by Joseph Kanon
“Allo,” he said, then shouted it again, a bad connection.
Simon craned his neck, not breathing, too far away to hear anything on the line, watching the guard’s face instead. A quick exchange and then another “allo,” evidently more static. The friendly guard came over and started waving them on. Simon stood, rooted.
“Get in the car,” Frank said.
Finally the guard at the booth gave up, putting the receiver down, a disgruntled comment to the other guard, then a resigned shrug.
“Okay, okay,” the friendly guard said, waving them on again.
Simon ducked into the backseat, head turned, anticipating another ring as Hal pulled the car out. The barrier rose. They were through. A straight stretch into the woods. Only a few miles now.
“How many phone calls do you think they get there?” Frank said, partly to himself. “Did you see how he jumped? What happens at the next crossing?” he said to Hal.
“Just a check. To see if your visa’s been stamped. Then on your way. After that you’re in Finland.”
“Let’s go a little faster if we can.”
“What’s the matter?” Simon said.
“Why would anyone call there?”
“Late for a shift. Maybe his wife. Headquarters. Well, they’d have a better connection.”
“Unless the problem’s on this end. I never looked at the wires. You?”
Simon shook his head, his face a question.
“If it’s our friends, they’ll call again, don’t you think? Until they get through. There’d be some urgency.”
“Okay,” Hal said. “Let’s make some time.”
They were in the woods now, the border crossing lost behind a curve, the road shadowy with trees. No side roads or houses, nothing between the crossings, a forest no-man’s-land. Simon sat up, alert, as if he were still listening for the phone.
“Lucky he remembered Stockmann’s,” Nancy said.
“He’d have taken the papers,” Frank said to Simon. “Papers are always trouble. Especially these. If he could read them.” Almost amused. “Shame after all that work. By the way. I never said. I want to dedicate it to Jo. I want it to read: For Joanna, who didn’t know, but never stopped loving.”
“Frank,” she said quietly. “And people will believe that?”
“What do you think, Hal?” Asking something else.
Hal thought for a minute. “All right. I won’t.”
More trees, thicker, a Grimm setting. Still no one behind.
“We can’t go back either, can we?” Nancy said to Hal.
“No. We can get Alex to pack up our stuff.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Leave it. God, no more Moscow. We can breathe again.”
“Richie’s room,” Jo said to no one.
“It’s here,” Frank said, patting her forehead, then smoothing back her hair.
Hal slowed the car after the next curve.
“There they are.”
A striped barrier pole across the road, a hut next to it. Two soldiers.
“No telephone wires,” Frank said.
“But maybe they have a field phone.”
“I doubt it. I haven’t seen one of those since the war. Well, here goes. Hal, you’re point man again.”
They pulled up to the crossing. Both soldiers came over, curious about the car. Young, teenagers. The country where you could buy the car was only a few feet behind them. A hut to stay warm. No thought of running. They looked at the passports, checking the visa stamps. Simon held his breath. Then the passports were being handed back and one of the soldiers was at the barrier, cranking it up, like a railway crossing. Hal drove under the raised pole.
“Are we there?” Frank said. “No more crossings?”
“You’re in Finland,” Hal said. “Free as a bird.”
“Okay, stop the car, then.”
Hal slowed the car. “What—?”
“No, stop. I have to walk back. I just wanted to make sure you all got out.”
“Frank,” Jo said.
“Shh,” he said, touching her hair again. “It’s going to be all right. Simon’s going to take care of you, get you to a doctor. And I want you to go, promise? Promise?”
Jo looked at him, confused.
“Frank, for God’s sake,” Simon said.
“I can’t do this,” Frank said. “You know that. Betray the Service? Sing for old Pirie?” He shook his head. “I can’t. I have to go back.” He looked over at Simon. “It’s where I live.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“No, they’ll believe me. I’m an officer.
“Believe you.”
“They might. I’m good at it. It’s worth a try. I can’t do this.”
“You killed Boris.”
“No, you did. You don’t mind, do you? You’re out, they can’t— It was your gun. I can make it work, the story. They think you’re Agency anyway. Boris thought so and there’s the proof. Dead in an alley. In fucking Vyborg. You’re a tough guy.” He turned to Jo again, touching the back of her head, kissing the side of her face. “My Jo. No good-byes. We know. Be happy. Do that for me.” He moved back, looking straight at her. “It was never your fault. None of it. None of it.”
Another minute and then he turned to Hal. “Thanks for the lift. Quite a story. Work with him on it.” He pointed his finger to Simon. “He’ll make you look good.”
And then he was backing out of the door, Simon leaping out the other side.
“You’re not going to do this,” Simon said. “It’s too late.”
“Jimbo, I can’t—”
“What, betray the Service? What about Kelleher? That was easy enough. You didn’t think twice about him.”
“He was already turned. We knew. They didn’t know that we knew. So they ended up feeling twice as smart. Why do you think they moved so fast? They didn’t even check the story out. They didn’t have to.”
“And Gareth?”
“Gareth got in the way. Mine, this time. But he’d been getting in the way for years. The Service never knew what to do with him. I think it was a relief, in a way.”
“It won’t be for Ian. And what about Perry?”
“What about him?”
Simon was silent for a minute. “You found the body.”
“So you think I killed him?” He shook his head. “What a suspicious mind you have. You know what killed him? He stopped believing. He couldn’t—adapt.” He held up his hands. “Clean. This time, anyway. How about yours? Handing me over. Planning it. Who are you doing it for? Did you ask yourself? America? Pirie? Maybe just you. What did you think was going to happen to me? In the land of the free. Maybe not so clean either.” He nodded toward Simon’s hands.
Simon stared at him, a sound in the air, a faint scratching.
“But if it really bothers you about Ian, I can tell them it was you. After all, it was. I wouldn’t. I think you’d be putting your head on a block, but it’s your call. Do you want me to do that?”
Simon looked at him. “No.”
“No.” He moved behind the car to Simon’s side. “Simon.” His voice low, just the two of them. “I never said I was perfect. But I won’t do this. Be Pirie’s boy. I already changed sides. So say good-bye here. Wish me luck. I don’t suppose we’ll see each other again. Ever.”
“Don’t go back. You’re going to run out of lies. Even you.”
Frank took him by the shoulders. “Think of it this way. You’ll get the house now. For sure. Everything. And the book.”
“It’s lies.”
“Not all of it.”
“Which parts do I believe?”
Frank smiled. “All of them. You’ll sell it better.” He moved closer, a quick hug, then dropped his hands. “I’m glad you came.”
“Fra
nk, for Christ’s sake—”
“I know, not the way I expected it to go.” He looked up, another smile. “You were too smart for me. But it was worth the try.”
“And what would you have done with DiAngelis?”
Frank raised a finger, then wagged it. “Scruples.” He turned to go.
“I could stop you. I still have the gun.”
Frank stopped. “And I’d get rid of it soon if I were you. It’s evidence.”
“I could use it.”
“But you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s me. And what would be the point? Much easier this way. I’ll just serve out my time here.” He looked to the other side of the car. “Jo.”
“Where are you going?” she said, getting out.
Frank looked at Simon, a signal, and started walking away. Simon went over to her. “He told you, remember? He’s going back to Moscow.”
“He’s leaving me?”
“No. He’s just going back.”
“How can he leave me?”
“He doesn’t want to live in hiding.” Making Frank’s case, everything inside out again.
“Oh, look, they’re coming to pick him up.”
Simon turned. A black car heading for the crossing, the barrier pole still raised. The car from the station. Or any car. But coming fast, tearing down the road, running late, then screeching to a stop just before the barrier, some invisible line they couldn’t cross, jumping out of the car, guns. The soldier guards pulled back, startled. Frank was almost at the barrier now, holding his hands in the air, the universal sign.
“Comrades!”
Not one shot, two, then more, thudding into Frank, who stopped, knocked sideways by the bullets, then fell.
“No!” Joanna screamed.
Simon grabbed her, ducking, pushing her back into the car. “Stay down.”
“What the hell—?” Hal said.
But the firing had stopped, the men just standing there, the soldiers still wide-eyed, everyone staring at the figure lying on the road. Still in Finland. Simon thought they would grab the body and drag it back, but no one moved. He ran to Frank, rolling him over. Still alive, a flicker of the eye, then a wince.
“Help me!” Simon yelled, but they stayed in place. Footsteps behind him, Hal, the women holding each other back at the car.
“Frank. Can you hear me?”
“They never tell you how much it hurts,” he said, the words jerky, coming in gasps. “Getting shot.”
“We’ll get you some help.”
He shook his head slowly, some blood now at his mouth, and grabbed Simon’s hand. Simon looked down. Frank’s stomach was welling with blood.
“Jimbo, don’t be mad. It’s me,” he said, clutching him, and suddenly Simon’s eyes were filled, as if they were welling blood too, everything blurry. And then, out of nowhere, in his mind’s eye, he saw the train between their old rooms, connecting them.
“Don’t talk. You’re hurt.”
“I know. So—” Opening his eyes, trying to focus. “Tell Pa I’m sorry. I—” Gripping him tighter. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Simon looked up, frantic. “Call a doctor.”
The men from the car stood there, not sure what to do. Service suits. Probably racing since Vyborg, afraid of losing them, even firing over the border, against Service rules. Or was it? What rules? Why not just snatch Simon? All of them? But nobody moved. And when he looked down again, it didn’t matter, Frank had gone. He kept his hand for another second, then released it, prying the fingers away. He stood up, blood rushing to his head, dizzy for a moment, swaying.
Jo rushed from the car, her face wild, chest heaving. “Oh my God.”
“We have to move him,” Simon said. “Hal, take her back to the car. Wait. I need you to speak Russian.”
“I speak English,” one of the men said.
Simon nodded. “Then help me move him. He was coming back. He was walking back to Russia. You made a mistake.”
The men looked at each other, paralyzed.
“He’s a hero of the Soviet Union. A famous man. You made a mistake. Call Moscow. The Lubyanka. Everyone knows him. He didn’t want to be in Finland. He was forced. I forced him. He’s an officer of the Service,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “A colonel. He wanted to be buried at Kuntsevo. Full honors. Do you understand? Full honors. Now help me carry him. He wants to be in Russia.”
No one moved, staring at the border as if there were an actual line, some primitive arrangement of stones, a taboo.
“Okay,” Simon said, moving around and lifting Frank under the shoulders. Carrying Boris, carrying Gareth, now doing it alone, having to drag him, shoes scraping against the road. Not far. Where would the line be? Where the pole was raised. The soldiers still stared at him. He stopped. Another foot and he’d be in Russia. He twisted slightly, heaving Frank onto the dividing line, careful not to cross it himself, then let the body fall out of his hands. Only the feet now in the West. He picked them up and pushed them across, following the rest of the body. Now theirs.
“Have him buried in Kuntsevo.” No one said anything. He turned to go, then half-turned back. “He made a mistake too. He thought you were worth it.”
And now he did turn, walking back, head high, almost daring them to come after him. As he walked he wondered what he was going to tell them, Jo, Hal, DiAngelis, what story would work, what Frank would want them to hear. But when he got back to the car he didn’t say anything at all.
About the Author
JOSEPH KANON is the Edgar Award–winning author of Leaving Berlin, Istanbul Passage, Los Alamos, The Prodigal Spy, Alibi, Stardust, and The Good German, which was made into a major motion picture starring George Clooney and Cate Blanchett. He lives in New York City.
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ALSO BY JOSEPH KANON
LEAVING BERLIN
ISTANBUL PASSAGE
STARDUST
ALIBI
THE GOOD GERMAN
THE PRODIGAL SPY
LOS ALAMOS
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Joseph Kanon
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kanon, Joseph, author.
Title: Defectors : a novel / by Joseph Kanon.
Description: First edition. | New York : Atria Books, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016056307 (print) | LCCN 2017002017 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501121395 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781471162633 (eBook)
Subjects: LCSH: Defectors—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Suspense. | FICTION / Espionage. | FICTION / General. | GSAFD: Spy stories. | Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3561.A476 D44 2017 (print) | LCC PS3561.A476 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016056307
ISBN 978-1-5011-2139-5
ISBN 978-1-5011-2141-8 (ebook)