Shift: A Novel

Melchior’s tone was joking, but Ivelitsch responded to it seriously. “Have you heard anything specific?”

“Let’s just say that if you want to get away with knocking off the president of the United States, you probably shouldn’t go around telling everyone that that’s what you intend to do. Have you heard anything?”

Ivelitsch shrugged. “Mafia men dislike Communists even more than they dislike Kennedys. But if and when it happens, we need to be ready to take advantage of the chaos that will surely follow. Until then, there’s the question of Orpheus, and, of course, the bomb. We need to get the former out of the country, the latter in.”

Melchior could only shake his head at Ivelitsch’s candor. The man was working as hard as possible to prove his break from his employer. Either that or he planned on shooting Melchior as soon as he found out what he wanted to know. Of course, Melchior was considering the same thing, assuming he could get Ivelitsch to stop talking about U.S. politics and tell him where the hell Naz was, or what he wanted for her return.

“So,” he said, moving the conversation in that direction. “Where do you propose we move Orpheus? With Miss Haverman?”

“Is that her name?” Ivelitsch said. “A lovely girl. Beguiling, I have to say. I can see why she’d have such a hold on Orpheus.”

“How much do you know about that?”

“Rather less than you, I think,” Ivelitsch said. “Edward Logan’s records on Project Orpheus seem to have disappeared from the Boston office. Ditto Joe Scheider’s from Langley.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Melchior said.

“I didn’t think so,” Ivelitsch said, smiling wryly. “At any rate, Miss Haverman is enjoying the comforts of one of the luxury suites in the basement of the Soviet Embassy for the time being. As for Orpheus, I think he’d be better off in the Soviet Union.”

Melchior snorted. “Putting aside the fact that that is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, I thought you were leaving KGB?”

“Why would I do something like that? KGB has access to the kind of money and manpower you and I could never raise, at least in the short term. And unlike you, I’ve been nothing but a model citizen my entire career. My superiors have no reason to suspect me.”

“If only they could hear this conversation,” Melchior said. “All right then. Orpheus to Russia. And the bomb?”

“We haven’t found it yet, but you have to realize that it’s only a matter of time. It’s leaking—badly. A dozen people have already fallen ill. It’s a trail of human bread crumbs. You need to tell me where it is so I can send someone to fix it before the Cubans or my team find it or, even worse, it’s no longer good for anything.”

“And then you look the other way while I move it again?”

“We move it here.”

“Here …?”

“To the States. We can bring it in through the Keys or New Orleans or even Houston.”

“And then what? We blow up the White House? The Empire State Building?”

“Don’t be stupid, Melchior. You can only blow up a bomb once. But you can threaten to blow it up forever, or at least until people no longer believe you, at which point you can always sell it.”

“Or actually blow it up.”

Ivelitsch smiled. “Or actually blow it up.”

Melchior shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re crazy or insane.”

“Those words mean the same thing.”

“And you’d have to be crazy insane if you think I’m going to tell you where either Orpheus or the bomb is. But in any case, we’re going to have to settle this question another day. We got company.”

“I love it when you go working class. It’s almost as charming as your autodidacticism. I assume you mean the gentleman at two o’clock. Navy pinstripe, rep tie.”

“Andover. Nice catch. But I was actually referring to your man. Seven o’clock. Gray suit, poorly fitted.”

“Sartorial socialism at its finest. What gave him away?”

“He’s doing the crossword and he keeps saying ‘Blyat’ under his breath. Russian for ‘whore,’ as I recall.”

“Well, that’s a good enough reason to kill him, I suppose, although he also has a habit of singing ‘The Internationale’ at three in the morning after he’s polished off his nightly bottle of vodka.”

“I’d practically be doing you a favor.” Melchior’s chuckle faded into the vast open space of the waiting room. “We have to kill them, don’t we?”

“For my sake, no. KGB knows of the work you did for Raul, so it was easy enough to convince my superiors that I was meeting you to see if I could turn you. But you’re already under suspicion, and if word gets back to Langley that you spent a half hour chatting with a top Soviet operative—”

“You flatter yourself.”

“—it will look bad. Angleton already suspects you’re working for the Castros, and Drew Everton can’t be too happy about the fact that you apparently killed Orpheus rather than recovering him, and then there’s poor Rip. At some point they’re going to call you in for a meeting, and you’ll be lucky if you get out before Kennedy loses the election next year.”

“You know more about my career than I do. Okay then. How do you want to play this?”