“Why did Sergei hire me? Why?” yelled Jack in German.
The newcomer grabbed Hewitt by an arm and made him stand. Then the industrialist came out of his daze and turned to Jack. “Don’t you see? He didn’t care what you’d find out. He hired you to use you. If McMillan’s dead like you say . . . you were the bait to catch his murderer. You’re his decoy.”
Back in the city, Jack tried to calm Elizabeth down, promising her that her uncle would be safe until the trial.
“My suspicion is that they’re trying to legitimize terminating the contract with Ford in order to save millions of dollars.”
“And what can we do?”
“I don’t know. If they have irrefutable proof, as Sergei says, I don’t think we can do anything. If I were you, I’d travel to Moscow immediately to deliver your uncle’s letter to the ambassador.”
“And leave him here alone?”
“Look, Elizabeth. Stick by him, and all you’ll do is put yourself in danger. Go to Moscow, let the embassy take care of this, and don’t come back to Gorky until it’s resolved.”
“I’m not going to do that. I’m sure between us we can find a way to . . . What is it, Jack? Why are you lowering your head?”
Jack didn’t respond. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff. He remained silent, but the young woman insisted.
“What is it? Are you not going to help me?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?”
“Jack, I don’t have anyone else! You know he’s innocent, right?”
Jack took another puff. Then he stubbed out the cigarette and clenched his teeth. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. You do what you have to do. I’ve already done everything I can.”
Jack stacked the four frozen sacks of potatoes yet again, before accepting that repeating the same task over and over again wouldn’t solve his problems. He looked at what remained of the stock on the shelves. In January, supplies had all but dried up, and the store survived only by selling the shoes that Jim Daniels, Joe Brown, and Miquel Agramunt made from scraps of leather and worn tires as he’d taught them to do. He cursed his bad luck. With Hewitt in prison and hunger taking hold, his future seemed bleak. It was only a matter of time before Sergei fired him.
He threw one of the sacks on the floor and sat on it while he wondered what action he should take. He was sorry for Elizabeth, but couldn’t help feeling manipulated by one and all: Sergei, Hewitt . . . Even Elizabeth had come to him only when she’d needed someone. He didn’t know what to do. If he tried to help Hewitt, Sergei would see it as an affront to the Soviet regime and take reprisals, but on the other hand, if he refused to meet Elizabeth’s demands, sooner or later Hewitt would reveal his involvement in acquiring false passports and organizing their escape. As for Natasha, he knew only that he missed her.
He went outside to enjoy the peace and quiet of the open area at the entrance to the village. He wrapped himself in his coat, then filled his lungs in the hope that the icy wind would help clear his head. Though he longed to be with Natasha again, he’d decided to stop seeing her until the situation improved. He wasn’t in the mood to share his worries with her, knowing that at any moment either Sergei or Elizabeth could come between them. He climbed into the Ford and turned the ignition. It sputtered like a sick man before his heart was resuscitated. He put it in gear, hit the gas, and made it slide over the ice in the direction of his house. For now, keeping Elizabeth happy would give him time to think, even if it meant being away from Natasha for a time.
He found the young American huddled in front of the fire in the living room. She looked as if she hadn’t left the chair all day. Her face was stained with eye shadow, like dirty drips on a whitewashed wall. Jack placed a piece of newspaper containing a portion of black bread on her lap, and she gazed at it with about as much interest as if he’d laid a pebble there. Finally, she turned to look at him. Her moist eyes shimmered in the light from the flames. “What am I going to do, Jack?”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t even know how to deal with his own problems. He sat beside her, contemplating the fire that was turning the logs to ash, and he saw a metaphor for what the Soviet Union was doing to their lives.
“I thought I’d ask a friend to get the message to the embassy. He works for the OGPU, but he’s American. I guess he’ll know how to do it.”
“What friend? The one you spoke to at the opening of the store?”
“Yeah. Walter.”
“Good idea,” she said without conviction.
Jack observed her. She looked like a broken toy. His watch showed 8:00 p.m. “Come on! Wash your face and wrap up warm. We’ll make the most of the darkness and go take a look around your uncle’s house. Maybe we can find something there that’ll help us.”
“The Soviets will have turned it upside down already.”
“We have nothing to lose by trying.” He helped her decide by taking her by the arm.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack stopped the car a block away from the mansion assigned to Hewitt. They covered the remaining distance on foot. After checking that nobody was watching the house, he wrapped himself in a sheet to camouflage himself in the snow, ran to the door, and signaled to Elizabeth to approach. The young woman rushed to join him, but slipped on the icy road and cried out when she hit the ground. A light came on in a nearby window. As quickly as he could, Jack swooped on Elizabeth to hide her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, huddled under the sheet. “Have they seen us?”
“Shhh.” He peered out from under the sheet to check. “They’ve turned off the light. Let’s go!”
They ran to the threshold of the house. Jack warned Elizabeth to breathe lightly in case their breath gave away their presence.
“The key!”
She took it out, opened the door, and they went in. Feeling his way in the dark, Jack checked that all the shutters on the windows were shut. Even so, he drew all the curtains before turning on the flashlight.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed.
Jack remained silent and continued to shine his light around the house. “The hyenas haven’t even left the bones,” he said.
The room looked more like a battlefield than a parlor. Moving the toppled chairs aside, Jack walked among sofas and armchairs that had been cut open. After inspecting one of the bedrooms upstairs, he decided that, had Hewitt hidden some valuable document, Sergei would now have it. He went back down to the ground floor to join Elizabeth again. “At least we’ve tried,” he murmured, and turned off the flashlight.
“Wait! Shine it there.” She held Jack’s wrist to guide the beam of light into a corner, beside the fireplace.
“It’s just a bunch of old newspapers.”
“They’re my uncle Wilbur’s newspapers!” she said, as if Jack’s comment were an insult.
“We have to go now.”