Defectors

by Joseph Kanon

  “Jimbo, stop. They’ll put you in prison. Worse. I never meant—”

  “What did you mean? You thought you’d get away with it. I’d be on the ferry, so that was all right. But there was Jo. That was a wrinkle. She had to stay. So send me back with Marzena and fly me out. And what do I say when I get there? To the Agency? I’m the one set it up in the first place.”

  “They’d know it was me.”

  “With me as your tool. I’d still be guilty. But so what? Just crack a few more eggs to make the omelet. You used us, Frank. All of us. All of us. Christ, for what? To make yourself look good to them? Who don’t trust you anyway? You even used them. Kelleher? Finished anyway. Ian? Somebody had to do it. Gareth—”

  “That’s enough,” Frank said, his voice gravelly. “You’ll outsmart yourself.”

  “What about Gareth?” Jo said.

  “But not you. I could never outsmart you.”

  “You think you have. Stop. Now.”

  “We can’t stop now. It was too late the minute we left Boris behind.”

  “And when he catches up?”

  “We’re almost there,” Hal said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “There’s a train station with a little park. In the center. Drive there first.”

  “I’m not getting on that boat,” Frank said, his eyes hard, fixed. Simon felt the car closing around them, windows trapping them inside, unable to move, Frank at the other end. Finally afraid, recognizing the glass around them, the faint scratching, two scorpions.

  “No,” Simon said, keeping his voice steady. “But DiAngelis thinks you are.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What does any of it mean?” Jo said. She looked at Frank. “I won’t go to the Agency.”

  “You’ll be all right,” Simon said. “You’re part of the deal. When Frank made them think there was a deal. So now there is.”

  “I won’t go to the Agency.”

  “You can’t stay here. None of us can now. It’s too late.”

  “None of us,” Nancy said, pushing herself into her corner. “Oh, my God.”

  “I meant us,” Simon said, “not you and Hal. You’re not part of this.”

  “I’m driving,” Hal said.

  “Stop the car,” Frank said, reaching over to him.

  “Take your hands off him. I have a gun.”

  “What?” Turning, incredulous, a sharp intake of breath, the beginning of a laugh, then a stillness, seeing Simon’s face. “There’s only one way you could have got it. What did you promise him?”

  “That you’d go through with the deal. And you will.”

  “Jimbo, a gun from the CIA? That’s a death warrant. There’s no diplomatic cover for that. Not if you have a gun. Let me have it.”

  Involuntarily Simon clutched at the coat in his lap, Frank glancing down.

  “The idea was that you’d be at the other end of it. If there was any trouble.”

  “Get rid of it then. Toss it off the pier, junk it somewhere—just get rid of it.”

  “Later. When everything’s okay.”

  “You’d never use it.”

  Simon stared at him.

  “A gun,” Nancy said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jo said to Frank.

  “Because you were never going to go,” Simon said, answering for him. “Nobody was. It was just a story he told to get them to come to him. You weren’t part of it.”

  “But now I am? Thanks to you?”

  “We’ll get you out.”

  “Out.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Frank said.

  Simon looked at him. “Don’t try to stop this. We all have to go now. We’re on the same side. The Service just put us there.”

  “You put us there.”

  The outskirts of Vyborg were ugly, an industrial wasteland of chemical smoke and rusting pipes and chain-link fences, the old Finnish fishing port lost to one of the five-year plans. The center, with a cluster of historical buildings, was more attractive but just as dilapidated, everything sagging with neglect. Narrow streets, Simon noted. Traps.

  “Go to the station, but don’t stop. Just drive by and then around the park.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “I want to see who’s there. If there’s a reception committee. I told DiAngelis the quay was a short walk from the station. So he’ll think we’re coming by train. If there’s a leak, so will they. Frank, this ought to be easy for you. They’d be your people. You should be able to spot them right away.”

  “You’re expecting me to help you?”

  “It’s your skin. You’re the one trying to escape, not me.”

  “They won’t believe that.”

  “Yes, they will. I can leave anytime. I don’t have to make a run for the border. Now tell me what you see. Hal, slow, so we can get a good look.”

  The park on the map turned out to be another Soviet public space with a statue, some untended flower beds, and a swing set. No children playing. The station looked abandoned, a station without passengers or taxis. There were a few utility vehicles parked near the end, but otherwise the street in front was empty. Across, on the square, a few cars, all black, indistinguishable, the Volvo an exotic by comparison.

  “The Leningrad train’s due in about fifteen minutes,” Simon said. “So they should be here. If they’re here.”

  “How do you know? About the train?” Frank said.

  “I checked.”

  “Checked how?” An almost professional curiosity.

  “The concierge. Who will confirm that we took the train.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows, a kind of salute.

  “What are we looking for?” Hal said.

  “Two men sitting in a car,” Simon said. “Your next gift to DiAngelis,” he said to Frank. “Kelleher was the deposit. This will be something on account. Give your credentials a boost.”

  Frank looked at him, uncertain, still trying to work everything out.

  “Too many people know about Tallinn. But nobody knows about this, just me and DiAngelis. If there’s a leak, all he has to do is make a list of who else he told. A short list this time. And he has him. Thanks to you.”

  “If there’s a leak.”

  “I’m guessing there is. And if there is, we’d be sitting targets in a boat. So let’s find out.”

  “They’re empty,” Hal said, looking at the parked cars. “Wait. There’s somebody.”

  “One. There’d be two.”

  “He’s in the station,” Frank said.

  Simon looked at him.

  “One inside, one out. Service rules. Target covered front and back. When he hits the street, the grab. No scene in the station.”

  Simon nodded. “So now we know. What was that?” he said to Frank, sharp.

  “What?”

  “With the hand. Some kind of signal? I mean it, Frank—”

  “Nervous?” Frank said, unable to resist.

  “You still don’t get it. If there’s a leak, they know I arranged for another boat. For you. Otherwise, why not just wait for Tallinn? You don’t want to try anything. They think you’re running.”

  Frank said nothing, eyes still calculating, someone looking for an exit.

  “This street goes to the port,” Hal said.

  “No, turn left, go around behind the park. We don’t want to go near the boats. They’ve probably got another car there.”

  “What makes you think that?” Frank said. “If we’re coming by train.”

  “You’re a big catch. They wouldn’t want you to slip away. How often do they get the chance in Vyborg? So what’s another car?”

  “And when we don’t get off the train?”

  “They wait for the next. Pull up over here,�
� he said to Hal.

  They were at the far end of the park, the station entrance still visible through a few scraggly trees.

  “Now what?” Hal said.

  “Now you and Nancy get out and take the train.” He glanced at his watch. “Time enough to get tickets but not enough to sit around and have people wonder. You’ll be in Helsinki in a few hours.”

  “But my story. You promised—”

  “You’ve got plenty of story already and I’ll give you more. But now it’s not safe. We’re going to have to drive. That means border crossings. I don’t want you to have to risk that. Or Nancy. You’re still okay on your own. With us—”

  “More scruples, Simon?” Frank said. “I told you they’d trip you up.”

  “But this is the story,” Hal said. “This is what I came for.”

  “But if it’s risky,” Nancy said.

  “Trip me up how?” Simon said to Frank.

  “The smart one,” Frank said. “Take a look around. What do you see? Leningrad? How many American couples do you think just walk into that station and buy a ticket for Helsinki? I’d say none. Exit visa? I doubt they’ve even seen one. They’d have to check. With the authorities. And there goes the train. Your problem is that you don’t know the Soviet Union. You’re a stranger here. You don’t know what’s plausible.”

  “Oh, God,” Nancy said.

  “He’s right,” Hal said. “And what do I say about the car?”

  “We stole it.”

  Hal shook his head. “To take it out of the country, the registration has to match the visa. It has to be me.”

  “Another detail,” Frank said.

  “Anyway,” Hal said, “we’ve already taken the risk. We’d be accessories. We have to get you out now.”

  Simon was quiet, looking from Hal to Frank and back.

  “The clock is ticking,” Frank said.

  “What’s involved?” Simon said finally. “The drive. Checkpoints.”

  “We’re about an hour from the border. Two checkpoints. First is the formal one—customs, search the car, all that. Then one military, just a pole barrier, like for a train. Then the Finns.”

  “Two checkpoints?”

  “It’s the Soviet Union.”

  “And the Finns have the same thing on the other side?”

  Hal shook his head. “Nobody’s going into Russia. Just trucks coming back. The road’s okay. I’ve driven worse. About an hour. The big holdup’s the first crossing. They like to go over the car. After that it’s just woods. The soldiers get curious—there’s nothing else to do—but a cigarette or two and they’re all smiles. Assuming your papers are all right. You have visas?”

  Simon nodded, patting the pocket of his raincoat.

  “But no passports,” Frank said. “Another detail. Passports to match the visas.”

  “I have those too. You look a little younger but it’s still you.”

  “That’s what you wanted them for?” Jo said, her voice accusatory. “For the book? No, for this. You were planning this even then? And the visas? Where did you get them?”

  “Courtesy of the Agency, I would imagine,” Frank said. “Let’s hope they did a good job.”

  “That’s when I knew,” Simon said. “That you weren’t planning to go. DiAngelis thought of them. You didn’t.”

  “My passport expired,” Jo said.

  “I know,” Simon said. “But you have to really look to see the date, do a little math. The border guards aren’t going to be familiar with American passports. They just want the names and faces to match the visas. Which are in Cyrillic. Which they can read. The odds are good. If anybody does ask, just say it’s a renewal date, a kind of reminder. And here’s the visa, so it must still be good. All right,” he said to Hal. “Can you get to the highway without passing the station again?”

  “There is no highway. You take the street past the castle and that becomes the road. Two-lane. We can cut down toward the water, then back around. Should be all right.”

  “Unless they follow us.”

  “They won’t leave the station,” Frank said. “Not until somebody tells them to.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Hal put the car in gear and began to pull away from the curb, then stopped. “Look.”

  A car coming fast, screeching to a stop in front of the station. The same road they’d taken. Boris jumped out, looked around, as if he were trying to pick up a scent, then crossed over to the stakeout car, asking questions, in a hurry. The man in the car climbed out, shaking his head. More questions. The man now pointing in the direction they’d gone, his arm making a sweep to the left, around the park. Boris looked up.

  “He knows about the car,” Frank said. “The Volvo.”

  “How? You didn’t until this morning. Why not a hired car?”

  “There would have been someone in St. Isaac’s. Covering the hotel. See us leave. And in what.” He looked at Simon. “It’s the Service. This isn’t going to work.”

  “Or maybe you signaled the guy at the station.”

  “I didn’t. But either way, we’ve got Boris now. Call it off.”

  “Let’s go,” Simon said to Hal. “Quick.”

  Hal pulled out into the street and headed to the port, away from the park.

  “He’s coming,” Nancy said, looking out the window. “He went back to his car.”

  “Alone?”

  “The other man’s still standing there. But he’s driving fast, the new man. Around the park. He knows where we are.”

  “Call it off,” Frank said. “I can still fix it.”

  “Listen to you.”

  They could see cranes and masts now, the port straight ahead. Hal went another block, then swerved left, then left again, a parallel street, backtracking.

  “Is he behind?”

  “No.”

  A major street ahead, big enough for trucks. Hal turned left again, shooting north, toward the castle. An island. A truck behind them, blocking them from view. They passed the road to the station.

  “He’s there,” Simon said, head turned to the rear window.

  “Hold on,” Hal said, veering sharply, across the incoming traffic. A horn, loud. Back to the port. “We’re supposed to be heading for a boat, right? Not the border. So we’d want to lose him somewhere down here.”

  “If we can,” Frank said.

  Port buildings, warehouses and repair shops, the streets a grid, oddly drowsy away from the noise of the port. On the quay itself people barely looked at the car, locked into themselves, as if they’d been deafened by the winches and clanging chains, dropped metal and hissing repair blowtorches. Hal weaved in and out, accessing the quay, then moving away from it. An alleyway. Hal glanced in the rearview mirror, nobody, and pulled in. Not an alley, a driveway, L-shaped, swooping around to a loading area, hidden from the street. A man in overalls came out, waving them away.

  “We can’t stay here. It’s a dead end,” Simon said.

  “Give it a minute. Make him think he’s lost us.”

  The man came over, a flood of Russian. Frank answered back.

  “What’s Frank saying?” Simon said to Hal.

  “He’s asking directions. Says we got lost. It’s okay.”

  Now a laugh, Frank charming the watchman. Nobody else around.

  Hal turned the car and swung back into the driveway. Nothing at the end. He nosed out into the empty street then headed quickly toward the port again. Another left onto a parallel street, the maneuver from before.

  “He’ll be looking for us on the quay,” Hal said.

  No one saw it coming, just some blurry motion from the side street, then Boris’s car crashing into theirs, pushing the Volvo into the wall, a scrape of metal, wedged in. Boris flew out of the car, as if he were being carried by the momentum of the crash. H
e tore at the back door, flinging it open, a gun in his hand.

  “Get out.” Pulling Nancy out to get to Simon. “Get out. Bastard.”

  He grabbed Simon’s arm, yanking him out, the raincoat flung aside on the backseat.

  “CIA bastard. I knew. From the first.” He slammed Simon against the car, face pushed down, an arrest. “You all right?” he said to Frank.

  Frank nodded, getting out of the car.

  “You think I didn’t know?” Boris said, twisting Simon’s arm up, immobilizing him. An involuntary grunt, the pain shooting through him. “At the Bolshoi. You think we didn’t know who he was? Why such a meeting? What, what? On the train, so innocent. Me, worried about Tallinn. But not you. The Agency had a new plan. But we have ears, so now I know too. Bastard.” He turned to face Frank. “I told you not to trust him. One step in that boat and they have you. And who puts you there?” he said, looking back at Simon, giving his arm another twist. Simon gasped, the words rushing by him, driven by their own logic, the story they’d want to believe. “I always knew. To send his brother. Who would believe it? Not even him.” A nod to Frank. “But I knew. And you,” he said to Hal through the front door, still open, Frank standing next to it, “another press cover. Another one. Don’t they have new ideas? Another one to send home. But not this time. This time it’s serious. To kidnap an officer of the Service. What should we do about that? What should be Soviet justice?”

  “No,” Nancy said from the car.

  “Be quiet,” Frank said.

  Simon turned his head toward him, Frank not meeting his eye, blank, taking everything in. And now the pain in his arm spread through the rest of him, how everything would feel when they broke him, the bones of his face smashed, kidneys throbbing until he said what they wanted him to say. Everybody did, even the old Bolsheviks, confessing to anything. Just to have an end. A crowd in the Hall of Unions. Or maybe not. Maybe something simpler. He looked at Frank’s blank face, his expressionless eyes. But why should he be any different? How many had Frank killed now? The hapless Latvians. How many hundreds of others, just by leaving something folded in a newspaper on a park bench. Collateral damage, nothing personal.

  “Where are the others?” Frank said to Boris.

  “Two down there,” Boris said, nodding to the port. “Two back at the station.”