“That’s a good question.”
Catta liked being in his grandfather’s study. He liked that he was summoned, he liked being addressed—if not as an equal, which was impossible—then at least not as a wayward child. He felt the urge to tell his father the precise history of his tattoo and about the men and those transports of the Migration that were so secret the men would only hint at them. But Catta had promised silence in a way that mattered, and then, also, could not speak like his father: in paragraphs, with total clarity, in a way that even a hostile listener—that Conrad himself—would recognize and even approve. Today, for him, being silent conveyed more of the truth than speaking would.
“However,” his father continued, “your fabrications actually make me more impressed. To learn when to lie, and to whom, and how to do it well—these are all parts of the world, or at least they are part of the unfortunate world that we have left you. Or so I believe.”
“So you believe,” Catta said.
“Yes,” his father said, smiling. “So I believe.”
86
By the next night, Templetons, Kipps, and Van Colls had left on the afternoon ferry, and Billy Quick was finally alone in the New House. Tonight he was cooking dinner for himself in order to think without interruption, to formulate a plan.
There was a knock on the kitchen door, and Billy opened it. He was surprised to see Jim Hillsinger and John Wilkie.
“Let’s talk about Hans Kallenbach,” Hillsinger said.
Billy was not especially alarmed by the mention of Kallenbach. On the spectrum of dubious things his clients did with their money, giving cash from time to time to a seemingly random assortment of black sheep and actresses and junkies, as Hans did, was not especially conspicuous.
“Do I need my lawyer?” Billy said.
“No,” Wilkie said.
“Then come in.”
Billy waved at the kitchen table while he himself remained standing, tending to a large steak in a cast-iron pan on the stove. Hillsinger and Wilkie sat at the table. Billy poured them each a glass of wine.
“I can’t discuss my clients,” Billy said.
“Are you aware,” Hillsinger said, “that Hans Kallenbach is a known KGB operative?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Have you yourself knowingly been in contact with agents of any foreign governments?”
“John,” Billy said, turning to Wilkie, “are you really party to this?”
“A storm is gathering, Billy,” Wilkie said.
“I asked John to come with me here today for two reasons,” Hillsinger said. “First, Peregrine Wilkie is at risk here. He contributed both the seed money for your current fund and also introductions to several other investors, including Hans Kallenbach. As a result Peregrine is a party to the decisions you are about to make, and since Peregrine is now also my employer, so am I.”
“I’m not aware of Hans’s activities apart from the money he has with me.”
“Second,” Hillsinger said, “Wilkie is here to witness our agreement.”
“I doubt we’re going to agree on much of anything.”
Hillsinger smiled.
“We shall see,” he said. “What are you making?”
“In what sense?” Billy said.
“What are you making for dinner?”
“Steak,” Billy said. “Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.”
“So the trade is—what?” Billy said.
“Wilkie tells me you have a photographic memory,” Hillsinger said.
“He’s exaggerating.”
“That’s a shame,” Hillsinger said, “because the trade is that you put down for me, right now, without a signature, the complete list of Kallenbach’s third-party payments over the last two years, including names, addresses, and any known aliases.”
“In return for?”
“Services rendered,” Hillsinger said.
“What services?”
“When you agree to this deal, which you will,” Hillsinger continued, “two otherwise inevitable things do not happen. First: I do not divorce Lila and publicly name you as the reason. Were that to happen, I can name seven of your twelve largest investors who would withdraw their money from you the next day. Second: I do not put it in the papers that Kallenbach is a Soviet spy and that you are his paymaster. That would take care of the other five. It would also precipitate immediate FBI action against you.”
“That would precipitate immediate FBI action against you,” Billy said.
“Leaks happen all the time.”
“Again, Jim—I don’t know anything about Hans’s work.”
“Has he been in your apartment?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Has he, for example, ever brought presents for your girls?”
Only now did Billy begin to see the larger picture. Now he was concerned.
“And did you or did you not make cash payments out of Kallenbach’s account to people other than Kallenbach?”
“It’s not my money,” Billy said. “When people ask for it, I give it to them.”
“You are intimate with a prominent KGB banker. You distributed cash to his designated representatives, some of whom I am sure will prove to be known operatives of the KGB. From a prosecutor’s point of view, there’s no ambiguity.”
He wanted so much to be angry, but Billy felt only relief. A convoluted set of choices had been reduced to one. He had been wrong the other night, in front of the fire, about Lila. He did not know what Hillsinger’s plan was for him, but he knew that there was one, somewhere in the background.
“What will you do with the list?” Billy said.
“I will trade the names to my former employer for certain considerations.”
“Such as?”
“Such as ensuring that Peregrine Wilkie is protected from future inquiries into Kallenbach’s associates. I also expect our close knowledge of this affair to be a strong selling point for Keene Wilkie’s services going forward.”
“The Kallenbach affair?” Billy said.
“Correct.”
“You’ve been quiet, John,” Billy said, turning to Wilkie. “Where do you stand?”
Billy was aware that Where do you stand? was John Wilkie’s least-favorite question. Almost pathologically, Wilkie preferred to stand in between parties, especially when strong opinions were opposed. He lived in the middle ground.
“The worst case,” Wilkie said, “for my father and the firm, is that you and Kallenbach are both prosecuted. Then Peregrine looks like a referral service for Communist spies. For you, for me, for us, I’d prefer that only Kallenbach was in jeopardy. I came here to guarantee the integrity of any deal, not to negotiate it, but what Jim is offering strikes me as the best thing for everyone in this room.”
“What about me?” Billy said. “Am I protected?”
“Your chances are better,” Hillsinger said. “Dramatically better.”
“That’s not especially compelling.”
“There’s already a thick file with your name on it.”
“Are you referring to my wife’s interrogation?”
“That’s part of it. I’ve seen that file, by the way. And if you want to know who killed Hannah, it was Hans Kallenbach.”
“Why is that?”
“Trying to get at him—through you—was the whole reason the FBI were after her.”