The Last Paradise



Jack could barely contain his shock. As he gathered his notes at the end of the session, he understood that Hewitt’s fate was sealed. All the evidence incriminated him: McMillan’s telephone call, the accounting records, and above all, Smirnov’s unexpected testimony. He found it hard to believe that the wealthy idler had witnessed McMillan’s murder. But that was precisely what he said in a sworn statement. However, if, as Viktor claimed, Sergei had possessed the incriminating evidence for a full year, why had he waited so long to arrest Hewitt? It made no sense. The only explanation Jack could think of was they had been buying time to root out Hewitt’s Soviet accomplices. After all, that was the reason Wilbur Hewitt had given him when he hired him to replace McMillan with the hidden motive of using him as bait.

The courtroom gradually emptied out. Jack collected his copies of the court minutes and stored them in his case. He didn’t know what he was going to tell Elizabeth. The only thing he knew with certainty was that the permission-granting process they’d gone through to act as Hewitt’s defense had been a farce with which the Soviet regime could legitimize a trial, the verdict of which seemed to have already been decided. Indeed, it had been as farcical as the part played by Viktor Smirnov as a frivolous dilettante.

He knew that Elizabeth would refuse to admit that in the best-case scenario, her uncle Wilbur would spend the rest of his life imprisoned in a labor camp. If she insisted on remaining in Gorky, he knew that sooner or later they would arrest her, too. There was no longer room for half measures. Either Elizabeth fled with him, or he’d escape without her. He still had a chance, though remote, to begin a new life with Natasha.

He was about to head to see Elizabeth, when he spotted Walter walking along on the opposite sidewalk, chatting with a comrade. Jack shouted to him, and Walter hastily parted company with his companion and approached.

“Please, don’t compromise me!” He wouldn’t even accept the hand that Jack offered him in greeting.

“Sorry. I just wanted to ask you about the letter.”

Walter gave a bad-tempered sigh. He looked around him.

“All right. Let’s go down that hallway. But only for a moment.”

Before speaking, Walter made sure there was nobody within earshot. Then he reassured Jack that he had sent Hewitt’s message, but he still hadn’t received confirmation that Dmitri had delivered it to the embassy.

“But the trial’s going to end soon and they’ll sentence him. Maybe if you called the American journalists posted to Moscow, they could—”

“I can’t do any more. I’ve helped you too much already.”

“And what happened to your solidarity? To your principles? A capitalist he may be, but Wilbur Hewitt’s innocent.”

“Don’t you see? What’s at stake here is much more than the life of a single citizen. What’s at stake is the success of the Soviet Union. The success of our struggle and our revolution depends on our strength. If we waver, the imperialist countries will pounce and devour us.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” Jack muttered.

“Look, Jack. I don’t know why you insist he’s innocent. Forget Hewitt, or you’ll end up like him. Take some friendly advice.”

Walter didn’t let Jack reply. He opened the hall door and left without saying good-bye.



Back home, Jack found Elizabeth sitting by the fire, leafing through an old copy of the New York Times. Seeing him, the young woman left the newspaper on the pile that she’d already inspected and asked about her uncle. When Jack told her he was absent from court, her face darkened.

“They’ve submitted overwhelming evidence. They’re accusing him of some very serious crimes,” he gently tried to explain.

She barely paid attention. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else.

“The trial will likely end tomorrow,” he added. “I guess they’ll bring your uncle to make a statement. You should go.”

“Yeah . . . of course.”

“And be prepared. Before coming home, I spoke to my contact. The passports aren’t ready, but he’s offered to hide us in a safe house until they are. We can stay hidden there and then try to reach Odessa.”

“You’ve planned all this without considering my uncle? Without waiting to hear his sentence?”

“Elizabeth, did you not hear me? I’m just trying to carry out your uncle’s wishes. If they declare him innocent, there won’t be a problem, but if they don’t . . .” He shook his head. “If they condemn him, there won’t be anything he can do to help you.”

Elizabeth cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Jack. Do you really think I’d abandon him?”

“No. Of course not.” He cleared his throat. “Walter sent the letter to the embassy. I’m sure they’ll be able to get his sentence reduced—”

“You say it as if they’ve already found him guilty! What was the new evidence?”

Jack fell silent. He took a deep breath and searched for a cigarette that he didn’t find. He didn’t want to tell her that her uncle was accused of murder. “Technicalities. It’s all right. I’ll go over my reports one more time,” he said. “Maybe I’ve missed something. In the meantime, we should have some dinner.”

Elizabeth accepted his suggestion. She got up and headed to the little kitchen to stir the soup she’d made from some leftovers she’d found. She served Jack a bowl while he took the court transcripts from his case. Jack saw that there was barely even one piece of potato floating in the broth.

“You forgot to bring supplies from the store,” she explained. “I’m not hungry.”

“It’s not that I forgot—they’ve all but run out,” he murmured, and he spread out the records he’d been given in search of the accounting transactions. He studied them between spoonfuls and made notes in the margins. When he’d finished, he asked Elizabeth to go up to the bedroom.

“I’m not tired,” she said.

“Please. I need to be alone.”

Elizabeth reluctantly obeyed. When she’d gone, Jack went up to the hearth and suffocated the fire with a wet blanket. Then, using a poker, he pushed aside the embers, before placing a wide wooden board on the ashes to protect himself. He lay on top of the board, and from that position rummaged inside the chimney. He put on a pair of safety gloves he’d brought home from the factory and slowly removed some firebricks to gain access to a cavity that he’d fashioned as a safe. He took out the reports and replaced the bricks. He brushed himself off, set aside the board, and relit the fire. When it ignited, he contemplated the flames with satisfaction. Nobody would suspect that the firebricks concealed the hiding place where he stashed his money.

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