Beautiful Assassin (48 page)

“I will go distract him,” I whispered to Jack. “When he’s not watching, slip out of the room. Tell Mrs. Roosevelt I shall be there as soon as I can.”

I headed down the hall and struck up a conversation with the
chekist
officer. It was the stocky one. I stood on the far side of him so that he wouldn’t see when Jack Taylor left my room. I asked him if he had a cigarette. He hesitated for a moment, then took out a pack, an American brand, and gave me one and lit it for me. He had a broad face, with high cheekbones and small liquid eyes. I asked him where he came from, and he replied Sverdlovsk. He wasn’t much for words. As we spoke, I saw the captain slip out of the room and disappear down the hall. Then I thanked the man and told him I was going down to buy some cigarettes at the front desk and did he want anything. He shook his head.

Mrs. Roosevelt sat in a high-backed chair in a small sitting area over near the window, with Miss Thompson across from her. The First Lady seemed to be dictating something to her secretary. Without stopping what she was saying, when she saw me the First Lady indicated that I have a seat, which turned out to be one of the two twin beds in the room. The captain stood off to one side, glancing at me from time to time. When Mrs. Roosevelt was finished, Miss Thompson shut her pad, stood, said something in English to the First Lady, and then left the room. Mrs. Roosevelt remained silent for a moment, staring out the window, lost in thought.

Finally, turning toward me, she said, “Captain Taylor has briefed me on what has been going on, young lady. And your role in it.” Her tone was businesslike, restrained, even aloof. “I understand the pressures that were placed on you, Lieutenant. You were a soldier and you were simply following orders. That’s what soldiers do. However, I can’t say that I’m not sorely disappointed in your behavior.”

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Roosevelt,” I pleaded. “You have been a dear friend to me.”

“As I thought you had been to me.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this happen. And I never meant to betray our friendship.”

“But betray it you did, Tat’yana. I feel very hurt by what you’ve done. You betrayed not only me, you’ve betrayed the United States of America. An ally of your country against the Germans.”

Tears suddenly sprang to my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. In
a moment I was sobbing. I felt a burning shame at what I had done to this good and decent woman who had shown me nothing but kindness.

“Please…forgive me,” I said, between sobs.

Mrs. Roosevelt got up and came over and sat down next to me. She put her arm around my shoulder and hugged me to her, as she had done that first night when I stayed at the White House.

“It’s all right, my dear,” she said soothingly. “I suppose we will all soon be living in a world where we won’t be able to trust one another. Though I shall be very loath, indeed, to have to live in such a world. Still, I am proud of your accomplishments in this war and shall always value your friendship.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Roosevelt.”

“The captain tells me you’re in trouble with your own side and that you wish to defect.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure anymore.”

She glanced across me at the captain.

“Well, if you’re going to ask for political asylum, you will have to make up your mind pretty quickly, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Roosevelt explained. “You’re slated to leave the day after tomorrow. I’ve spoken to my husband about all of this, and he informs me it will be a very sticky situation. Your Mr. Stalin will no doubt be quite upset if you jump ship, so to speak,” she said with a sad smile. “However, I made it quite clear to Franklin that you may well be in danger if you return to the Soviet Union, and he assured me we can work something out. It all depends on how much your side expects in return. Of course, you know that if you defect, there’s no going back.”

“I know.”

“So what’s it to be, Tat’yana?”

I took a deep breath, looked at Captain Taylor, then back at Mrs. Roosevelt.

“I will defect,” I said.

“Very well then. We’ll have to work quickly. We don’t have much time. Certain arrangements will need to be made for your being granted asylum.” She gave me a last hug, then stood. “I have a meeting. I suppose you two have lots to talk about.” Before she left, she leaned over
and grasped my hands in both of hers. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, Tat’yana. And I forgive you.”

I thanked her and then she left.

That was the last time I would ever see her.

Captain Taylor and I remained silent for a moment. Then he came over, sat beside me, and took my hand.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“I don’t even know what to call you. Is that your real name, Charles Pierce?” I said to him.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me explain.”

He went on to tell me how he’d gotten into this “spying” business. How since he’d been good at languages, they’d recruited him before the war to spy on the Soviets. He told me how he had worked in Moscow as an American agent. That the United States had feared that the Soviet Union would sign a treaty with Nazi Germany, which, of course they did, and which would allow the Germans to focus all of their might on the Western Front. That he had worked in the embassy reading and translating cables the Americans had intercepted. He told me how his government had received incontrovertible evidence of my government running an extensive spy ring in the United States well before the war, that it had infiltrated high levels of American industry, government, and now even in the development of this secret weapons project.

When he was finished explaining, I paused for a moment. Then I said, “Just tell me one thing. Did you get involved with me just to find out about the spy network?”

“No.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“All right. At first I did. But later it had nothing to do with my job.”

“How am I supposed to believe that? Or anything you tell me?”

“I love you, Tat’yana. You have to believe me.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“So who are you really?”

“Charles Pierce is my real name. But most people called me Charlie.”

“Charlie.”

He smiled at me, that smile that could soften my heart. “I’m still the same person.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

He put his arm around me and kissed me on the lips. “I love you,” he said again.

And suddenly all of my fears and doubts and worries simply crumbled. I had a choice to make in this as well.

“I love you too,” I replied.

As I headed back to my room, I saw the familiar figure of Vasilyev standing outside my door.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Out for some fresh air.”

“I thought I told you to stay away from the American.”

“I shall be returning home shortly. And you can do whatever you want to me then.”

“And they will, Lieutenant. Believe me, they will.”

“I am going to bed.”

I unlocked the door and pushed past him, yet he followed me in.

“By the way, this just came for you,” he said.

I turned to see him holding out a letter to me.

“What is it?”

“You might want to read it.”

He handed me a letter that had already been opened. It was on official military stationery. My heart stopped for a moment as I thought it was going to confirm what I already knew in my heart—that Kolya was dead. Before I read it, I felt the guilt well up in me again. He had tried to be a good husband, had certainly been a better one to me than I had been a wife to him. And yet, as I began to read the letter, I found myself thinking, No, this can’t be. This is wrong. The letter said that Kolya was in a hospital in Leningrad, recovering from wounds suffered in battle.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Meaning?” Vasilyev said, furrowing his brow. “Just that your husband is alive.”

I stared at him, wondering if this could actually be true. Even then it occurred to me that it was only another one of his deceptions, a trick intended to keep me under his control.

Vasilyev gave me that avuncular smile of his.

“Why, I thought you would be pleased,” he said. “This will give you something to look forward to when you return home.”

I
was up most of the night, and now as morning broke, I lay in bed, thinking about the various revelations of the previous day. Vasilyev informing me that the captain was actually someone named Charles Pierce. My emotional meeting with Mrs. Roosevelt, followed by the equally emotional one with Jack—I still couldn’t bring myself to call him Charlie, if that was his real name. And on top of everything, receiving the letter informing me that my “dead” husband wasn’t actually dead.

I picked up the letter from the nightstand and read it for what must have been the sixth or seventh time. It said Kolya was in a hospital recovering from his wounds. But alive. I kept wondering if the letter was real, or if it was just more of Vasilyev’s trickery. I wouldn’t have put it past the
chekisty
to do something like this. Perhaps Viktor had told them that I’d considered running off with him, and this was their way of ensuring that I’d go back to the Soviet Union. They knew how to play upon both my loyalty as well as my guilt.
This will give you something to look forward to when you return home
, Vasilyev had said to me. And yet, what if it were true? I wondered. What if Kolya
were
alive? Though I didn’t love him as a wife, didn’t I owe him something? Wasn’t I at least obliged to be there for him, to tell him about the last moments of our daughter’s life? Didn’t he deserve better than for me just to vanish without a word, to bring shame on him, as of course my defection would back home. And
more than shame, I knew there was the very real possibility that my actions would bring harsher consequences to bear on him. Should he pay for my actions?

I was thinking about these thoughts when my phone rang.

“It’s me,” came the captain’s voice. “I tried to come by, but one of your secret police is watching your room. It would be better if you met me.”

I thought of telling him then about the letter, but I decided to hold off.

“Where do you want to meet?” I asked.

“Take the elevator down to the third floor. Make sure that the man outside doesn’t follow you though.”

I got dressed but then threw on my bathrobe over my clothes. I stuffed the letter in the pocket of my tunic. I didn’t put my shoes on but rather wrapped a towel around them and left the room with them under my arm. I passed the
chekist
officer, the thin, bony one, who was slumped against the wall, smoking a cigarette and pretending to read a magazine.

“Do you know where I can get some clean towels?” I asked him.

He glanced up, surprised that I spoke to him. With his thumb he pointed at a cart halfway down the hall. I thanked him and walked on. As I passed the elevator, I quickly hit the down button, but continued on to where a Negro woman with a cart was cleaning rooms. With hand gestures I indicated that I wanted a clean towel, which she gave me. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the man still leaning against the wall. I walked slowly back toward my room, trying to time my passing of the elevator just as it arrived on my floor. Luckily the doors opened as I reached the elevator, so I was able to slip in and push the button before the man could follow me. Once safely ensconced, I removed my robe and put my shoes on.

The captain was waiting for me when I got off. He leaned in to kiss me. He must have felt me stiffen a little, for he said, “Is everything all right?”

I nodded.

“Come, we have to hurry,” he said, taking my hand and leading me
down the hall. We entered a room where two men dressed in dark suits waited.

“These men are going to help you,” he said to me.

He told me their names, though I don’t recall what they were, and besides, they were no doubt as phony as Jack Taylor’s had been. I do recall that they said they were from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. One of the two did most of the talking. He was middle-aged, good-looking in an austere sort of way. He was all-business, never smiling once. He told me how that evening Mrs. Roosevelt was to hold a press conference in the lobby of the hotel, where she was going to officially thank the Soviet delegation for coming to America. Then we were to gather for a final dinner and reception, which was to be attended by a large crowd. He told me that during the meal I was to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. But that I was to make sure to leave my handbag and coat at the table, to indicate that I would be returning. In one of the stalls of the bathroom there would be a bag waiting for me. It would be filled with civilian clothes I was to change into, as well as a wig. When I left the bathroom they would be waiting to take me away in a car.

“Where will I go?” I asked.

“We can’t divulge the details,” the dark-haired man explained. “But you’ll be brought to a safe place. You’ll stay there until our government issues a statement saying that you’ve defected and have requested political asylum.”

“Then what?” I asked.

“There’ll be some name-calling on both sides. We’ll denounce your country for spying; then your side will issue denials and will probably lodge a formal complaint against us, demanding your return. Both countries will beat their chests for a while, but we don’t believe either side will push it too far. I doubt your Mr. Stalin will want to risk endangering our lend-lease program. Behind the scenes, our government will be working with yours to broker a deal. But that won’t concern you. After a time it should all blow over. At least publicly.”

“What will happen to me?”

This man looked at Charlie and furrowed his mouth into a cautionary
O
.

“You’ll have to go into hiding, of course.”

Though I already knew the answer, I still asked, “What for?”

“You will have caused your government much embarrassment. Besides, you know too much. So they’ll come after you. But we can protect you. We’ll give you a new identity, set you up someplace with a new name and a job. But before all that, we’re going to want to interview you.”

“Interview me?” I asked.

“We’re going to want to know everything you know about the Soviet spy network in America.”

“I don’t really know that much.”

“We’re still going to want to talk to you.” He glanced at Charlie, as if he considered this a subject that should already have been explained to me. “If you wish us to help you, Miss Levchenko, you’re going to have to play ball with us. Do you have any questions?” the man asked.

“No, I do not think so. Oh, there is one question. Will I be able to write to anyone back home?”

“No,” he said.

“Not even family?”

“Sorry. You will have no contact at all with anyone from your past. Do you understand?”

I had the sensation of a large steel door slamming shut behind me, leaving me completely, utterly alone.

I nodded. We stood and shook hands. And just like that I’d left one world and entered another.

“I’d like to officially welcome you to the United States of America, Miss Levchenko,” the man said.

Charlie led me out of the room. I was silent, my thoughts occupied. As we walked down the hall, he said to me, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

From my pocket, I took out the letter about Kolya and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Read it.”

He stopped and read it slowly, then shook his head. “Well, you know it’s a fake,” he said.

“Yes, it could be.”

“Not could be. You
know
it is. They’re trying to manipulate you. Trick you into returning home.”

“I’ve considered that.”

“Don’t you find it just a little too coincidental that it happens to come now?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“You’re not considering going home, are you?”

I shrugged.

“But that’s crazy. If you return, you’ll be in danger. They just want to get you back home, Tat’yana. Can’t you see that it’s a trick?”

I nodded. “But what if it’s not a trick? What if the letter is true, and my husband is alive?”

“Your returning home isn’t going to do him any good, and it will only jeopardize yourself.”

“It might endanger him if I don’t go.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” I said.

“You said you didn’t love him.”

“He’s still my husand. I owe him something.”

Charlie’s face took on a wounded expression. He stared at me, then reached out and grasped my left hand.

“What about us, Tat’yana?”

“He will need me.”

“
I
need you,” he said. “I love you.”

“And I love you too,” I replied.

“Then stay here. After the war we can be together.”

Charlie leaned into me and kissed me, at first tentatively, then putting his arm around me, he kissed me with a passion that bordered on desperation. This time I found myself yielding to his kiss. I knew I loved Jack or Charlie or whatever his name was. Knew I loved him as I never could or would love Kolya. Still, I was confused, torn between my love for one man and my loyalty toward another.

“I will have to think about it,” I said.

“You don’t have time to think about it,” he replied. “Those men back
there are making plans for your defection. Once we move forward on this, there’s no turning back.”

“Just give me a little while. Not long. Please.”

Charlie wagged his head in disappointment.

“All right,” he finally said.

“I’ll call you with my decision.”

When I returned to my room, the
chekist
officer was no longer out in the hall. Perhaps he had gone off in search of me. I paced my room for a long while, thinking. Would I choose loyalty and duty over love? The past over the future? My homeland over America? At one point, I found myself at the window, looking out. The autumn morning was sunny and clear, with a sparkling view of the ocean extending beyond the city’s buildings. It was the sort of bright, expansive day on which I had married Kolya, hardly five years earlier, though it seemed like a lifetime ago now, as if I were already an old woman looking back on my life and on the choices I had made. I tried to imagine my husband for a moment, alive, lying in a bed, thinking of me and Masha. I wondered if he had gotten any of my letters, if he knew she was dead. When I told him, for him it would be as if she just died that very moment. I thought of how we would grieve together over our loss, how I would hold him and try to comfort him. And when he’d recovered enough, I knew exactly what he would say, knew the engineer in him would strive to find a solution to our problem. He would tell me something about how we would have more children, just as Zoya had. But then I would have to tell him about that as well, and how there was to be no answer to our childlessness. Sadness and grief and our memories would have to be the bonds that united us as we grew old together. Then I thought about Charlie, how he made me feel, how light and airy my heart felt in his presence, and I wondered if I could give him up just because of my obligation toward Kolya. Finally, I picked up the phone and called Charlie’s room.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Have you made a decision?” he asked.

I paused for a moment, then said, “I have, yes.”

He was silent on the other end, waiting like a man on trial for his verdict. “For God’s sakes, Tat’yana, tell me!”

“I wish to defect.”

He gave out a nervous little laugh, then said, “That’s wonderful news, darling. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“In the meantime, be very careful. Don’t say or do anything that would give them the slightest indication of what you’re planning. I’ll meet you in the lobby at five for the press conference.”

A little before five there was a knock on the door. Expecting Captain Taylor, I was about to open it but at the last moment decided to ask who it was.

“It’s me, Vasilyev,” came the reply.

“What do you want?”

“We are to meet Mrs. Roosevelt downstairs for the press conference.”

“You’re early. I’m not finished getting ready.”

“A change in plans.”

“Come back in a little while,” I said.

“Open the door, Lieutenant,” he commanded in a voice that made me sense something was wrong.

I hesitated, a bad feeling working in my stomach like bile. I thought of not unlocking the door but then figured that that would only make me look all the more guilty. So I went ahead and opened it. Vasilyev was standing there, accompanied by the heavyset
chekist
officer.

“Where did you go earlier?” he said, entering my room.

“I had to get some clean towels.”

Vasilyev poked his head into the bathroom, glanced around.

“Put your coat on,” he commanded. There was something inflexible in his voice.

“I told you, I’m not ready.”

“You look fine. Get her coat,” he said, snapping his fingers to the other man, who went over to the bed and got my military tunic.

We got on the elevator, but instead of heading down, it started up. My stomach continued to churn.

“I thought you said we were going to the press conference.”

“In a while. They want to have a little chat first.”

“Who?”

“Some people,” was all Vasilyev offered. “You look a little tired, Lieutenant.”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“It has been a long and strenuous trip for all of us. You’ll have plenty of time, however, to rest during our voyage home. Let’s hope that the seas are calm.”

He glanced at me when he said this.

We got out and headed down the hall until we stopped in front of a door. I knew then that something was terribly wrong.

“Who’s in there?” I asked.

Vasilyev turned to me. “I tried to protect you, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice restrained. “But you wouldn’t listen. Now it is out of my hands.”

I turned and bolted, running wildly down the hall. I hadn’t gotten more than half a dozen steps, though, before the secret policeman caught me, grabbing me roughly around the waist. He yanked me off my feet as if I weighed no more than a pillow. I screamed and he quickly covered my mouth with a meaty hand that smelled of tobacco. I tried to bite him, but he pressed my mouth firmly, painfully shut.

“Don’t be a fool, Lieutenant,” Vasilyev advised. He got close up to my face and whispered, “Your only chance is to cooperate with them. Give them what they want. Do you understand?”