Seibert cursed under his breath, the French journalists gasped at the bravery of the little engineer. And this is what I was thinking:

Scorutto has no allies left, apart from his wife, who is as small and defenseless as himself. He knows that there is no way he can get out of the trap he is in. Just try standing firm and keeping your personal dignity intact faced with a situation like that! But nonetheless, he didn’t give in.

I had been ready to strike a deal with Weinstein, and I was even beginning to regard my own treachery in a heroic light just because it was not in my own interests but for the sake of my daughter’s health.

But if I think about it, what can Weinstein do to me? All right, I won’t get an all-expenses-paid holiday to Sochi, but Kitty and I can go south and rent some little beach hut by the sea as thousands of people have always done.

The most important thing is to get train tickets. That might be difficult since all of the tickets are bought up two months in advance, but I’ll figure something out.

Even if Weinstein has me fired, it doesn’t matter. I have a lot of friends precisely because I can be trusted. I have, up to now, never betrayed or sold anybody. If I need to find a new job or a good doctor for Kitty, my friends will help. But if they find out that I capitulated to Weinstein’s demands, everyone would know I can be bought—just name your price.

To cut a long story short, I refused to write the article for Weinstein, and he was furious.

“It’s quite impossible to have a normal working relationship with you!” he said. “Do you understand that there will be consequences?”

I answered that there are always consequences and that we choose those that suit us the best.

Kitty, as a matter of fact, is feeling much better as if her health depended on me passing this test with my integrity intact.

I wish I could thank Scorutto for saving me from descending to the level of a swine! I’d like to shake him by the hand and tell him he is not alone and that his battle with the system was an amazing lesson in personal courage. But the professional villains in the OGPU do everything they can to make sure their victims receive no support from outside.

20. CHIMERAS

1

Klim was invited to a banquet in honor of visiting businessmen from the USA and Germany.

“Actually, these gentlemen are here courtesy of the OGPU,” explained the all-knowing Seibert. “These days, the OGPU is as much a resource procurement company as it is a police organization. The Soviet authorities are having forests cut down in the north, and they want to dispose of the timber somehow. So, the OGPU have called on Oscar Reich to act as an intermediary between them and the foreigners. Reich sorted it all out: the Germans buy timber for railroad sleepers while the Americans provide credit and underwrite the deal.”

At the mention of Oscar Reich’s name, Klim resolved not to attend the banquet, but then Seibert said something that made Klim reconsider.

“Mr. Reich is a very clever man. He knows there’s no point in talking to the big bosses in the West. Every last one of them is opposed to the USSR. If you want to strike a deal, you need to talk to the seconds-in-command: not the proprietors but the hired managers. Oscar buys these managers off in the old-fashioned way—with jewels and precious metals. You can’t slip a bribe to a prominent figure, but if you present him with a fifteenth-century royal goblet, he’s unlikely to turn it down. People tend to lose their heads at the sight of real gold rather than figures on paper.”

“Where does Oscar get all this gold?” Klim asked.

“From Russian museums and monasteries,” said Seibert. “And it’s not just gold. He makes gifts of paintings by old masters and ancient sculptures too. All the stuff is sent over to New York and Berlin, and in return, the managers, directors, and board members forget their anti-communist principles for a while. As a plan, it’s hard to fault. They get a profitable deal, and their shareholders are happy. What else could you ask for?”

It might be worth going to the banquet after all, thought Klim, just to have a look at this talented Mr. Reich, a man capable of breaking down trade barriers and plundering museum exhibits on an industrial scale.

2

At around nine o’clock, automobiles adorned with the flags of various foreign nations began to converge on Spiridonov Street. Guests mounted the porch in pairs: the men in dinner jackets and top hats and the women in evening dresses. It was difficult to believe all this was taking place in the heart of Red Moscow.

The mansion, previously owned by a wealthy merchant wife, was furnished like a fairytale castle. The walls were lined with peacock-blue silk and panels made of precious woods. There were suits of armor standing in every corner, and the staircase was decorated with wrought iron sculptures.

The Hunting Room had been transformed into a banquet hall. Whole sturgeons were laid out on huge silver platters alongside red lobsters with their tails shelled, grilled lamb ribs with rosemary, thin pancakes with caviar, and fillet of trout in sour cream and chopped dill. There were twenty different types of cheeses and salamis, pyramids of fruit, and a whole array of bottles of wine, brandy, and vodka.

At the head of the table sat Oscar Reich, holding forth passionately about all the things that the USA and the USSR had in common.

“Both our countries,” he said, “have to solve the problem of transporting goods and transmitting power over great distances. We both have unevenly distributed populations. But more importantly, we are both nations of dreamers, intrepid and inventive people who can cope with any problems that come our way.”

Klim listened attentively to what Nina’s husband was saying. He had to admit that Oscar Reich was a born orator. He was arguing that the USSR was like the Wild West of the mid-ninetieth century and that anyone bold enough to investigate the full extent of what the nation had to offer could earn untold riches.

The businessmen cheered on his descriptions of the mighty forests of Northern Russia and the deposits of precious metals in Siberia.

“Gentlemen,” said Oscar, raising his glass, “I propose a toast to the great and indomitable Soviet people! Hurray!”

After the champagne, a mound of delicacies was eaten, and a dozen or so foxtrots were danced—also for the sake of the Soviet people.

3

All the guests at the banquet seemed to have been infected by the mood of wild festivity. After a single drink, they were already drunkenly chanting “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” in English and “Long May He Live” in German: one of the foreigners was celebrating a birthday.

As Klim was walking through the ballroom, a familiar silhouette caught his eye. It was Nina, dancing with a military man. It was an extraordinary sight: a Red Army commander and a young woman in a magnificent dress gliding across the parquet floor to the sound of a jazz band. Nina’s partner was smiling at her, enraptured, his hand on her bare back, down the length of which hung a fine jeweled chain.

Klim stood for a moment, spellbound. He had to admit that, deep down, he was hoping to see how his ex-wife fared. But where would that get him anyway?

Seen enough? he scolded himself. You can go now.

Opening the glass door, he went out onto the wide balcony, which was adorned by a statue of a chimera. The reflections of the lamps played over the monster’s stone body so that it seemed to stir slightly on its pedestal.

At that moment, Oscar Reich came out onto the balcony, holding a glass of brandy. He was drunk; his tie was crooked, and his hair was plastered to his head with sweat.

“Exactly the man I was hoping to see!” Oscar exclaimed, catching sight of Klim. “Have you heard that the Ford Motor Company is planning to help the Russians build an automobile works outside Nizhny Novgorod? Soon, they’ll be sending engineers and industrial architects over to check out the area. How would you like to write a couple of features for us about it? We need to cause a stir in the American press and show them that the USSR is a land of opportunity.”

Klim shook his head. “As soon as the Shakhty Trial is over, I’m taking a holiday. My daughter is sick, so I’m taking her down south.”

The door swung open again, and Nina appeared in the doorway. “Oscar, everybody is looking for you. You promised to play bridge.”

“I’m coming.” He finished his brandy and left the balcony.

Nina and Klim looked at one another, for all the world like hostile neighbors who had met by chance on the dividing line between their properties.

“What’s the matter with Kitty?” asked Nina at last. “Is she sick?”

“Every day is different,” answered Klim reluctantly. “Sometimes her arms and legs swell up, and she gets headaches.”

“Have you taken her to the doctor?” asked Nina. “What did he say?”

She kept showering Klim with questions, and he began to feel a nagging sense of irritation. Why was Nina suddenly acting the part of the anxious mother?

“Where do you want to take Kitty?” she asked.

“It depends what tickets I find.”

“So, you haven’t got your rail tickets yet?”

Nina was about to add something, but at that moment, Oscar came back out onto the balcony.

“You came out to tell me to hurry up,” he told Nina, “and you’re still out here talking to my friend.” He threw a meaningful glance at Klim. “I’m starting to get jealous.”