“An appointment to see Dymshits.”
“Major Dymshits? There’s something wrong?”
“Not with me. Herb Kleinbard’s been arrested. His wife is frantic. She’s been trying to get through—”
“It’s a difficult time,” Martin said.
“What do you mean?”
“The major—so many requests. He can’t involve himself. In Party business. The Kulturbund must operate—”
“What Party business? What’s happening?”
“Periodically, you understand, the Party must examine itself. A matter of self-criticism, usually. It’s easy for people to have failings. But if they go unchecked—” He paused. “As I say, a matter of self-criticism. In most cases.”
Alex looked at him. “You mean they’re arresting people. Not just Herb.”
“We have heard of several, yes.”
“Here? At the Kulturbund?”
“Yes, unfortunately. A difficult time. I was afraid when you asked that maybe you—”
“Then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
“As you say.”
“But why would they arrest me? Why would you think that?”
“Forgive me, please. It’s not that I doubt your loyalty. Your commitment. No. You know how I admire your—”
“But you thought they might have.”
“The Party is examining comrades who have spent time in the West. Forgive me, I didn’t intend—”
Alex waved this away. “Who else? Besides Herb?”
“Older comrades. Sometimes, you know, they have the old ideas. A conflict, maybe. So a correction is needed.”
“Do you really believe this?”
Martin looked up at him, dismayed. “Herr Meier, please. How can you ask this? It’s important for the Party to remain strong.”
“By arresting Herb Kleinbard? What if it happened to you?”
He looked down. “I must perform a self-criticism, yes, but you must keep in mind—”
“You? You could write Lenin’s speeches.”
“Herr Meier, please.”
“God, it’s because of us, isn’t it? The time you’ve spent—”
“No, no.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said quietly. “If any of this had to do with me. I never meant—”
“No, please,” Martin said, upset now, fa?ade beginning to crack. “It was an honor to be of assistance to you. Your name was never mentioned. We are so pleased to have you here.” Recovering his poise, back on the job.
“You were happy to have Herb too. It must be a mistake. You know Herb.”
“Herr Meier, I can’t question Party decisions. How would that be, if everyone did that?”
Alex looked at him, the silence an answer.
“Who else? You said my name didn’t come up. Whose did?”
Martin looked away, embarrassed, as if he’d already seen Alex’s reaction.
“Comrade Stein has been arrested. And one of his editors. Not yours,” he said quickly.
“Aaron? They arrested Aaron? What for?” Seeing the soft, watery eyes, the ones that had glimpsed the Socialist future.
“I don’t know. They did not say. I’m expected to attend the trial, so I’ll know then. Let’s hope, nothing too serious.”
“There’s a trial? When?”
“Any day. We’ll be told. Someone has come from Moscow. A new man in the state security division. Saratov.”
“Saratov? So Markovsky was right after all,” Alex said, unable to resist, keeping the story going. He looked up. “What do you mean, we’ll be told? Are you testifying? Against Aaron?”
Martin said nothing, his face crumpling a little, as if he were in actual pain. Then he lifted his head. “I may be asked for an opinion. Of course, if I am asked—”
“You wouldn’t.”
“And you? What will you do if they ask you?”
Alex looked at him, time slowing in the empty room. Just a piece of paper in a file, signed. They wouldn’t call him, risk exposing him as a GI. The anonymous report would be enough, a paper trigger.
“It must be a mistake about Aaron,” he said weakly.
Martin looked up, miserable. “The Party doesn’t make mistakes.”
* * *
It was a short walk to Markus’s office, in one of the buildings the SED had taken over near the palace. The new unit must have just moved in because there were no names listed yet in the lobby directory.
“The new K-5. It was K-5 before,” he said to the desk clerk.
“Ah,” the clerk said, suddenly conspiratorial, nodding to the elevator. “On three.”
The doors, improbably enough, said Main Directorate for the Defense of the Economy and the Democratic Order, in fresh paint, not quite dry. A reception area with chairs, a typing pool, and a long corridor of offices. Markus’s secretary, not expecting visitors, seemed flustered, and Markus himself was annoyed.
“You’re not supposed to come here like this,” he said, drawing him into his office.
“I thought that’s the way you wanted to work it. A visit from an old friend.”
“In a café. My flat. Not here. Who comes here? Unless they have to. Anyway, you’re here. It’s just as well. I was about to come see you. It’s happening quickly now. You need to be briefed.”
“About what?”
“Markovsky,” Markus said, a cat with cream. “He’s defected.”
“What?”
“You’re surprised?” He shook his head. “I’m not. A pleasure seeker. I always thought it was possible. So you can see, it moves quickly now. Such a lucky idea of mine. To have you in place.”
“But she’s here. He didn’t take her. So what does she—”
“Yes, for how long? He’ll send for her. And when she goes to him, we have him.”
“In the West.”
Markus brushed this off with his hand. “We have him.”
“So you’re having her watched?”
“Naturally. But you know she’ll be careful. She expects that.” He looked over. “The best watcher is the one you don’t suspect. You see now how important—this is your chance.”
“My chance.”
“To be of real value. But you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Not now. Coming here for a social visit. What did you want anyway? That you would come here?”
“They’ve arrested Aaron Stein.”
“Yes.”