“I warned you to forget it!” he yelled. “I told you, kid: we don’t sniff the Russians’ butts, and they don’t sniff ours. Anyway, the important thing is you’re back. And you say Sergei himself admitted that it was all a mistake? Unthinkable! But at least you’re free. How’s the burn?”
“It’s improving, slowly. What was it you wanted to tell me? You seemed real nervous at the hospital.” He wanted to know whether Hewitt’s worries were to do with being under Sergei’s suspicion.
“Shhh! Lower your voice!” he whispered, and pointed at a loudspeaker as if it had the ability to hear them. “I don’t know if I’ve told you before, but aside from reading the New York Times, shooting is one of my favorite pastimes,” he exclaimed, making a point of raising his voice. “Do you shoot?”
“No.”
“Not even a revolver? And you call yourself an American? Ah well, it doesn’t matter,” he said, almost screaming. “I’ll teach you. The day after tomorrow, they’re opening the firing range, so you’ll be my guest. After the ceremony, there’ll be a banquet, and at times of shortage like this, you have to make the most of these occasions.” He paused, then bent toward Jack’s ear to whisper to him. “Try to act normal. Perhaps after the celebration we’ll find the right moment to speak without arousing suspicion.”
Hearing Hewitt, Jack remembered that Viktor Smirnov wanted to drive to the grand opening of the firing range in his repaired Buick Master Six. He guessed Elizabeth would accompany the official, and his heart thumped. Even if his hip hampered him, he hoped that if he worked day and night, and if Joe Brown lent him a hand, he’d be able to fix the car.
He told Hewitt he could count on him for the event.
On the way back to the factory, it occurred to him that perhaps he really should learn to fire a revolver.
Jack was surprised to learn that the opening of a Soviet firing range could be livelier than an American rodeo. The inauguration of the new facilities had attracted hundreds of people who milled around the open field, enjoying themselves as if at a fair. Yet, in place of midway attractions, there was a collection of cabins arranged in a row, as well as dozens of targets scattered in front of them. Jack soon found Wilbur Hewitt, who, carrying a rifle, was engaged in an animated conversation with Viktor Smirnov near a table loaded with assorted canapés. Elizabeth was with them. When Jack approached, Viktor greeted him as if they were old friends. “Jack! I was just talking about you. I was telling the Hewitts that this morning, when I left the house, I found the Buick with the keys in the ignition. It runs like a dream! You have magic hands.”
“He sure does!” Elizabeth broke in, and with a conspiratorial smile she held out her hand for Jack to kiss.
Jack tried to play along. After complimenting the young woman, he turned to Viktor. “I’m glad you’re satisfied. Even so, I’d like to keep on top of its maintenance. As you know, it’s a delicate vehicle that requires constant attention,” said Jack, hoping to prolong the favorable relationship he’d established with the Soviet official.
“Ha ha! Don’t worry, you’ve earned the right to keep that house,” Viktor replied, as if he’d read Jack’s thoughts. “Now, let’s have some fun.” He picked up the rifle that rested at his feet and showed it to the others with pride. “It’s a modified Mosin-Nagant Model 1891/30. It has a range of nearly two miles and can fire ten rounds a minute. It belonged to my father. In my family, we all shoot.” He aimed the gun at a target. “Do you?”
“Afraid not. I confess that the closest I’ve been to a firearm was at a fairground.” Jack chose not to mention the times the Soviets had pointed their weapons at him.
“Then we’ll have to put that right,” said Viktor, before wolfing down another canapé and leading the others to one of the firing cabins to show them his skills.
After a dozen volleys, as he’d agreed with Hewitt, Jack pretended to suddenly feel unwell, blaming it on the aftereffects of his accident. The Avtozavod’s general manager rushed to help him. Smirnov accepted Jack’s apology without paying much attention, and he continued to demonstrate his excellent marksmanship to Elizabeth while Jack and Hewitt withdrew. Once they were at a safe distance, Hewitt unfolded a copy of the Pravda to feign reading.
“Jack, this is going from bad to worse. I’ve spoken to the bosses in Dearborn, but all they offered were words, while folks here are still disappearing. I’m afraid it’ll be our turn any moment now.”
“But what could the Soviets have against you?”
“I mentioned it at the hospital. I suspect they want to blame me for the sabotage. Unlike the utopian Communists who dream of equality among all human beings, Sergei’s a pragmatist. He pursues his objectives like a bear hunts its prey. He doesn’t just think. He acts. And I believe he’s set his sights on us Americans.”
“But why? We’re the ones helping them build the Avtozavod. Without us—”
“You’ve got it all wrong, kid! We’re no more valuable than an old newspaper to the Soviets. We’ve been useful to them while they learned; now they’re ready to pursue their goals on their own.”
“But even if that were the case, why would they want to annihilate us? We can still help them.”
“Jack, Jack! You still think the Soviets act according to your logic, but your logic isn’t theirs. You need to open your eyes, kid. For them, the American workers have become unwelcome guests. The Americans complain. They ask to be paid what was agreed rather than the measly sum they receive after tax. They insist on decent food, decent clothes . . . Some of them even demand their passports back so they can return to the United States. Do you think they’ll allow it? That they’ll let a handful of disillusioned workers go and shout about the lies of Communism in their home countries? No, son, they won’t. They’ll silence them however they have to because, for them, the end justifies the means.”
“All right. So the means consists of exterminating the dissident Americans, and blaming you for the sabotage. And the end?”
“I told you at the hospital. The end will be millions of dollars. The money they’ll save when they justify canceling the payments owed for the construction of the Avtozavod.”
“Simply by pinning it on you?”
“Damn it, Jack! We’re not talking about the sale of a patch of land! The agreement reached between Henry Ford and Stalin included clauses on the technical support that the American executives had to provide and massive penalties for failing to fulfill the contract.”