“Now!” said Zorin. “You should know, Interpreter, all of this was done so that you would know what it feels like to have a dead wife and daughter. And now that you have tasted that horror, you can go do your mission with more clarity and purpose. Your aim is clear now.”
Each of us wept through Zorin’s words, all the while acutely aware of his drawn pistol. My only recourse was to clutch my delirious son tighter and tighter while he cried into my chest.
“No one better say another fucking word,” Zorin continued. “Look at me, Interpreter. We just wanted you to appreciate the importance of your assignment. I’m sure you never want to feel that sickness again. You have much to be thankful for now. You have much to lose again, but now it is more engrained in you. That is why we drugged them and staged the entire death scene. You will come to see that it was very good for you in the end. It will make you sharper, more trustworthy. You might choose to call it a sick game us Soviets played, but we feel that these types of maneuvers work very well.”
Zorin nodded at the two guards, prompting them to haul Loretta and Ginger away, each of them showing tremendous restraint and strength. I could tell by the powerful, stern look Loretta gave me just before exiting that she was saying, “I will continue to fight for our family!” I just knew that was what she was saying. And Zorin had been correct. I was going to carry out my mission with more clarity and purpose now. And my aim was indeed clear.
22
Berlin, Germany
January 1, 1939
AS SOON AS I STEPPED OFF THE TRAIN AT LEHRTER BAHNHOF, I looked left and right in search of a face I had been longing to see for two and a half years. And as if he’d been sensing my anxiousness for some time, Bobby came briskly walking through the bustling crowd of white faces, almost all dressed in business attire. My best friend was grinning from ear to ear.
“Holy fuckin’ shit!” he said, spreading his arms wide, as I set my two bags and briefcase down before he bear-hugged me.
Right when he let go and stepped back, I tried to muster up a smile, but it wasn’t in me. The still intense pain had an unrelenting grip on me. And I couldn’t stop ruminating over those last words I’d said to James: “Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Do your work and I will be back to get you, son. I promise. I love you.” All he’d done was nod like a good boy.
“I see you’re still as busy as ever buying new suits,” said Bobby, looking me up and down. “And I love the fancy black topcoat. Looks like mine.”
“You know me,” I said.
I wanted to tell him right then and there that the fine, new brown suit I was wearing, along with the four others in my hanging bag, had been tailor-made for me in Leningrad just days before my departure, compliments of the Kremlin. They’d also had three different colored fedora hats made for me, along with several ties and two pairs of patent leather shoes. They’d spared no expense in making certain I looked the part of an embassy employee.
“You’ve gotten so damn thin,” said Bobby.
“Well, you can imagine how—”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. Of course! Your appetite has probably gone to shit since the whole split from Loretta. I’ve been so down in the dumps about that news, Press.”
“Look,” I said, “I want to tell you all about it, just maybe not right here.”
“Of course!” he said, picking up one of my bags. “I have a car parked out front. Let’s go.”
Moments later we got into a black Mercedes-Benz and he took the wheel.
“Some of the embassy staff is still operating out of Bendlerstrasse 39 in the Tiergarten area,” said Bobby, beginning to drive. “Others are finally beginning to move into the refurbished Blücher Palace, which is located on Pariser Platz. You and I will work at Bendlerstrasse for the time being.
“Currently, there is no U.S. Ambassador in place. Hugh Wilson had only served for eight months before being summoned home by the president this past November. Roosevelt felt it necessary to call him back to the States after the Nazi attacks on so many Jews during the Night of Broken Glass. They call it Kristallnacht here in Germany. Actually, it was Assistant Secretary of State, George Messersmith, who persuaded Roosevelt to recall Wilson.”
“I’m surprised Roosevelt didn’t shut down the entire embassy,” I said, looking out the window at the cold city, uninterested in its stunning architecture, so much of it appearing to be made largely of glass, concrete, and steel—Modernism on full display.
“It looks,” said Bobby, “as though a gentleman named Alexander Kirk will be here by May to serve as the chargé d’affaires.”
“Then who’s running things now?”
“Yours truly,” said Bobby. “Actually, to be fair, there are three of us holding down the fort for the time being. It’s only for a few months. But with the climate the way it is, the Nazis tightening the screws, Lord knows when Adolf Hitler will do the unthinkable. This is a man who is wholly evil.”
“Sounds like Joseph Stalin,” I said.
“Believe me,” he said, “Hitler’s much worse.”
“Maybe they’re equally evil.”
“No,” he said.
“Then I’ll just put it this way. Stalin has shown me, very clearly, how absolutely evil he is. I’m glad you didn’t notice earlier the piece of my ear that is missing.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say you should completely disregard the cable I sent you, Bobby.”
“Come again.”
“Loretta and I are not getting a divorce. We never moved to Leningrad. And I have just gotten out of hell. I can’t waste another second not telling you this. The unthinkable happened to my family beginning seventeen months ago—August of 1937. We were all arrested for being so-called counterrevolutionaries. Stalin has had me, Loretta, and both children locked up in his barbaric labor camps for almost a year and a half—James and I in Magadan, Loretta and Ginger on the other side of the country in Kirovsk. It was only days ago at a Leningrad hotel that I took a proper bath for the first time since leaving Moscow. I should be dead.”
Bobby pulled the car to the side of the road, busy morning traffic buzzing past. He kept both hands on the wheel and we sat there with the engine idling. The shock on him was obvious; his eyes fixed straight ahead, his mouth agape. I looked down at my damaged hand and reminded myself once again what I’d always believed. Stalin was never going to release my family. He was going to use me up, call me back to the labor camp with the promise of releasing Loretta and the children, only to then execute us all. I felt it in my bones.
I also believed he was going to eventually kill Commander Koskinen, Director Pavlov, Colonel Zorin, and everyone else working for him, just as he had executed Sergei Kirov and the previous Dalstroi director, Eduard Berzin. According to Commander Koskinen, Stalin had also executed other prominent political leaders: Grigory Zinoviev, Lev Kamenev, Nikolai Bukharin, and Alexei Rykov.
“Listen,” I finally said. “I know you are shocked to have heard all of this, but I want to be very specific. Time is of the essence, Bobby.”
He turned to me, tears in his eyes, the blood gone from his face, and slowly nodded.
“I will tell you all of the details about what exactly happened—the camp I was in, the beasts I had to brawl, the commander who helped me send letters, a guard I had to kill, how a sick bastard made me believe Loretta and Ginger had died… and whatever else you want to know, but right now I need to ask you something.”