The Russian Affair - By Michael Wallner Page 0,103

of all this? Didn’t the high-ranking comrades all work in concert? Wasn’t the KGB the Central Committee’s instrument, its listening ear, its hidden eye, its torture tool? Hadn’t Alexey himself asserted that the Party had abandoned its unjust practices and instituted stricter internal monitoring in order to eliminate the possibility of rule by individual diktat? Or was it naive to believe that the struggle for power within the walls of the Party’s headquarters wasn’t being carried on as fiercely as ever?

Anna’s reflections went even further. If Bulyagkov had actually staged their entire time together, didn’t that mean he’d brought her to Dubna deliberately? And could Kamarovsky really have failed to discern that the Deputy Minister for Research Planning had smuggled the house painter into the atomic city for other than romantic reasons? Had Bulyagkov, rather than Kamarovsky, intended for Anna to meet Lyushin?

“But why?”

She flinched at the sound of her own voice. She’d been staring at the enamel clock, whose ticking had never before seemed so intrusive. After trying for three days in Dubna, Anna remembered, she’d given up all hope of running into Lyushin again. And then, on the last afternoon, no less, mere hours before Anna was to leave Dubna and return to Moscow, the nuclear physicist had shown up in the very place where she was. Why hadn’t Alexey made any effort to get rid of his uninvited guest? Because he wasn’t uninvited! Nor had Alexey objected when she and Lyushin had a conversation about a field of research that was subject to the highest level of secrecy. Back on that afternoon, Anna had been proud of herself for understanding enough about quantum physics to follow what Lyushin was saying. But hadn’t it been the other way around? Hadn’t Lyushin kept his remarks as simple as possible so that he could be sure she understood? And if that was the case, it meant that both Bulyagkov and Lyushin had wanted Anna to receive some specific information, take it back to Moscow, and report it to Kamarovsky. In fact, she’d returned with only one piece of news, namely, that Lyushin’s research project had failed.

She put her hand on the dripping faucet and turned it all the way off. The dripping continued; there was a washer problem here, too. Bewildered, she recalled that one purpose of her visit had been to confide to Alexey what she knew about Lyushin. She’d come within a hair of making a dangerous mistake. The less she knew, the less she said, the more dispensable she’d seem to the contending parties, and the sooner she’d get her wish: to be released from all this into the normality of her former life.

A glance at the hands of the clock showed Anna that only three minutes had gone by. She dried her eyes again, ran her fingers through her hair, and went back into the living room. Then she stepped into the hall and listened. Someone outside spoke, just for a moment, and then a key was thrust into the lock. Just as she closed the glass door, Anna thought she heard a woman’s voice in the stairwell. Medea? Would Alexey’s wife arrive here without notice? Anna dropped onto the corner seat, picked up her glass of wine, and drank half of it.

He returned with a little package. “My apologies,” he said, and carried the package into the back room. “Are you hungry at all?” he asked from there.

“No omelet without eggs,” Anna muttered. She wouldn’t be taking his innocuous act at face value anymore.

“What?” He came back into the living room and closed the curtain.

“You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.” She stood up. “I have to go.”

“Already?”

“Hasn’t everything been said?” She was itching to dash to the window and see who was stepping out of the building at that very moment.

Alexey appeared to read her impulse and placed himself in the way. “You haven’t given me your answer yet.”

As he spoke, she sensed how dangerous he was, the man she’d seen so often in his homely cardigan, slightly tipsy or exhausted from work. One false word now and she’d be in danger. Apart from Anton, nobody knew where she’d gone, and nobody had seen her arrive. Who would ever think about looking for her here?

“Good,” she said, apparently casual. “Let’s leave everything where it is.”

“Do you mean that?” It wasn’t a question; it was, unmistakably, pressure.

“Yes.” She turned toward the door, and he let her pass. “Will I see you before you leave