jack leap to the window. Elizabeth came down the stairs in her nightgown, looking shaken. They weren’t the only ones unsettled. All the neighbors seemed to be doing the same thing.
“What’s going on?” she asked. She observed the constant stream of trucks packed with soldiers. Jack had never seen so many armed men in one place.
“I don’t know, but judging by the size of the entourage, nothing good. Get dressed and be ready! I’m going to the kremlin to speak to Walter.”
Despite introducing himself as a friend of Walter Scott, he was stopped at the entrance to the OGPU offices, and he had to wait outside until he was able to persuade a soldier to take a message through. Before long, his friend appeared, looking concerned.
“What’s happening, Walter? They’re saying reinforcements have arrived to contain some riots, and everyone’s running around like crazy.”
“Sorry, Jack. We’re very busy, and I can’t see you now.”
“And so am I. For God’s sake! Is it so difficult just to tell me what’s happening?”
Walter couldn’t hold Jack’s insistent gaze. “Look, I can’t say much, but I’ll tell you one thing.” He lowered his voice so nobody would hear him. “Hewitt’s trial’s been brought forward, so I doubt the letter I sent to the embassy will be of any use.”
“Brought forward? To when?” He thought of Elizabeth.
“I’m not sure. Tomorrow, or the next day.”
“But you said it would be held in May.”
“That was the plan. But that was before Stalin showed up out of the blue to find out in person what’s happening with the sabotage incidents. You can’t imagine the fear that man instills in people, Jack. Everyone in the office is running about like frightened rabbits.”
“But you’re the cops.”
“Stalin doesn’t spare anyone. Last time he was in Gorky, he ordered a hundred counterrevolutionaries to be shot, along with ten members of the OGPU who had been accused of counterrevolutionary tendencies by their own comrades. Look, they’ve given us a little reminder of it.” From his jacket, he took a clipping displaying photographs of the executed policemen and showed it to Jack. “I guess there are black sheep in every flock.”
After hearing the news, Jack tried unsuccessfully to see Sergei Loban. According to a subordinate, the head of the secret police was in a meeting with Stalin, and he would remain by his side for as long as the Father of Nations was in Gorky.
Jack went home to tell Elizabeth what he’d discovered. He found her behind the door, her breathing agitated and her face pale. When the young woman learned that, with the trial happening early, there would be no American lawyer coming to defend her uncle, her head dropped and she began to cry, as if she finally understood that nobody would be able to save Wilbur Hewitt from the firing squad.
“Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Natasha. Maybe she can get her father to see me,” said Jack without thinking—he knew very well that nothing he could do would help Elizabeth’s uncle.
He didn’t dare leave her alone. He dug out the notes in English he’d made from the Soviet Penal Code and gave them to her, pointing out the paragraphs that might prove useful. She waved them away and started sobbing again.
“Read it,” Jack insisted. “They’ll probably call you to the witness stand. It might not get him released, but you could prevent yourself from being implicated.”
Elizabeth didn’t seem interested. “And you, what will you do?”
“I want to get to the store to stock up on food. I doubt the OGPU will go there, but given the situation, we can’t be too careful. I also forgot to ask where the trial’s taking place, so I’ll take the opportunity to find out how the jury and the defense work. I’ll come back as soon as I’m done. Until then, don’t even think about opening the door to anybody.”
The young woman nodded without much conviction.
Jack wrapped up and then headed to Ivan Zarko’s house to ask him to hide the Ford Model A somewhere safe. He might need it at some point, but with the place teeming with police eager to make arrests, being an American driving in a private vehicle could only bring him trouble. “It’s just until things calm down,” he explained to Zarko.
The old man spat out a stream of abuse before agreeing to lock the car up in an abandoned repair shop, but he warned Jack that, if the OGPU found it, he would sooner tell them who its owner was than be interrogated. Jack didn’t bother arguing. He nodded, said good-bye, and took a tram that was unusually packed with civilians all wearing their Sunday best.
At the Avtozavod, he couldn’t find Walter, so he headed to the hospital entrance, where two policemen were asking everyone going in or out for identification. Jack let some people go in ahead of him while he deliberated how best to avoid unwelcome questions. He was aware that if he asked outright for Dr. Lobanova, he risked being fobbed off or having Natasha herself refuse to see him. When he saw a little group of people waiting to visit their sick family members, he decided to ask one of the last in line for help, feigning his old limp. “Cigarette?” Jack said, offering one to the well-built man who’d agreed to let Jack lean on his shoulder to take the weight off his painful leg. “This damned cold cuts my hip like a knife!”
The stranger celebrated the offer of a cigarette as if he’d just struck gold, and thrust the papirosa into the gap between his teeth. Jack held on to the man as if he really needed the support, and limped forward toward the policemen, striking up a conversation with such familiarity that anyone seeing them would have sworn that they were close relatives or old friends. Once in front of the police officers, they both showed their papers. The well-built man was visiting his son and was allowed straight through. However, hearing Jack’s foreign accent, one of the guards ordered him to stop.
“American?” he asked, reading his name on the old prescription that Jack had offered as proof.
“By birth, unfortunately,” Jack replied in perfect Russian. “Luckily, I was able to return to the motherland.”
“This is just a prescription,” said the Soviet guard. His eyes remained hidden in the shadow of his visor.
“Yes. I forgot to bring my pass. With this limp . . .” He felt the man he was resting on trying to set off into the hospital, and he held him to make him wait.
“Well, I’m sorry, but your name is
n’t on the patient list,” the young man said.
“Listen, I’m freezing to death, and I can barely walk. The truth is I was supposed to come next week, but the pain . . .”
“Like I said, you’re not on the list. You’ll have to come back another day.”
The well-built man attempted to go in again, but Jack held him more firmly than any recovering patient would. “Wait a minute!” Jack said to the man, before turning back to the guard. “Look, perhaps you haven’t read the letterhead on the prescription properly, but Natasha Lobanova isn’t just the director of this hospital; she’s also the daughter of Sergei Loban, the highest authority in the OGPU for sixty miles around. And I can assure you that if you don’t let me in, Dr. Lobanova will be more than happy to recommend to her father that you patrol those sixty miles day and night.”
The young guard lost his confidence and looked to his comrade for help. Not finding any, he turned back to Jack. “All right. But hurry up,” he said, then snatched the document from the next person in line.
As soon as the guards were out of sight, Jack parted company with his sturdy new friend and headed down the corridor that led to Dr. Lobanova’s office. He was about to go in without knocking, when he heard someone arguing bitterly inside. He recognized Natasha’s voice, its tone rising in response to the angry words of the other speaker. He waited outside, unable to make out what the dispute was about, until a crash of glass shattering into a thousand pieces made his heart thump. He heard the latch on the door moving, and he quickly hid behind a nearby screen. Through a gap, he saw a uniformed officer come out of the office. He tried to see the face, but the man had his back to him. At that moment, someone tapped Jack on the shoulder, making him spin around. He found himself face-to-face with an elderly woman in need of directions to the rehabilitation room. He gestured in its direction and turned back to the crack in the screen. The officer, with a fist in the air, seemed to be threatening Natasha. Jack couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was Viktor Smirnov, rage contorting his face.
The Last Paradise Page 35
