“Write down what you’ve already shared,” said Pavlov, as the man set the paper and pen in front of me and returned to his chair. “Then begin talking again when you’re ready to add on to the message.”
“Okay,” I said, jotting it all down quickly.
“You write fast,” said Pavlov. “This is good.”
“Thank you. I’m finished and ready to continue.”
“We are ready, too.”
“Okay,” I said, my head down, as I prepared to continue writing in English while speaking in Russian. “The message should go on to say, ‘Loretta and the children are also exhausted. All of the art exhibits and travel have been taxing on their bodies.’ ”
I paused for a second, recalling exactly what Koskinen had ordered me to write regarding Loretta and the children while I was supposedly working at Nagaev Bay. My mind had grown cloudy over what exactly I’d written down some nine months ago. After a few more seconds, I remembered that Koskinen had said, “Tell Bobby, however, that your wife is traveling with her paintings a lot with the children.” This, of course, had been supposedly happening while I was working at Nagaev Bay.
“Sorry for the pause, Director Pavlov,” I said. “The message will then say, ‘I wish you were here in person for me to tell you this next bit of news. It is quite sad, I must say. I’ve tried like hell to reason with Loretta over the past three weeks, but there’s no changing her mind. She has asked for a divorce. No warning whatsoever. She claims to have wanted it for years, but hadn’t known how to tell me. Her emotion toward me has gone completely cold. It’s clearly over.
“‘I guess now that her art has taken my place, she no longer loves or needs me. I also found out that she’d been secretly sending postcards to an art professor here in Leningrad from the various towns that hosted her exhibits. Perhaps she loves him. I look forward to going into more depth with you regarding this painful issue, and am actually hoping you will soon be taking that possible position at the embassy in Berlin at year’s end, as I would love to assist you. And I need the job.
“‘The best thing I can do right now is grant Loretta at least a clean separation and leave, because the children can’t bear to see us argue anymore. From Berlin, maybe I can meet them every other month in Riga. They love riding the train. Please cable me back straightaway at this telegraph office and direct it to the new Leningrad office I’ve listed above.’”
Before I continued writing, I looked up and asked Pavlov, “What is the address?”
“We’ll take care of that,” he said.
I nodded and continued talking and writing. “The conclusion of the message should say, ‘I will be stopping by the telegraph station daily until I hear from you. Your true friend, Prescott.’”
I looked up and set the pen down. The three men were staring at me with deadpan faces. Maybe they were trying to catch up to my thinking.
“You judged correctly,” said Pavlov. “You knew we would never let your family leave the prisons with you. But now this divorce explains to your comrade why they will not be joining you in Berlin. Now we just have to cable this to the Kremlin. They will study it and then forward it to the offices in Leningrad. From there it will be cabled to the embassy in Argentina, and then you must hope your comrade is indeed going to Berlin. If he is, your little plan just might get you out of here. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“But make no mistake. If you were to arrive in Berlin and decide to have your American government try to negotiate your family’s release, all of them would be killed immediately. Just a hint of any sort of inquiry by your government, even by President Roosevelt himself, about the condition of your family, would cause their deaths. Don’t ever try to get clever, Negro zek.”
“I want to say right up front,” I said, forming a lie in my mouth, “that the important intelligence I gather will be worthy of everyone’s time and consideration. I am no fan of America. It’s a country that will forever hate the Negro.”
“They love their ropes and white sheets,” said Pavlov. “What else do you have to say about the mission?”
“Well,” I said, preparing to ask two questions I already knew the answers to. “Do you know which camp my wife and daughter are being held at? And where is it located?”
Pavlov shuffled some papers in front of him, reading one. “They are being held at the MR4 Labor Camp over closer to Finland. It’s near the town of Kirovsk, which is on the Kola Peninsula.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“What else?” he said.
“I have three requests right up front,” I said. “I believe Bobby will respond within the week. And based on his wife’s relationship with President Roosevelt, I am almost certain his original wish to be stationed in Berlin by the end of 1938 will be granted. It had been all but guaranteed long ago. Argentina was just a transition posting.”
“Your three requests,” said Pavlov. “What are they?”
“One!” I said. “As soon as you receive word from Bobby that Berlin is an affirmative, I want to be moved to the camp where my wife and daughter are being held. I want to confirm, with my own eyes, that they’re alive. Meanwhile, I can wait at that camp until we receive word from Bobby that he’s arrived in Berlin.”
“Continue,” he said.
“Two, my son must leave here with me and be allowed to remain at the camp with his mother. He is developing one sickness after another, and I worry about his long-term health. Three, I would like for a particular zek comrade of mine, Lovett Fort-Whiteman, to be allowed to remain here in Magadan and not be sent to the mines. Once I have completed the mission, I ask that Fort-Whitman be released along with my family.”
“The Kremlin will decide whether to accept your preconditions,” said Pavlov.
“Thank you. All I ask is that the assignment have a specified time length, one that would assure all of our releases in no more than one year. Otherwise Stalin must certainly know they will die in the camps if kept inside much longer than that. I can gather plenty of intelligence in twelve months.”
“Stop,” said Pavlov. “You are repeating word for word all of the terms that were in Commander Koskinen’s original letter to the Kremlin. You must have it all memorized. I can’t blame you, but we know most of this already.”
“Sorry,” I said, realizing I had indeed memorized everything word for word. Hell, I’d been walking around like a robot for weeks.
“You must know,” said Pavlov, “I would very much like to take you behind this building and shoot you in your fucking black face. And if consideration of this mission weren’t being handled at the very top level, from our Great Stalin himself, I would do just that. I’m known as a madman. Everyone from the mines to this coast believes me to be so! Have you heard this?”
“Yes,” I said, watching him clinch his jaw and turn a bit red. It was as if he hated not being in control of this situation, of having to sit there and listen to me make all of my requests.
“I am indeed a very mad man,” he said, removing his pistol from his waist and setting it on the table in front of him. “But… you’re not to be touched, you see, at least for the time being. In fact, you and your son will be sleeping in a vacant room in one of the Dalstroi barracks until Berlin is confirmed. The guard outside will return you to the camp. You are to finish your day’s work. Commander Koskinen will have you work alongside another lead engineer whom you must bring up to speed. At day’s end, you will turn your brigade over to this engineer. After you return to your barracks, gather your items and wait with your boy. We will be sending a guard to retrieve you tonight and take you to your new room. Please leave now.”