Jack watched the couple through the rear window. The woman was crying inconsolably, begging the guards not to separate them, but the men dragged them apart, ignoring their pleas.
Once they were outside Jack’s house, Walter opened the car door for his friend. Jack, resting on his crutch, thanked him for his help.
“That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” said Walter. He climbed back into the car and closed the door. Before leaving, he lowered the window. “Oh, Jack! One last thing. I told the housing committee that you planned to leave the village, and they asked me to speed up the process. Please, make sure you’ve gotten your stuff out by tonight. I want to reassign the home tomorrow.”
Aware of the problems ahead, Jack slumped into the leather sofa in his home and sat there, exhausted, trying to understand why he was wasting time trying to move house instead of planning an ever more necessary escape. For any American, remaining in the Soviet Union was becoming no less dangerous than stomping barefoot on a nest of vipers. And Sergei, without a doubt, was the most venomous viper of them all.
His head echoed with the wailing that resounded in the American village every night when Loban’s men burst in to arrest workers and take them away. The appeals for clemency from the sobbing wives and the children subsided only when the cars started up and drove away. He hated that Russian. Not content with trying to kill Jack, Sergei was shameless enough to ask him to spy on his compatriots in order to find evidence that would justify Wilbur Hewitt’s arrest. And all this, according to the American industrialist, was to avoid paying the large sums they still owed Henry Ford for the construction of their factory.
He felt like a dirty rag for not helping Hewitt. He should have accepted his offer and joined him in organizing their escape together, but for as long as the wound on his hip forced him to get around with crutches, any attempt would be insane. Even once he’d recovered, fleeing Gorky would require careful planning, and a lot of money. While he was detained at the ispravdom, several prisoners had assured him that the Ukrainian city of Odessa was the best way to leave the country, with ships bound for Europe leaving its port. The problem was getting there. From what he’d heard, the trains were under tight surveillance, and in winter, road transportion was nonexistent due to the frequent blizzards.
Whatever the case, any attempt would require Ivan Zarko’s help. He could surely provide Jack with false passports. What Jack didn’t know was the cost, or how long Zarko would need to procure them.
While he waited for the right moment to inform Zarko of his intentions, he decided to make a list of allies and compare it to his list of enemies.
First there was Walter. He was his friend, but Jack didn’t know what to think about him: he felt in debt to him for helping him flee the United States, but his increasingly unconditional loyalty to the Soviet regime worried him. The same could be said of Sue.
Then he considered Joe Brown. Though he never spoke of returning to America, old Joe was a man he could trust, and his discretion, rather than stemming from suspicion, seemed to be a defensive mechanism. The Daniels family was similar. Harry Daniels had said on more than one occasion that he would cut off an arm to be able to return home. Among his acquaintances, he considered Miquel Agramunt. Despite his anarchist background, Jack’s meat supplier hadn’t hesitated to propose an illegal activity in order to improve his financial situation, which certainly made him a candidate for escaping. He thought he could sound them out by suggesting they join the team that he’d need to run the new store.
The one person he was certain about was Ivan Zarko. As long as Jack had money, he could count on Ivan’s help.
As a member of the OGPU, Viktor Smirnov would fall squarely into the category of enemy, were it not for the hostility he’d expressed toward Sergei on several occasions, which, if it came to it, might make him more of an ally. Moreover, his love of money and luxury meant he leaned more toward capitalist ideals than Communist ones. So perhaps Jack could take advantage of their friendship of convenience.
Finally, there were Sergei and his daughter. He had a clear idea what kind of man Sergei was and preferred not to think about it. But Natasha puzzled him. He often thought of her, and though for the time being he could only say that her care had helped him, something inside told him that she deserved his trust.
He breathed deeply as he reread his list. His enemies were powerful, and paradoxically, the only person with some power to face up to them was the man they saw as the worst of the Americans, Wilbur Hewitt.
He reached the conclusion that he had no choice. He’d confess Sergei’s sinister plans to Hewitt and accept his offer to escape. Then he’d negotiate with Ivan Zarko, and while he recovered from his limp, he’d lie in wait, running the store as Sergei himself had ordered him to do, but with a subtle difference: rather than spy on his fellow countrymen, he’d find out more about the head of the OGPU, even if it meant going through his daughter.
28
Holding a colorful bunch of winter flowers, Jack waited impatiently for Natasha to come out of her office. He watched the weak rays of sunlight tinge the hospital exterior in a vain attempt to prolong the fall. The sun’s natural warmth contrasted with the cold premeditation behind Jack’s arranging to meet the doctor, but though he wasn’t proud of it, he could find no better way to discover more about Sergei than by probing his daughter.
When Natasha Lobanova finally appeared, wearing her white uniform with a blue handkerchief covering her head, Jack couldn’t prevent a slight acceleration of his heart, which he fought off by quickly handing her the flowers. She smiled and accepted the gift. When she asked him what the gesture was for, Jack returned her smile. In reality, as soon as he saw her, he forgot all about Sergei and his grievances.
“I was surprised when you called. What was it that was so important that you had to tell me?” she said, seeing that Jack was still silent.
“Don’t you remember? We still haven’t had dinner,” he replied. As he said it, Jack thought he could detect a slight redness in Natasha’s face.
“Oh! I thought it was something to do with your wound. So, did you want me to eat this bunch of flowers?”
They both laughed. She declined his invitation because she had to collect some new equipment from the post office, but Jack wasn’t going to give up so easily. He brought up the conversation they’d had on the French Revolution, telling her that she wouldn’t have a better opportunity to gain a new convert. “You can’t leave me like this. Look at me, I’m lame!” He smiled, with a feigned expression of suffering.