The Prodigal Spy (41 page)

“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 Novotný.” 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, Anička. 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.

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 Národní 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 attachés. 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.”

“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 Jiří, 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 Národní 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.”

“No, he had you checked out,” Nick said. “He believed you.” A love affair, his father had said, young people always had love affairs. Some plausible young man at the embassy, not CIA, nobody to worry about. “Everybody believed you.”

“Yes.”

“So you wanted to call it off, but you saw Foster here anyway.”

“I had to. I couldn’t just leave. I had to put an end to it, tell him to stop. I was afraid if I didn’t—”

“What?”

“That he’d talk to you. That you’d find out from him.”

“Oh. Instead of from you. Just when were you planning to tell me?”

She turned to look at him. “Never.”

“Never. Not even after we were home. Why not?”

“Because I knew you’d look at me the way you’re looking now.” Her eyes were moist, filling.

“So no one would be the wiser,” he said, angry at the tears, not wanting to be disarmed. “Especially me. But it didn’t work out that way.”

“No.”

“What did you tell Foster?”

“There was nothing to tell. We went to the country. No dark secrets from the past. Nothing that would interest anybody at home. Just a visit. End of story.” She hesitated. “I told him I didn’t want you to know about me. That it would ruin things. I made him promise.”

“Don’t worry, he kept it. Your secret’s safe with him.” He took out a handkerchief and held it out to her. “But that wasn’t exactly the end. You told Foster he was planning to leave. Didn’t you?”

She blew her nose, nodding at the same time.