tiny clatter. Marty Marks slumped slowly out of view. Nothing else moved. The studio was silent.
10
Alyoshka
A nya followed Shuvalov out of the Lubyanka. They found the plainclothes lieutenant waiting with the Chaika. Fast again, he drove them out of Moscow, southwest across the ring road and on into the empty-seeming greenbelt.
Well inside the forest they passed a billboard that read HALT! NO TRESPASSING! WATER CONSERVATION DISTRICT. Out under the dull sky again, he parked beside a guardhouse identified with a gold-lettered sign. SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH CENTER. Khaki-clad sentries checked Shuvalov’s pass, frowned over the visas in Anya’s passport, and telephoned the colonel before they were passed through the turnstile.
Inside the tall chain link fence, the seven-story office building of the First Chief Directorate made a striking contrast to the grimy old prison, its window-walls of aluminum and glass shimmering out of well-kept lawns and flower beds.
Bogdanov was a dark massive man with thinning gray hair and a face like the nose of a battle tank. He sat facing them across a wide, uncluttered desk. As if to accent his air of implacable iron, the room was fragrant with a mass of fresh cut roses in an antique brass vase on the end of the desk. His career had begun on a livestock collective, and he still had the manner of a butcher. He kept them standing while his slaty eyes narrowed to inspect Anya as if she had been a fallow heifer. She had reddened in spite of herself before he nodded curtly for them to sit.
“This ultimatum?” His guttural Russian exploded at her. “Are you insane?”
“Colonel Bogdanov, we—we have tested every alternative.” She held herself stiffly upright, trying not to tremble. “If anybody is insane, it is our informer in the weapons laboratory. A computer programmer named Carboni. He has demanded freedom for this dissident and his family, with adequate measures to assure their safety. He refuses to consider anything else. I think—” She had to catch her breath. “I think you should know why.”
“So!” A grunted command.
“We have gathered a dossier.” Eyes still on him, she tried not to see him. “Information that seems to explain his behavior.” She spoke rapidly and flatly, almost as if reading the words. “This Arnoldo Carboni was born in the American city of Boston. His mother’s family had once been wealthy, but while she was still an infant her father failed in business and killed himself. When her mother died, she used the insurance money to attend Columbia University in the city of New York. She met Leon Alyoshka there—”
“In New York?” The colonel squinted, at her. “When?”
“Many years—”
“Comrade Bogdanov,” Shuvalov broke in, “the traitor was once a trusted man, though he had never joined the party. His Jewish ancestry had been concealed. He had earned honors in science at Moscow University. He was allowed to spend two years in America as a graduate student in nuclear physics.”
“True.” She nodded. “And Carboni is his bastard son.”
“A son?” The colonel blinked at Shuvalov. “Is that possible?”
“Not likely.” Shuvalov shook his head, scowling at her. “I aided the investigations of Alyoshka. I never heard of any American son.”
“Neither did Alyoshka.” She straightened to face their disbelief. “Comrades, if I may explain. Alyoshka was married. Here. His wife was not permitted to go abroad with him, no doubt to guarantee his return. It is not surprising that he fell in love with an American girl. A fellow student at Columbia. Although he seems to have told her about his wife, she allowed him to involve her in a passionate affair.
“When his two years ran out, that had to end. The girl had become pregnant, but she never told him. She kept the child—named for him; he used to sign himself Arny Ames when they checked into motels. Later, she was briefly married to a laborer named Carboni. He adopted
10
Alyoshka
A nya followed Shuvalov out of the Lubyanka. They found the plainclothes lieutenant waiting with the Chaika. Fast again, he drove them out of Moscow, southwest across the ring road and on into the empty-seeming greenbelt.
Well inside the forest they passed a billboard that read HALT! NO TRESPASSING! WATER CONSERVATION DISTRICT. Out under the dull sky again, he parked beside a guardhouse identified with a gold-lettered sign. SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH CENTER. Khaki-clad sentries checked Shuvalov’s pass, frowned over the visas in Anya’s passport, and telephoned the colonel before they were passed through the turnstile.
Inside the tall chain link fence, the seven-story office building of the First Chief Directorate made a striking contrast to the grimy old prison, its window-walls of aluminum and glass shimmering out of well-kept lawns and flower beds.
Bogdanov was a dark massive man with thinning gray hair and a face like the nose of a battle tank. He sat facing them across a wide, uncluttered desk. As if to accent his air of implacable iron, the room was fragrant with a mass of fresh cut roses in an antique brass vase on the end of the desk. His career had begun on a livestock collective, and he still had the manner of a butcher. He kept them standing while his slaty eyes narrowed to inspect Anya as if she had been a fallow heifer. She had reddened in spite of herself before he nodded curtly for them to sit.
“This ultimatum?” His guttural Russian exploded at her. “Are you insane?”
“Colonel Bogdanov, we—we have tested every alternative.” She held herself stiffly upright, trying not to tremble. “If anybody is insane, it is our informer in the weapons laboratory. A computer programmer named Carboni. He has demanded freedom for this dissident and his family, with adequate measures to assure their safety. He refuses to consider anything else. I think—” She had to catch her breath. “I think you should know why.”
“So!” A grunted command.
“We have gathered a dossier.” Eyes still on him, she tried not to see him. “Information that seems to explain his behavior.” She spoke rapidly and flatly, almost as if reading the words. “This Arnoldo Carboni was born in the American city of Boston. His mother’s family had once been wealthy, but while she was still an infant her father failed in business and killed himself. When her mother died, she used the insurance money to attend Columbia University in the city of New York. She met Leon Alyoshka there—”
“In New York?” The colonel squinted, at her. “When?”
“Many years—”
“Comrade Bogdanov,” Shuvalov broke in, “the traitor was once a trusted man, though he had never joined the party. His Jewish ancestry had been concealed. He had earned honors in science at Moscow University. He was allowed to spend two years in America as a graduate student in nuclear physics.”
“True.” She nodded. “And Carboni is his bastard son.”
“A son?” The colonel blinked at Shuvalov. “Is that possible?”
“Not likely.” Shuvalov shook his head, scowling at her. “I aided the investigations of Alyoshka. I never heard of any American son.”
“Neither did Alyoshka.” She straightened to face their disbelief. “Comrades, if I may explain. Alyoshka was married. Here. His wife was not permitted to go abroad with him, no doubt to guarantee his return. It is not surprising that he fell in love with an American girl. A fellow student at Columbia. Although he seems to have told her about his wife, she allowed him to involve her in a passionate affair.
“When his two years ran out, that had to end. The girl had become pregnant, but she never told him. She kept the child—named for him; he used to sign himself Arny Ames when they checked into motels. Later, she was briefly married to a laborer named Carboni. He adopted
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