“Markus—”
Markus held up his hand. “Yes, I know. You prefer to leave the work to others. Protecting Socialism. But now such a unique opportunity to help. Think how grateful—”
“What opportunity?”
“You saw Irene at DEFA today?”
“Fritsch asked her to give me a tour.”
“And did she tell you that her—what? friend? is missing.”
“She said Ivan came looking for him this morning. And then some other people. Your people?”
“No. The Russians don’t always share such information. Not at such an early stage. So think how valuable, if we could help them in this matter. Our new German organization. Not K-5 anymore. A certain level of respect—”
“Are you asking me if I know where he is? We had a drink at the M?we. That’s the last I saw of him. What makes anybody think he’s missing?”
“He didn’t sleep at Karlshorst.”
“Is that unusual?” Alex said, looking away, pretending to be embarrassed.
“No. But he didn’t return either.”
“And?”
“And so he is missing. A man in his position, you see, it’s a serious matter.”
“He said he was going back to Moscow. Maybe he already—”
“No,” Markus said, almost smiling. “That would be known. Your evening, it was pleasant?”
“I suppose. There was a lot to drink. He seemed—”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Worried about something. Ivan got on his nerves, I think. But maybe that’s the way he always is. I don’t know him.”
“He talked about returning to Moscow?”
“That’s why the drink. To celebrate.”
“So he was pleased?”
“Yes and no. Pleased about going home—” He hesitated, as if trying to get the description right. “But, well, antsy too. Ivan said something about the old Comintern days, how they tricked people home, and that set him off. Is any of this really useful? It was just the drink.”
“Oh yes, very. It’s as I thought. And all this time Irene—what did she say?”
“Not much. How she’ll miss him. The usual. What you say when somebody’s leaving.”
“If he’s leaving,” Markus said.
“What do you mean?”
“Comintern days,” he said, his mouth twitching. “Who talks about such things anymore? Ivan. Maybe a loyal Russian, but also a fool. You think Markovsky is afraid to go to Moscow? Everyone wants to go there. Afraid of his wife maybe, yes. Afraid to lose the easy life here. His—what does he call her? When they’re together.” Markus looked over at him. “She knows. A woman like that—you think she’s so eager to see her man go? Stay with me. Don’t go. I’ll help you. Karlshorst, they don’t understand this. They don’t know her. So it’s an advantage we have. An opportunity.”
“An opportunity,” Alex said dully.
“Stay close to her. Wait for her to give herself away. And when she does, you’ll be there. Someone working with us. Let the Russians look wherever they want. We’re the ones who find him. Right where she leads us.”
“Us,” Alex repeated. “You’re asking me to—report on her?” he said, almost dizzy. “No.”
“You’re so fond of that family?”
“Her father saved my life. I’m not going to—what would I do? Follow her around? Like a detective?”
“You’re an old friend. It’s perfectly natural to see her. Talk to her. The more she talks, the sooner she slips. That’s all. Something easy for you to do. Not so easy for the Russians. Or me. So, an opportunity.” He paused. “And a great service. The kind of thing that would be noticed.”
“Maybe even a promotion for you.”
“I was thinking about you, your position here. A grateful Party—it’s a very useful thing.”
“But why would she do it? What good is he to her if he’s hiding? What kind of meal ticket is that? If that’s what you think he is.”
“Who knows with her? Look at Kurt. So hysterical when he’s killed. The love of her life. Until the next one.”
“Was she? Hysterical?” Caught suddenly, trying to imagine it.
“Dramatics. Who knows what she’s thinking? She has a sister in the West. Maybe—”
“He’d never do that. Go to the West. Would he?”
“Who knows what he does for that woman? All we know now is that he’s gone. The Russians think, a political act, but they always think that. They don’t know her, what she can do to a man.”
“Markovsky? He can look out for himself.”
“You think so? All right. Prove me wrong. Let me know what she says. If there’s nothing, my apologies. But if she’s helping him, we have something for the Russians. Both of us. You can’t refuse this. To have this opportunity and not—” He stopped, letting the words hang in the air.
“Why would she tell me anything?” Alex said, running out of cards.
“She trusts you,” Markus said. “You know, sometimes you work months, years for that and here it is, right in your lap. Well, I should go. Someone sees the car there so long—a visit between friends, that’s one thing, but then why so long? Oh, and this, I brought this for you to sign.” He put a folder on the table.
“What is it?”
“I took the liberty. Of writing it out. Your report on Aaron Stein.”
“My what?”
“Just what you told me. You can read it for yourself. Nothing very important. Background.”
“Then why file a report about it?”
“Sometimes we bring these things on ourselves. Resign from the Central Committee, of course it’s necessary to look at the political file. It’s only natural. Here, you can read it,” he said, opening the folder and handing Alex the report. “No surprises. What we said. I wrote it up for you, but please feel free to change it or add something.”
“GI,” Alex said, looking at the boxes on the bottom. Ivan’s joke. “Secret informer. That’s what I am?”
“It means your work is not public, that’s all. An internal matter.”
“And this?” He pointed to another box.