contempt:
– The FBI didn’t think it likely that you’d try to find me. That’s what they said. Me? I knew you’d come. I didn’t believe it was an accident that you ended up in the United States. They tried to tell me it was a coincidence, that therwas no planning, that it had come about by chance, that fate had conspired to bring you to the country where your wife died.
Yates slowly shook his head.
– Agents today are so fucking dumb I could cry. They’re soft. They have to go to charm school, learn how to eat with four different types of knife and fork. They have first-class degrees and run marathons but they don’t know anything about the real world. College kids with guns. They sacked me: did you know that?
He waited for the translation, wanting to judge Leo’s reaction. Leo nodded.
– You retired only a few months after my wife’s murder.
– I was one of the best agents who ever worked for the FBI. In my time, there were mavericks in the Bureau, people who got the job done by any means necessary and no questions were asked. We were given space to act, to make decisions. We were judged on results, not on process. We didn’t have restrictions, or rules. We did whatever we needed to do. Those times are over. The FBI has changed. They want people who do as they’re told, who think in a certain way, company men, no initiative, no guts, every decision needs four permission slips to be signed.
Wistful, he glanced into the near-distance, seeming to forget his guests. Then, abruptly, he turned back to Leo.
– You’re risking a lot coming here. With one phone call, I could have you kicked out the country.
Nara translated, looking at Leo, her eyes imploring him to leave. Yates immediately spotted the division of opinion between the two of them and added, hastily:
– Don’t get me wrong. I’m not going to do that. I don’t get many visitors, certainly not ones I can talk with about interesting subjects.
He was lonely. He was vain. And he was proud. Like a professional interrogator, Leo weighed these characteristics, evaluating how likely it was that the man would talk and what pressure might be needed. The combination of vices was promising. Yates had remained silent for many years. He was bitter. The fact that the truth had been erased from historical records bothered him as much as it bothered Leo. He wanted to tell his story. He wanted to talk. Leo only needed to flatter him.
Yates sat down, sinking into his comfortable chair, as laid back as if there were a sporting event on television.
– They told me you’d defected? That seems normal for a Communist. In my experience, Communists generally end up betraying their country. You Reds can’t stay faithful for long. Loyalty is a virtue I prize. I’m certain the United States has the most loyal citizens in the world, which is one of the reasons why we’re going to win the Cold War. Take me, for example: I looked after my wife right up until the day she died, long after she stopped loving me. It didn’t matter that she didn’t love me. It didn’t matter that I didn’t love her. I never left her. I knew her every need. I designed this house around her needs. Hard as it might be for some people to accept but I knew my country’s needs too – she needed strength against her enemies. I gave her strength. I never compromised. I never pulled my punches. I did whatever it took and I’d do the same again.
Leo listened as Nara translated. Yates interrupted:
– You’re here to kill me?
Leo understood the English. Before he could reply, Yates laughed:
– Don’t be shy!
Leo used a phrase he’d practised.
– I wish to find out who killed my wife.
– And you wish to kill them? I see it in your eyes. You and me, we’re not so different – we do whatever it takes.
Yates slipped a hand into his pocket, taking out a small revolver and putting it on the arm of his chair. He studied Leo’s reaction to the gun carefully, then continued speaking as if the gun weren’t there.
– You’ve travelled a long way, so I want to be as helpful as I can. Who killed your wife? Who killed your pretty Russian wife? She was pretty, wasn’t she? She was a beauty. No wonder you’re sore about losing her. I bet you couldn’t believe your luck, marrying a pretty woman like that. Hard to understand why she was a teacher. Seems a waste to me. She could have had a real career in America – a model, an actress, her face in all the magazines.
Leo said:
– Who shot her?
Yates swirled the remains of his beer, as if mixing a potion.
– It wasn’t me.
Leo had heard thousands of denials in his career. To his disappointment he was certain that Yates was telling the truth.
Same Day
Yates raised three fingers.
– Three people died that night: Jesse Austin, Anna Austin and your wife. A lot of Negroes believed it was me that pulled the trigger on old Jesse. They think I’m the devil and I was the one who shot him even though I was standing on the other side of the street when Austin was killed, with my hands in my pockets surrounded by witnesses, real witnesses too, not the kind in line for a promotion, or trying to duck jail time. Over the years I’ve received hundreds of death threats.
Yates gestured towards the bookshelves and Leo turned, presuming there to be a bundle of these letters tied together. But there were none and no proof that any death threats had been sent. Yates continued without producing them.
– Negroes complain about lynching but what they’re really complaining about is that they don’t get to do it to white folks. That’s what equality means to most of them: the right to lynch us back. Lynching for all, regardless of colour.
Yates laughed while Nara translated. He was greatly amused by his own joke, which he seemed to consider profound wisdom. He didn’t wait for her to finish, keen to carry on with his story.
– The truth is that the idea of killing Austin never crossed my mind. The idea had never been proposed by the FBI, I swear to God, not once did we discuss it, not even when the old fool was telling the world how he’d rather fight for the Communists than for the United States.
Leo had no interest in this rhetorical performance, nor in hearing the many reasons why Yates hated Austin, and asked:
– Who shot him?
– Your people did. The Communists killed him. Jesse Austin was shot dead by a Soviet agent.
Leo nodded, he sighed.
– I believe you.
Yates lowered his beer, checking with Nara as she translated Leo’s statement. He had always believed Jesse Austin’s death was a Soviet plot, not an American one.
Leo said in Dari:
– My daughter Elena was in New York, on that same trip. She was working for a Soviet government agency. She believed that her mission was to rejuvenate the career of Jesse Austin. It is clear to me that this was a lie. She’d been tricked. However, I have never been able to find out why my country wanted Jesse Austin dead. My daughter obviously didn’t know.
Hearing the translation, Yates nodded.
– Elena? That girl couldn’t have explained it to you. She didn’t know anything. All she did when we arrested her was cry. She honestly believed she was giving Jesse’s career a boost. It was pitiful how stupid she was.
Leo felt tremendous fury at these words. His daughter had been exploited because she was a dreamer, a young girl who’d fallen in love. Hearing Yates mock her, the desire to kill him was so strong he was forced to shut his eyes briefly, controlling his anger, allowing Yates to speak without interruption.
– They needed someone like her to force Austin into the open. He was practically a hermit, never going out. That girl turns up, talks about changing the world, and he can’t say no. The only person who could’ve convinced Jesse Austin was someone like her.
Finally Leo understood that Elena’s naivety hadn’t merely made it easy for her to be manipulated, it was the
