Jack was suspicious of Sergei’s offer. He found it impossible to swallow that he’d been dragged out of jail to be told in the middle of the night that everything was suddenly going to return to normal. “Is this a joke?” he managed to say.
“I never joke,” replied Sergei, his expression serious. “Now listen carefully. I’m proposing that you return to your position as if nothing has happened. If you accept, you must keep this conversation secret. You can tell anyone who asks that we arrested you by mistake and that, with the imminent arrival of Ambassador Bullitt, we decided to let you go.”
Jack looked around. The rifles Sergei’s henchmen carried gleamed in the moonlight. If he tried to escape, he’d be riddled with bullets before he took a single step. Sergei’s offer was his only option, so there was no harm in showing some curiosity. “So what would my job be? To wait for a truck to run me over, or for an iron girder to fall on my head?”
“I guarantee you that nothing like that will happen. One of my men will stay with you at all times.”
“One of your men? Like Orlov?”
“Forget Orlov. We’ll assign you someone more competent. The only difference between this job and your previous one will be that, rather than taking your findings straight to Wilbur Hewitt, you’ll bring them to me. And only me.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“We have reason to suspect him. We believe he is using his position to embezzle funds for his own profit.”
Jack remembered his conversation with Hewitt at the hospital. The industrialist had told him he was afraid that he would be accused of something. “What makes you think I’m going to betray my countryman?”
“Jack, Jack . . . you’re so untrusting. Why not look at it another way? If your investigations confirm our suspicions, then he’s a crook who deserves to be punished.” He continued to pace around Jack. “And if you find that Hewitt had nothing to do with the sabotage, you’ll have helped your friend.”
Jack pretended to think it over. He needed time. “But if I don’t report to Hewitt, he’ll think I’m not doing my job and stop paying me.” He had to show that he was worried about appearing credible.
“Then invent faults, make up hypotheses, suggest improvements. Play along for as long as possible. You’re a smart guy; I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Hewitt’s smart, too. Sooner or later, he’ll discover what I’m up to, and he’ll fire me.”
“In that case, you can always carry on working at the Avtozavod as a skilled operative.”
“With the same miserly salary that my workmates earn?”
“You were worse off in America. And anyway, you run food on the black market, don’t you?”
Jack flushed red. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. Contraband’s forbidden, and . . .”
“I’m talking about the pork ribs that Miquel Agramunt supplies you with and that an employee of yours sells in the American village. As I’ve told you many times, we Soviets aren’t stupid. If I’ve allowed your little scheme to continue, it’s only to keep in check the discontent that a famine could cause among the Americans.” He paced again. “So, if you accept my offer, whatever happens with Hewitt, you’ll keep working for me, and I’ll turn a blind eye to your black market business. In fact, I could even authorize the sale of your products in the village store. After all, you’re all capitalists, so the manner in which you swindle one another is no business of mine.”
“And if I refuse?” Jack ventured to ask.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate.” He gestured at the weapons aimed at him. Jack looked at them.
“I’m not intimidated by you.”
“Maybe you’re not. But you wouldn’t want your wife and your friend to end up like you, hurled down a ravine.”
“You bastard!” Jack went to strike Sergei, but a rifle butt to the back stopped him.
Sergei bent over Jack as he knelt, trying not to pass out from the pain.
“Please, Jack. Don’t make me behave like a savage. Decide what you’d rather do. Work for me or share a grave with your friends.”
Jack swore. As soon as he’d accepted Sergei’s proposal, he knew that he’d sold his soul to the devil himself.
When the Black Crows left him on the central street of the American village, Jack gave a sigh of relief. He waited for the black car to disappear into the distance, and only then did he pick up his kit bag. He turned and limped toward his house. To his surprise, he found Yuri on the steps outside, wearing a fur coat that made him look like a crouching bear. At first, the Russian told him to halt, but as soon as he recognized him, he let out a roar of joy, which soon turned into laughter when Jack invited him in for a drink. Jack needed it, too, and the half bottle of vodka he’d been saving for a special occasion barely lasted five minutes. Once they were warm, they talked about what had happened in Jack’s absence.
“Uncle Ivan told me to keep watch on the house in case you were locked up for a long time. He has contacts everywhere, and when he heard you’d been sent to the ispravdom, he guessed you wouldn’t be in too much danger.”
“Oh? And why is that?” he asked, intrigued.
Yuri finished off his vodka and smiled. “Because the other Americans who disappeared never set foot in the ispravdom. They just vanished.”
When Yuri left, Jack wandered around the rooms of his house, feeling like he was in a palace. He checked that everything was where he’d left it: the reports in the trunk, the food in the pantry, his books stacked up, and the furniture in order. Even the tools that were spread across the floor in the garage were as he’d left them.
He was unable to sleep. He lay on the bed with his eyes open, as if his eyelids had been soldered to the sockets, staring at the ceiling in the darkness of the room. He couldn’t understand anything. He still couldn’t see why he’d been arrested, let alone why he had been released. He couldn’t explain why Natasha Lobanova had showed so much interest in him. And he certainly couldn’t grasp how he still had his home. He found no answers. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but only managed to toss and turn on the bed until the weak rays of sun filtering in through the window announced the arrival of a new day.
As hard as it was, he had to get up. His job as a traitor awaited him at the Avtozavod.
Wilbur Hewitt stood up from the armchair in his office with shock on his face. He hugged Jack as if he were a son returning from war. The industrialist assured him that he’d tried everything within his power to secure his release. “But it proved impossible. They even forbade me from visiting you,” he said contritely.
“Don’t worry; you didn’t miss anything.” Jack hid his discomfort.