Zorin removed his pistol from his holster and stepped forward, sticking the end of the barrel against the skin right between my eyes. Part of me wanted him to pull the trigger.
“Shut your American mouth,” said Zorin. “You think because you are speaking Russian to me, that makes it okay to talk fancy with me? The doctors are busy attending to zeks with serious diseases. Do you hear me?”
I nodded, the pistol still stabbing my forehead. James sat still with his plate on his lap. My fifteen-year-old boy was a young man now, unafraid I sensed, able to handle himself if need be.
“I can sense that you are growing brave,” said Zorin. “You feel as though you don’t have as much to live for now. But maybe if you get a good night’s sleep before the morning departure, you’ll realize how important your son is to you. Don’t you remember that feeling of having your soul ripped out of you when you saw your dead wife and daughter?”
I nodded.
“You don’t ever want to feel that again, I’m sure. Besides, if you start acting too bold, the Kremlin will just have one of our undercover NKVD men visit Berlin and kill you, then order me to shoot your son here.”
He finally pulled the pistol back and reholstered it.
“Let me have your chair, Osip,” said Zorin. “And bring me the briefcases.”
Osip stood, slid his chair over, and Zorin sat with James and me. Then Osip placed the briefcases at Zorin’s feet before returning to the doorway, where he continued standing guard.
“Pay very close attention to this,” said Zorin. “For the sake of this mission, we will call the town of Valga, Estonia, the halfway point between Berlin and MR4. There will be absolutely no cable communication between you and me while you are in Berlin. And make no mistake… the Kremlin has made me their official go-between. It is I who will relay all intelligence to them once I receive it from you. Clear?”
“Yes,” I said, setting my half-empty plate on the floor while James continued eating.
“This briefcase is yours for now,” he said, picking one up and handing it to me. “And the other one is mine for now. As you can see, they are brand-new briefcases, each made by the Kremlin engineers for this specific mission. Steel covered with brown leather. They can only be unlocked with a combination of nine numbers and letters. Both briefcases have the same combination. I was told that you have an extraordinary memory.”
“Yes,” I said, running my fingers over the seven small, gold, button-like fixtures located just under the briefcase handle.
“Good, because you are never to write this combination down. “It is 7-K-6-Z-R-9-9-V-5.”
I rolled my finger over the first button and it clicked each time a different letter or number appeared. When the number 7 appeared, I stopped and continued on to the next fixture. I finally clicked button number nine into position and popped the case open.
“On your first try,” said Zorin. “Impressive. Now, listen carefully. The Nazis have all modes of communication under strict surveillance. They will intercept anything spoken over the telephone or sent via cable. So, on the first Tuesday of every month, in the morning, Osip here will meet our German contact, Dieter, at the train station in Valga, Estonia. Both men will have boarded their respective trains the day before, obviously on a Monday. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Dieter is a chauffeur for the Hotel Adlon in Berlin. We have lots of spies working at that fancy hotel where so many important international dignitaries stay. And all of our spies there, and within many other establishments throughout Berlin, are German citizens. But, you see, they are proud, loyal communists first. Dieter is also being well compensated for his longstanding loyalty. We have so, so many communist spies around the world! And, now, you will be the best. Yes?”
“That is certainly my plan,” I said.
“Dieter will pick up your briefcase on the first Monday of every month and then catch the train to Valga. His two days off are Monday and Tuesday. And he doesn’t have to show up for work until Wednesday, late morning. This gives him forty-eight hours to make the thirty-five-hour round-trip. Make a habit of having breakfast at 7:00 a.m. every Monday and Wednesday at the Golden Café near his apartment. He has coffee across the street at the Blue Lion daily. Your first drop-off is to be on February 6th, a day when he will be carrying a simple, empty briefcase, not one of these beauties.”
“Got it,” I said. “At that point, you will still be in possession of the duplicate.”
“Correct,” he said. “So, Dieter will see you get up to leave the Golden Café and cross Friedrichstrasse Street at seven forty-five. It is very busy at that time. Once the traffic guard signals and you cross, wait at the corner in front of the Blue Lion in preparation to cross the east-west street of Beck. Set your briefcase down. He will come stand beside you there in the crowd and set his briefcase down. Before you cross Beck Street, pick up his briefcase and he’ll grab yours.”
“I understand,” I said.
“From that point forward, beginning two days later, on Wednesday, February 8th, he will be setting the duplicate briefcase down. It will be important for you to write any questions, statements, requests, news, etcetera… on paper and place them inside your briefcase along with the intelligence, because that will be the only communication you will have with us until a month later. Even an emergency question and response will be subject to this strict schedule. Also, don’t forget, even the smallest piece of secret information from within your American embassy is important to us. Our Great Stalin is just trying to learn how much he can trust the United States.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Who are the only two men on earth with the combination to these briefcases?”
“You and me,” I said.
“And it shall remain this way. Again, your briefcase will have gathered intelligence inside, and Osip’s will have any information from the Kremlin or me that you might need to read, or it might be empty. The key is that the one you deliver must always have intelligence in it. Clear?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Very good, Interpreter. The officials at the border have been informed that an official named Prescott Sweet is to have no problems exiting the country. Kremlin’s orders! Your passport is gold. You’re a very important man. And just in case you need any further motivation to keep you focused, I have come bringing gifts.”
He turned and nodded at Osip, who exited the room. Zorin took his pistol from his holster and pointed it at me.
“Stop eating,” he said to James. “Both of you go sit on the bottom bunk.”
James set his near-empty plate on the floor. Then we stood and did as he said. Two minutes must have passed before another word was spoken.
“If you move at all I will shoot you,” said Zorin.
“The gifts are here,” said Osip, reappearing in the doorway.
“Good,” said Zorin. “Bring them in.”
On those words, Osip disappeared again. Then, a couple of guards escorted two sheet-covered individuals into the room. They stopped behind the seated Zorin, his pistol still aimed at us.
“Remove the sheets,” said Zorin.
The two guards yanked the white sheets off of them, and there before us stood Loretta and Ginger. They had risen from the dead. Instinctively I jumped up and James cried out, “MOMMA!”
“Ah, ah, ah!” said Zorin, clicking his pistol.
“It’s okay, Prescott!” cried Loretta in English, both she and Ginger weeping, their bodies still frail, their color, yellowish.
I slowly sat back down and pulled James in close. All of us were weeping loudly, our eyes fixed on one another, the guards still clutching their arms. None of us was being allowed to move. It was motionless chaos.