The prodigal spy

“That will depend on the STB. But it would be useful, I think, for them to have my police report before they begin their own speculation. That much I can do.” He gestured toward the medal. “That’s a nice touch. They’ll like that. I hope Mr Bielak mentions it.”

“He will. Nothing else happened.”

“Assuming they believe him. I wonder, Mr Warren, has it occurred to you that you might have compromised him?”

He nodded at Nick’s surprised look. “Sometimes, you know, there’s nothing so dangerous as an innocent man. Everyone has to explain him. Why you picked him, of all people.” He took a breath. “Why your embassy was so eager to help. Why the police-well, the police are so often inept, losing people, not understanding the implications. For the STB there is nothing but implications. I hope they don’t find you too interesting. I hope, for example, they don’t find that you are involved with your intelligence group. Nothing would interest them more than that, not even other Czechs.”

Nick stared at him, chilled. Was Foster right? Had they monitored the call to Kemper? How long before they knew about it? He stood there, feeling the film in his pocket.

“You see,” Zimmerman finished. “Nothing so dangerous.”

“Well, at least you think I’m innocent,” Nick said, trying to be light.

“Only of murder, Mr Warren,” Zimmerman said. “For the rest-” He took back the paper. “Thank you for the statement. Don’t leave again. Don’t do anything. Do you understand?” He turned. “Oh, by the way, your car is fine. What did you say was wrong?”

“A knock in the engine.”

“Yes, that can happen. A knock for no reason. It’s often the case with a new car.”

Molly had double-locked the door.

“Thank God,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Getting this,” he said, handing her the medal box.

She opened it. “So that’s what Anna wanted.”

He didn’t correct her. “Did you see Jeff?”

She nodded.

“And?”

“Come for a walk,” she said, raising her eyes toward the ceiling. She picked up her jacket, then went over to put the box on the desk. “What’s this?” she said, touching the urn.

“My father. His ashes.”

She pulled her finger away, staring at it. “God. What are you going to do with it?”

“Take him home.”

She kept staring. “It’s so small.”

Outside, it had begun to drizzle, so instead of walking they crossed the street to the broad island in the middle where the trams ran. Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of Zimmerman’s men leave his car and follow them. The evening rush was over. Only a few people were waiting for the clanging bell of the approaching tram.

“What did he say?”

“What you thought. He couldn’t wait to get back to Washington with the news. He called them right after I talked to him.” Everything in place.

“Who did he tell?”

“His boss. Somebody called Ellis.”

“Who else?”

“I couldn’t exactly get a personnel chart, Nick,” she said wearily. “He hopes it might have gone up to the director. In other words, it’s around. People know.” The agencies were like a sieve, his father had said, secrets dripping through a hundred holes. Anybody. “But I don’t have to worry,” Molly said, her voice a parody of Foster’s. “You’ll never suspect a thing. The Bureau keeps things to itself.” The tram doors opened and they waited for people to get off. She turned to him. “I can keep on going. Be your playmate.” Nick said nothing.

They sat at the back of the nearly empty tram. Zimmerman’s shadow was in front, pretending to read a newspaper.

“Did he tell them before?” Nick said, his voice low. He leaned into her, making them a couple out for an evening’s ride, trying to find some privacy in the brightly lit car.

She shook her head. “Just that he had made contact.”

The tail turned a page, looking in their direction. Nick put his arm over the back of the seat. When she felt it, she looked at him, surprised, as if he were making a pass.

“The man in front is watching us,” he whispered.

But she kept her eyes on him, not bothering to turn her head.

“He didn’t mention you?” he said.

“I don’t think so,” she said, throaty, so close now that he could feel the heat of her breath. “You were right about that too. He wanted it to be his show.”

“Good.”

“Not for him.”

“What happened?”

“Ellis thought it was a joke-that Jeff was being taken for a ride, to embarrass the Bureau. Now it’s not so funny. Especially since you called Kemper to rescue you. Everybody wants to know what’s going on. How he died, whether he meant it about coming back. All of it. So they’re all over Jeff. He wants to call you in.”

“When?” Nick said, aware again of the film in his pocket. How much time did he have?

The tram lurched to a sudden stop, throwing their heads together with a sharp bump. She raised her fingers to his forehead, touching it gently, as if she were soothing away a bruise. She left them there, a surprise of skin. “Nick-” she said. Then the tram started again and he saw an old woman coming toward them with string bags, glowering. She plopped down in front of them, as disapproving and unmovable as a duenna.