“Silence!” the guard shouted in English. His voice made him as threatening as someone aiming a pistol at them.
Hewitt looked at the guard again and spat on the ground. “Sorry . . . What I meant to say was, these kind hosts are treating me excellently,” he blurted out with irony. “Listen carefully. I’ve asked to speak to the ambassador, with no success. They say the telephones don’t work, but they’ve allowed me to give this letter to you. You have to get it to him.” He took a crumpled handwritten note from one of his pockets and handed it to Jack.
Jack took it and passed it to Elizabeth.
“Uncle Wilbur, Jack says they’re accusing you of conspiracy, sabotage, embezzlement . . .”
“Yes, yes . . . and of killing my fellow Americans. Nothing would make these bastards happier,” he said while the guard was speaking to a comrade. “I’m innocent! I swear to you that—”
“Mr. Hewitt,” Jack cut in, “Sergei Loban says he has proof.”
“Sergei’s a compulsive liar who could have made anything up. Look, son—”
“I’m not your son, sir,” Jack interrupted again. Elizabeth looked at him in surprise.
“Silence!” the guard yelled, having turned his attention back to them. “If prisoner continue to slander our leaders, visit will be canceled.”
Despite Jack’s repulsion at Hewitt’s hypocrisy, he stood up to show the guard the order issued by Sergei authorizing a private conversation. The guard looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he read it.
“And I have order to oversee conversation,” he replied, unimpressed.
Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded and returned to his seat.
“All right, Mr. Hewitt. It seems we can’t stop this man from interrupting us every time he hears us criticize his superiors. However . . .”
“Yes?” the industrialist asked.
“However, there’s no reason why we can’t continue this conversation in German,” Jack said in that language. “I doubt the guard will understand it. Don’t waste any time, just answer my questions.”
“Of course,” Hewitt replied, also in German.
“Good. Why did you lie to me?”
“Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t—”
“Mr. Hewitt, I don’t have time to play games. Why did you tell me that McMillan had stayed in the United States?”
“Listen, boy. That has nothing to do with—”
“Niet!” yelled the guard. “Conversation is finished!”
“Not so fast!” Jack said, standing up. “The commissar himself, Comrade Sergei Loban, has stated that we can speak for ten minutes, ten, without specifying what language we communicate in, and you have made me waste two of those minutes. If you think you can prove that we’re criticizing the regime during our conversation, then go ahead, interrupt it. But if you don’t know German, I advise you to refrain or find someone who does understand it. Anything other than contravene an order from the head of the OGPU.” Jack prayed that the Soviet custom of following any order received from a superior would work in his favor.
The guard reddened. Jack, seeing him hesitate, saved him the effort.
“Thank you,” he said. “I won’t mention to Comrade Loban that we wasted those two minutes.” He quickly sat down again.
“Please, Jack! Can you explain to me why you’re attacking my uncle?” asked Elizabeth.
“Mr. Hewitt, that guard’s making a telephone call. In very little time, a Russian who understands German will appear through that door, and our chance will be gone, so listen: I know that McMillan entered the Soviet Union on December 26, 1932, one week before the SS Cliffwood arrived in Helsinki. Why did you lie to me?”
Hewitt bowed his head.
“Hewitt!” Jack insisted.
“It wasn’t me, damn it! It was Sergei’s idea.” He paused, blowing out. “McMillan traveled on the SS Leviathan a week early to reach Russia before us. He had work to do in Moscow, but mysteriously vanished. When he didn’t show up, Sergei suggested I hire you to replace him.”
“But why did you deceive me? Why did you hide McMillan’s disappearance from me?”
“That was Sergei’s doing, too. That Russian’s a wily old fox. He said to me that if I told you the truth, if I mentioned McMillan’s mysterious disappearance, it would scare you off. He would never have allowed a stranger to prowl around his factory, and I had my hands tied.” He fell silent for a moment. “Look . . . Do you remember when I introduced Sergei to you as a liaison officer on board the SS Cliffwood? Well, I lied. Sergei was never an official there to escort me. That was his cover during his journey to the United States; in reality, he belonged to the OGPU. He forced me to fool you for the same reason. So you’d take the job. That’s why I told you at the Metropol that they’d just appointed him as head of the Avtozavod security.”
This time it was Jack who was silent. For a moment he began to doubt who it was that was deceiving him. “Damn it! You lied to me! You haven’t stopped lying to me since I met you!”
“For God’s sake, Jack! What choice did I have? Everyone here does what the Soviets tell them to do. You, me, that guard, everyone! You have to believe me, Jack. You have to!”
Jack looked him in the eyes. The old industrialist was trembling, unable to hold his gaze. “Sure . . . And according to you, why do you think Sergei wanted to hire me?”
“How do I know? Sergei’s paranoid. He sees enemies everywhere. In me, in the Americans, in the counterrevolutionaries . . . He might’ve thought I was responsible for the sabotage, or he might not, who knows? Perhaps he was looking for a replacement until McMillan appeared. Damn McMillan! I don’t know what in hell’s name could’ve happened to him.”
“Well, it seems strange that you don’t know, because Sergei assures me it was you who killed him.”
“What? McMillan’s dead?” he stammered.
“Come on, Hewitt. Don’t pretend to be surprised.”
“McMillan, dead . . . My God!” His monocle fell onto his chest.
“Enough! Nothing you say makes sense, much less the excuse that Sergei forced you to hire me. With McMillan dead, why would he want a replacement?”
“My God. McMillan dead . . . Now it makes sense.”
“What does?” Jack stood up, exasperated.
“Everything, Jack. Why he hired you, why he didn’t want me to tell you about McMillan’s disappearance, your accident at the Avtozavod.”
“Really? Tell me, in that case.” He raised his voice.
Wilbur Hewitt pocketed his monocle and pulled at his hair. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he looked at Jack wide-eyed. He was about to reply, when an officer burst into the room, and with a great deal of bluster ordered the guard to stop the conversation immediately.