“So you do want me to take something,” he said quietly. “The documents.”
“No, of course not. I would never put you at risk. I told you that. Anyway, they’re a passport for me. I take them.”
“Then how will Larry know that all this is for real?”
His father looked at him curiously, as if Nick hadn’t been listening. “Because it’s you. He’ll believe you.”
Nick’s chest, already tight, seemed to clench further. Not just a messenger.
“You see how important-that no one know. Just the fact of it, that such a list exists, is dangerous for me.” His father paused. “Now you.”
“Are you trying to frighten me?”
“No, protect you. I’ll tell you what to say when you leave, not before. Just in case. Who Larry should contact. No one else, just the principals. He must understand this. Everyone talks. On both sides. But if we move quickly-”
“Before your names can run for cover, you mean,” Nick said. “Your chips.”
“No,” he said, cut by the edge in Nick’s voice. “Before the leaks. There are always leaks. Before he knows. I wouldn’t be safe here.”
“You won’t be safe there either. They’ll know it was you.”
“That depends. Sometimes it’s better to let people stay in place for a while.”
“To watch them.”
His father nodded. “Or turn them. It’s been known to happen.”
“Come play on our side,” Nick said evenly. “Your choice.”
“Nick-”
“Do you know them, the people you’re going to sell?”
“No.”
“That must make it easier.”
“Yes, it does.” He looked at Nick steadily. “Your scruples are misplaced,” he said, his voice cool, a kind of reprimand. Then, backing down, “Nick, it’s the only way.” He turned, wanting to bring it to an end. “Walk with me. I’ll be late.”
Nick stared at his back, the familiar hunch of his shoulders, then took a step, pulled along.
“And what if they don’t leave them in place? Then what happens?”
“What you’d expect. The usual scurrying.”
“I mean, what happens to you? Your life wouldn’t be worth-”
“Like the old Comintern days? Send someone out to deal with me? Not anymore. I’ll be all right, once I’m there.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
He smiled a little. “Never bet against yourself, Nick.” Nick glanced up, recognizing it, his old rule of thumb, when they played cards at the cabin. “That sort of thing’s a little old-fashioned, even for the comrades. I’ll be all right, if we move quickly.”
“How quickly? Larry’s in Paris. You know, at the peace talks. He won’t be able to just drop everything.”
“To negotiate for me? Yes, he will. Nobody wants peace. But they’ll want this.”
I don’t want it, Nick thought, so clearly that for a second it seemed he’d said it out loud. But his father’s face, eager, full of plans, registered nothing, and Nick looked away before it could show on his own, the one betrayal his father did not expect. And was it true? Maybe it would be different later, when it was over. Maybe it was this he didn’t want, the plotting and covered tracks, looking over his shoulder, the tired city, gray, expecting the worst.
“Then why wait?” he said suddenly, an escape hatch. “I could go this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” His father turned to him. “So soon.”
“What’s the difference? Nobody knows I’m here anyway.”
“But they will later. They’ll check. Visa dates. The hotel. It has to look right. It wouldn’t make sense, your coming for a day. That’s not a visit.” He stopped. “Besides, I don’t want you to leave.”
“But the sooner we-”
“Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case.”
“Don’t bet against yourself,” Nick said,
“No. But sometimes-” He paused again. “In case it goes wrong,” he finished. “At least we have this time.” He put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “It’s not so long for a visit. I’ll show you things.” A weekend parent, offering treats.
Nick nodded, embarrassed. How could he go?
But before he could say anything else, make an excuse that would play, he saw his father look past him. He withdrew his hand, alert.
“V alter, jak se mate?”
Nick turned.
“Anna,” his father said, but it was another Anna, broader and short, slightly out of breath from climbing the hill. She said something in Czech, but his father answered in English, “No, we have ten minutes. I’ll walk with you. An American,” he said, nodding toward Nick, an explanation for the English. “I was showing him the way to the Loreto.”
“ Dobre odpoledne,” Nick said, offering his hand. “Nick Warren.”
“How do you do? Anna Masaryk.”
“Masaryk?”
“My uncle,” she said automatically, smiling a little at his surprise.
For a second he was jarred, as if she had stepped out of history, straight from the death scene in the Czernin courtyard over the wall. But she was no older than his father, someone you could meet in the street.
“You heard they took Milos‘s book?” she said to his father.
“Now it begins all over again. How many years this time? All that work.”
“Maybe he kept a copy.”
“What difference? They’ll never allow it now. They don’t want us to know.”
“You know,” his father said, consoling.
