traffic. “Good morning,” he said in our language, though it was awkward for him. “I’m Ludwig. A friend.”
“German is fine,” I said in German.
“Gut,” said Ludwig. He took a right at the next intersection, and we started driving out of town.
Brano was gazing contentedly out the window. “So?” I said.
He looked at me and blinked twice. “How rested are you?”
“Not very, but I’ll manage.”
“We can get you a change of clothes from my wardrobe. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping. Want to come, Ludwig?”
The driver nodded. “Certainly.”
“He makes all my fashion decisions,” said Brano, smiling.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Stop what?” Brano said it as if he didn’t know.
“I just spent nine hours in a train, based on a KGB officer’s suggestion. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Through the window, Habsburg buildings, so much cleaner than at home, sped by. Brano said, “We’re going to make things right.”
“Good luck.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Maybe I will be,” I said, “but I need to know everything. From the beginning.”
Brano said to Ludwig, “Take the long way.” Then he turned back to me. “You know about Gavra’s trip to America?”
“I know he went.”
“Well, I sent him. I’d known for a while about Jerzy Michalec and Rosta Gorski’s plan to seize power at home. The Austrians,” he said, nodding at Ludwig, “were watching the emigres here in Vienna. Gorski met with them regularly. He was gathering men to put back in the country. As you can imagine, I wasn’t pleased about this.”
“End of communism and all.”
Brano stared blankly at me. “Yes. But more importantly, I learned that Jerzy Michalec’s group-the Galicia Committee-was being funded almost entirely by the Americans. That was more troubling to me than the demise of communism.”
Ludwig made a turn and sped up; soon we were on a broad highway.
“I got in touch with an old friend,” said Brano. “Yuri Kolev. He worked from the inside, I from the outside. We started to gain a picture of what was happening. It was his idea to bring in the Russians. He knew someone in Moscow he thought he could trust. Sarospatak seemed to be the flashpoint, so we agreed that Russian agents would be best sent there. To let Ferenc’s revolution follow its own course. We didn’t want the Galicia Committee taking control, and we didn’t want anyone killed unnecessarily. But the next part-” He tapped his head. “That was my stupidity.”
“The files,” I said.
He nodded. “Kolev didn’t know Jerzy Michalec. Their paths had never crossed. But I remembered the case and asked him to gather the files on it from the archives. They could be of use; they might be able to discredit him. Yuri called back, two weeks ago, and told me they were gone. Signed out by Rosta Gorski, authorized by Nikolai Romek.” He shook his head. “Romek was a surprise. I’d known him a long time ago-you might remember him from my retirement party. I thought he was better than that. Kolev and I realized they were going to doctor or destroy the files. We didn’t know they’d follow up by killing the witnesses.” He tapped his temple again. “My stupidity. I didn’t imagine they would be so thorough. Only a week ago, on Sunday, when Dusan Volan was found killed, did it occur to me that everyone was in danger.”
“You knew on Sunday,” I said.
“Late Sunday night, yes. Kolev called. In a panic. We knew that the people in the files were in danger. He sent Gavra to America to protect one of them, Lebed Putonski. But Gavra failed.”
I rubbed my stinging eyes as the anger bled into me. Brano knew, from Sunday, that Lena’s life was in danger. “Why didn’t you warn us? Lena’s dead!”
Brano seemed surprised by my emotion. “I told Yuri Kolev to guard you,” he said, then cleared his throat. “On Wednesday, I found out he was dead too. So I tried to get in touch with Gavra. He wasn’t in; then no one answered his phone.”
That started to make sense, but then it didn’t. “You couldn’t have just called me?”
“I did, Emil.” He paused. “I called your house. I talked to Lena.”
“But-” I began, then understood. Outside the window, rolling countryside eased past. “You were her handler. In the Ministry. Lena worked for you.”
That, too, seemed to surprise him. He scratched the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“You bastard.”
In the rearview, Ludwig’s eyes flashed at me, but he drove on without comment.
Brano said, “Lena told me you two were going to your place in Ruscova. I thought she was taking care of it.”
I rubbed my eyes, remembering her attempts to get me to leave with her. She’d been angry, frustrated by my resolve. Now I knew why. “You should have told me.”
“You’re probably right, Emil. I’m sorry about that.”
Now I was the one left surprised, because I couldn’t remember when, during the three decades he worked in the Militia station, Brano had ever apologized.
The road hummed beneath us.
“What about Gavra?” I said. “You saw the tape, right?”
Brano scratched his nose and looked out the window again. “I don’t know about Gavra. I imagine he was coerced.”
“Why?”
“Because of me. Michalec probably thought it would shut me up.” Brano let a little smile appear in the corners of his lips. “Michalec’s wrong.”
“But there’s nothing else to do,” I said. “Even your Russian friend admitted that.”
Brano shook his head. “A lot of the Galicia Committee are good people, no matter who’s funding them. Earnest. Interested in giving the government back to the people. The problem is at the top. Michalec, Gorski, Romek, Andras Todescu, and some other old communists who don’t want to lose their influence. The rest of them, the ones doing the work, they’re good people. The problem is, how do you get rid of the bad eggs?”
I said the first thing that came to me. “You kill them.”
“I suppose that’s one way, Emil. But it might be more effective to slander them. That’s where our friend Ludwig comes in.”
On cue, the driver waved his hand proudly.
Brano said, “You’ll be thanking this man a lot in the next days. He’s gotten Michalec to come to us.”
I had to slow down. My simple militiaman’s head wanted to take in each little bit and turn it over in my hands until it was familiar before moving on to the next bit. Brano, unlike me, had had plenty of time to learn, and when I told him to stop I saw the irritation in his face. This was why he’d brought me here, and I needed to listen. “Okay,” I said. “Go on.”
As it turned out, once the trial and execution had been broadcast, Brano’s friend Ludwig got in touch with a friend in Austrian chancellor Franz Vranitzky’s cabinet. The cabinet member then contacted our embassy on EbendorferstraBe to invite Michalec to Vienna.
“Why?”
Ludwig answered joyfully, “So the chancellor can congratulate him on his revolution and discuss monetary loans. No one could turn down an offer like that.”
“You’ve got some influence,” I told him.
“I’ve got friends all over,” said Ludwig. “Even old commies.”
“Of course,” said Brano, “the chancellor knows nothing about this, because Michalec will never meet with him.”
I still didn’t understand. “Then why are you bringing him here?”
Brano paused. “When Jerzy was released from prison in 1956, after fathering Rosta Gorski, he went to work
