“He said that he had been impressed by my work at Ve-Cheka and because he himself was originally a Pole he was aware of the harassment of Poles by certain Soviets. He said too that the military judge had been angered by being dragged into what was essentially political harassment and had spoken to him angrily.
“He said that he could offer me a way out. If I agreed to going underground as a Cheka officer my sentence would be struck out. The record would be wiped clean.”
“Did you accept?”
Zagorsky smiled. “Of course I did. I told him to let the trial and the verdict stand. It would provide me with perfect cover. Like you, everybody would assume that I was dead.” He laughed. “You couldn’t have better cover than that.”
“Can I ask you what you’ve been doing since then?”
“You can ask, but that uniform you’re wearing means that the answers will be cautious.”
“Tell me what you can.”
“I went down to Samarkand and ran a network of illegals into Iran and Afghanistan. Then like you I went to university to improve my foreign languages. Mainly my English.” He smiled. “And now I’m here.”
“Spying on us.”
“Collecting information let us say. And what about you? How is the family?”
For long moments Shapiro looked at Zagorsky and then said softly, “Are you kidding?”
The Russian looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t understand.”
“You mean you never asked what had happened to us?”
“I went straight down to Samarkand the next day. I was there for two years. A lot had changed by the time I got back to Moscow. A lot of people were no longer there. One didn’t ask what had happened to them or where they’d gone.”
“What was the last you heard of me?”
“As I remember it you were in Warsaw with your wife and child. A son wasn’t it?”
“Yes. It was a son. When you were put on trial we were in court. They forced us to go. My wife, Anna, was Polish and she was very upset. Not only about you but what the Polish Bolsheviks were planning to do in Poland. We escaped to Berlin. I got a job in a bar. Washing-up at first and later on as a barman.
“I came back one night and found that my wife had been murdered. Garotted. And they stamped a red star on her wrist. They took my small son away. I don’t know what happened to him.”
For several minutes Zagorsky just sat there and Shapiro could see that he was genuinely shocked. Then the Russian took a deep breath.
“Saying I’m sorry won’t help, Josef. Nevertheless I am sorry. I can’t bear to think about it happening. It sickens me.”
“All for the good of the Party, comrade?”
Zagorsky shook his head. “I won’t attempt to make excuses. There are no excuses that would satisfy me. And there are none that would satisfy you.” He paused and sighed. “And that’s why you’re wearing that uniform.”
“I never needed a uniform, Zag. It’s my life’s work to fight you people.”
“We’re not all murderers, Josef. You know better than that.”
“You’re all part of it. You know it goes on but you never raise a voice to stop it. You may not be a murderer, Zag. But you’re an accessory to murder. And in my book the one is as evil as the other.”
“Do you include yourself in that? You must have known a lot of what was going on when you and Anna were working for me.”
“I don’t excuse myself but I take comfort from the fact that I was very young, I thought it would change and when it didn’t I escaped.” He paused. “I’d rather be a coward than a murderer, Zag.”
“When did this happen in Berlin?”
“About twenty years ago.”
“And you’ve hated Russians for nearly twenty years.”
“No. I loved the Russians. I just hate Bolsheviks.”
“Including me?”
“No. You didn’t have any part in murdering my wife. They were ready to murder you if it had suited them. I’m just sorry for you.”
“Is there any way—short of treason—that I can try and make up for that terrible thing?”
“Yeah, come over to us and work against them.”
“I said short of treason.”
“Are you married Zag?”
“No. I don’t live the kind of life that goes with marriage.”
“How long are you staying in London with the mission?”
“I was posted here permanently. But I shall put in for a transfer now.”
“Why?”
“It would be pointless for me to stay. You know too much about me and I wouldn’t relish working against you.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever really believe in the Bolsheviks? Especially way back when we were on that boat?”
Zagorsky closed his eyes, his face turned up towards the ceiling as he thought. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Shapiro.
“It’s a tough question to answer, Josef. I need to search my heart. On the boat I think the answer has to be ‘yes.’ I believed in Communism, especially Lenin’s version of it. Not Trotsky’s and not Stalin’s—although he wasn’t all that important in those days. So Communism I believed in, but Bolshevism I wasn’t sure about. Let’s say I gave it the benefit of the doubt. There were harsh things to be done to organise the country. At least the Bolsheviks were determined enough and ruthless enough to do what was necessary.”
“How long did you go on believing in them?”
“Until my trial. I knew then that one didn’t have to be guilty of anything beyond the greed and envy of rivals to lose one’s freedom or one’s life. After the deal was done with Dzerzhinski I just switched off my mind so far as politics were concerned. I made my work, my life.” He shrugged. “Maybe not my life—more an existence.” He sighed. “Not a hero’s story, my friend. But the truth.”
It was too near the pattern of Shapiro’s
