The Prodigal Spy

by Joseph Kanon

  “No.”

  “But he soiled himself. That’s very rare in someone who jumps.”

  “If he was frightened-” Nick began.

  “So rare as to be almost nonexistent. It is, however, a common occurrence in cases of suffocation. It happens most frequently when people are hanged-that’s why we have connected losing control of the bowels to fear. But jumpers don’t do that. They are not afraid. But it would happen if he were smothered. During the struggle.”

  Clearly, as if in slow motion, Nick saw his father on the bed, gasping, his feet moving, then giving in. His papers ready. Nick touched the envelope. Nothing else, no list.

  “Who?” Nick said finally.

  “Who. Mr Warren, do you blame the gun for going off? These men are tools. They are nobody. I’m not going to know who entered the Czernin Palace. I’m not going to know who went to your father’s flat on Holeckova. I accept that.”

  “Then why are you telling me this?”

  “So you will accept it too. So you are not tempted. To play the detective.”

  “My father wasn’t Masaryk. He wasn’t going to set up a government in exile.”

  “Then why was he killed? You see, I accept the limitations. How far we can take a criminal investigation-we’ve had to learn that. But it’s still important to know, to protect ourselves. One day, you know, the Russians will leave — yes, I believe that. We can be policemen again, solve real cases. But meanwhile we have to know what they’re doing. To hide, to play the fool if it’s better. To survive them. This is what we do.”

  “Soldier Schweik.”

  “If you like. A man is killed. If I know why, then I know how far I can go. Contain the situation.”

  “By pretending it didn’t happen.”

  “If that’s necessary.”

  “Why do you want to protect them?”

  “Mr Warren, I want to protect you.”

  “Me?”

  “Has it occurred to you how dangerous this might be for you? I came here to talk to you as a friend. I think you did not, at the station, understand how things are.”

  “And how are they?”

  “They must protect the lie. They’ll do anything to do that. Look at Masaryk-a crime twenty years old, yet still the lie. It’s a curious thing, to care so much what people think when you have all the power anyway. Maybe they need to believe it themselves. So they stage a simple case of suicide. Who would doubt it? But you are there, something unexpected. Now there are questions, accusations, the Americans calling. If they feel the lie is threatened, they will have to protect it. So now a crime. But the most obvious person to have done it, Mr Warren, is you.”

  “You know I didn’t. The evidence-”

  “Can be made to fit. It’s not a criminal case, Mr Warren. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. A political crime. All that matters is what they want people to believe. You were there, you had the motive.” He paused. “And you cannot explain yourself.”

  “But you know-”

  “If you are charged, there’s nothing I can do. You must see that. Of course, it’s a complication to arrest you. It becomes an incident. So many people involved. But they will do it, if they have to protect themselves. And you will be convicted. All proper and legal.” He lowered his voice. “You will be your father’s murderer.” Nick raised his head.

  “Yes. They can do it. The question is, is it worth it to them? That’s what I don’t know yet. And I can’t know that until I know why he was planning to leave. Why he was stopped. I can’t help you if I don’t know that. If you don’t tell me.”

  Nick, shaken, said nothing.

  “Will they accuse you? Is it that important to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Zimmerman sighed and reached for another cigarette, taking his time. “Of course, there is another possibility. The easiest way to avoid everything-no incident, no trial. What do you know, Mr Warren? They were willing to kill him. Why stop? They killed people in the Masaryk case-oh yes, even years later. If they thought you knew the reason. It would be easy, to make a new lie. A family tragedy. You found the body. Who can say how people react to such a terrible thing? Sometimes they blame themselves. It would be easy. If they thought you knew.”

  Nick stared at the precise, glowing ash of Zimmerman’s cigarette. “Maybe they sent you to find out.”

  Zimmerman looked at him for a second, then nodded slowly. “Yes, maybe. In that case, I seem to have failed. You decide.” He stood up, scraping the chair. “But I see I have accomplished one thing-to make you suspicious. Even of me. Good. You need to be careful.”

  “Like you.”

  “Yes, like everyone here. But we’re still alive.”

  Nick didn’t move. All of it true. But did they know about him? Had his father told them? Before the pillows made him quiet?

  “Do you really think they’d-”

  “I have no way of knowing, Mr Warren. Perhaps it’s my imagination. Only you would know that. If what you know is dangerous. But I would be careful. In fact, I would leave Prague.”

  “You’re the one who ordered me to stay.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it’s a difficulty. You understand, that was an official request, not mine.”

  “Then what-”

  “Under the circumstances? Go with the suicide. Make a statement. About his despair. Be innocent.” Zimmerman stared at him, serious.

  Nick looked away. An end to it. What everybody wanted. He thought of Anna’s arm moving, on the other side of the cubicle wall.

  “Then I can leave?” he asked finally.

  “I’ll see. I don’t know how far this has gone. Incidentally, has anyone talked yet to Miss Chisholm?”

  “No.”

  “Then perhaps you would advise her.” He paused. “My concern for you-if you know what you say you don’t-would extend to anyone. It’s one thing to put yourself at risk-”

  “She doesn’t know anything.”

  Zimmerman smiled. “But then, neither do you. Be careful, Mr Warren.”

  “Thank you. For the story.”

  “A reconstruction. What might have happened.”

  “You said ‘must.”’

  Zimmerman shrugged. “It suggests itself. It’s not the first time.” He looked down at Nick. “But you have to be satisfied with that, with what must have happened. You understand that. You can stop playing detective.”

  “And that’s why you told me? So I’d stop? Go away?”

  “So you would not live with a mystery. It can be a poison.”

  “Yes,” Nick said quietly, his eyes fixed on the ashtray.

  “You were thinking of another?”

  Nick looked up at him. “How he got here.”

  Zimmerman opened his mouth to say something, then gave it up, turning away. “You will not solve that in Prague.”

  “No.” Nick stood. “Do I have to sign something?”

  “At your convenience. I will call you.” He gave Nick a wry glance. “If your embassy permits.”

  “They don’t care. They want me to go too.”

  Nick picked up the passport and held it out to him.

  “No. That would only confuse Chief Novotny.” He turned to Anna. “Sometimes things are not found. It’s a pity.”

  Anna nodded and took the passport.

  “Not even by good Czechs who might need them,” he said to her. “You understand? Not this one.”

  She nodded again. “You haven’t eaten anything,” she said.

  “Another time, Anicka. Thank you. Mr Warren?”

  They said goodbye to her, shaking hands, leaving her to her full table and wonderful view. On the stairs, there were no sounds but their shoes against the worn stone.

  “I’ll leave first,” Zimmerman said when they reached the ground floor. “Wait a few minutes here, please. Go left, to the corner, so they can see you.”

  “Aren’t they your own men?”

  He smiled weakly. “But I’m careful. Like you.” He took
Nick’s hand, peering closely at him. “I wonder what you know, Mr Warren.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Then that is what I’ll say.”

  “Will they believe you?”

  “Oh, I think so. I was a good interrogator, when we were just police.”

  Nick waited in the dark stairwell, listening to the drips in the pail. Then he went out, turning toward the Old Town Square, the streets, like everything else, a maze.

  Chapter 14

  Molly was sitting by the window, waiting for him. “What happened?”

  “A condolence call,” he said, crossing the room, avoiding her.

  She waited, then looked down, disappointed. “Anna called. She wants to see you, at your father’s.”

  “She say why?”

  “No. Just that she has something for you.”

  He stopped, attentive now. Not in the desk. Anna had found it somewhere else.

  “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll come,” she said, getting up.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m going crazy here. I keep thinking they’re picking you up again.”

  “They won’t. I called Zimmerman. I told him I’d sign a statement saying my father was depressed. I was worried about him. That’s why I went to see him that morning.”

  “But I thought-”

  “That’s how you remember it too, isn’t it?” he said, partly to the walls. “He left the concert early, after that little fight we had. If they ask.”

  She stopped in front of him. “Nick, what’s going on?”

  “Just say it.”

  “If that’s what you want,” she said, trying to read his face.

  “That’s what I want.” He turned away. “I’ll go see him after Anna and get it over with. I won’t be long.” He went over to the window and drew back the edge of the curtain. “Our friends are still here.”

  “Where?” She came over and looked out. “Not very subtle, are they?”

  “Not the ones we know about.”

  She shivered. “Stop.” She picked up her shoulder bag from the chair. “I’m not staying here. I’m just not.”

  They walked down Wenceslas, past the parky stalls and half-empty shops, heading inevitably toward the Narodni Street bridge. Where had Anna found it? Did she know what it meant? Molly, wary, said nothing, glancing over her shoulder. One of the men followed on foot, the Skoda lagging behind. They passed the corner where she had caught the tram and started across the bridge. He waited until they were halfway across before he stopped, looking over at the tree where he’d stood.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want them to lose us. I like having a bodyguard.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “My father was killed, Molly. Not depressed, killed. I don’t want to end up the same way.”

  “You?”

  “The guy from the embassy said I should watch my back.”

  “Did he?” she said, her face blank. “Why would he say that?”

  “Maybe he’s paranoid. They get like that over here. Maybe he knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  But instead of answering, he said, “Molly, I want you to do something. Get out of Prague, today. The ticket’s still good. Take the car if you want.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe I’m paranoid too. But do it. There’s nothing you can do here. At least you’ll be safe.”

  She shook her head. “Knows what?” she said again. “ Tell me.”

  He turned to her, angry now. “You tell me.”

  “What?”

  He grabbed her arm. “Who’s Foster, Molly? Tell me.”

  “Why are you acting like this?” she said, pulling away.

  “I’m watching my back. He didn’t have to tell me, we learned that in the war. You get like that when people shoot at you. You start seeing things. You, for instance. Standing right here, having a little talk. Not shopping. Definitely not alone. I was over there.” He indicated the tree. “But maybe I was seeing things. Was I? Tell me.”

  She took her arm away, subdued. “What did he tell you?”

  “Him? Nothing. Not a word. A real gentleman, if you like the type. Which I guess you do. So why don’t you tell me?”

  She looked down. “He’s a friend. Was.”

  “A bed friend?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “A bed friend?”

  “All right, yes. We had a thing. So what? In Paris. He used to work there.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “No.”

  “So you came here. A Czech filmmaker-Christ, was that his idea or yours?”

  “Mine.”

  “What else did you make up? Why?”

  “I didn’t think you’d come if you knew.”

  “And it was important to get me here. That was the idea.”

  “It was important for him. He wanted it, not me.”

  “But you made it happen. You arranged everything. A little family reunion, with the CIA sitting right there beside me.”

  “He’s not with the CIA.”

  “So he said. What about you? Who do you work for?”

  “Nobody. I did it for him.”

  “Why, if it was over?”

  “I thought it would get him back.”

  “Did it?”

  “Things-changed.” She looked up at him. “You know that.”

  “I don’t know anything, Molly, remember? I’m not supposed to. Is that why we went to bed? Was that part of the plan too? So I wouldn’t suspect anything?”

  “No.”

  “No, you just couldn’t help yourself. Christ, and I was worrying about the Czechs bugging us, not our side.”

  “Stop it. It wasn’t like that.”

  “You tell him about it? Was that part of the report?”

  She shook her head. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. It just did.”

  “What was supposed to happen?”

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m dying to hear it. How stupid I was, fucking an agent.”

  She flinched and turned away from him, facing the water. “I’m not an agent. I told you, he’s not CIA. He hates the CIA, as a matter of fact. It’s like a sports thing. They’re these big rivals.”

  “Who?”

  She bit her lip. “The Bureau. There, so you know, okay? You got it out of me. Happy? He works for the FBI.”

  Nick stared at her. His father’s voice. I know where.

  “In Paris,” he said sarcastically.

  “At the embassy. They’re not supposed to operate overseas. It’s against the law. Like they care. Anyway, they get around it by putting people in the embassies. Legats-that’s what they call them. Legal attaches. The CIA knows, but there’s nothing they can do about it, so they make each other crazy.” She stopped. “He’s not an agent.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it all right.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Some difference. So you get together in Paris. I’m amazed. An old rock groupie like yourself. I didn’t think he’d be your type. How was it?”

  “Don’t do this,” she said quietly.

  “How was it?”

  She glared at him. “Fine, if you want to know. It was fine. Look, I’m not proud of this. What do you want me to say? What about you? Are you proud of everyone you’ve been to bed with?” She turned to face the river. “We had a thing, okay? I was attracted to him-I don’t know why. Kind of like sleeping with the enemy. It’s so wrong it’s-interesting. You know, what’s that like? I mean, God, the Bureau. The last thing I would have imagined. I thought they were like Nazis. But he wasn’t. He was nice-at least, he was then.

  “So I was wrong. I thought it would just be that one time, but it wasn’t. It went on. And then, when he left I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I wanted him to miss me. But I didn’t want it to be over.”
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  “So you followed him here.”

  She nodded. “But things were different. I thought it was the place-everything’s different here. But what was really happening was that it wasn’t important to him anymore. Just his stupid job. Who wants to admit that? So I didn’t. Then I met your father and he got interested again. I had him back for a while.”

  “Why was he interested?”

  “He knew the Bureau would be. Your father was the one who got away. They never closed the file. Because of Hoover. It’s never over for him. Jeff says he lives in the past. I guess when he isn’t spying on the Panthers and whatever else they do. But that period, your father’s time-that was it for him. So he’d be interested if anything turned up. Jeff just wanted to do himself some good, get out of Prague and back home. Prague’s a dead end. But if he could get the director’s attention-” She paused. “I don’t know, maybe he thought he could get something out of him. That your father might tell you things he could use. He’s like that. Ambitious. So he used me and I used you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Every detail.”

  “I already told you. I was at a party with Jin. There was a Jiri, somebody I met here. I didn’t make him up, just what happened. Your father was there and I was amazed. I thought he was in Moscow or dead or something. It was like meeting a ghost. So I told Jeff I’d met him, what he’d said, and he got interested. I don’t think they even knew he was in Prague. So what was he up to?”

  “And you told him my father wanted to see me.”

  “Why not? As far as I was concerned, he was-”

  “I know, a murderer. So you decided to catch him.”

  “No. I never thought I’d see him again. I went back to Paris. Then Jeff came and said he’d been thinking about it and why did your father want to see you and maybe I should do it, do what he asked, and it might be important and wouldn’t I do it for him?”

  “But not tell me.”

  “Would you have come?”

  “No.”

  “So I thought, why not? I didn’t even know you. Jeff really wanted it. And it was interesting. I wanted to know Narodni I figured I owed it to her. To find out once and for all. And then when it started, I thought, I can’t do this. It’s like working for the FBI, not Jeff. That’s when I realized what he was, really one of them. And by that time I knew you. I was going to call it off in Vienna-I was supposed to check in with him there, before we crossed the border. But you changed the plan, remember? You didn’t want to wait and I–I went with it. I couldn’t tell you. I thought, what if nothing happens? Just a visit. Nobody had to know. Your father never suspected.”