Popov’s dry, liver-spotted skin reddened, veins popping out on his forehead.
“No effect, Comrade? It took me twenty years to achieve the goals I set for myself. Twenty years to move into the position I should have attained in three or four. My career was blossoming until Rome. I had high expectations. There was no limit to what I might have accomplished.”
Jake said nothing.
“Instead of garnering great respect, my wife and I were assigned a dismal Moscow apartment. My children were forced to attend schools well below their level of abilities. Today my son, Aksandr, holds a mediocre job as a People’s Inspector, and my daughter, Irina, and her husband work on a collective near Kiev. They eat boiled potatoes and sausages, while you,Tovarich,dine on imported Beluga Caviar from your own mother country and live here like a king.”
“I’m Hungarian, not Russian, and I’ve worked hard for everything I have. In this country, hard work is rewarded. But then you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
“I understand, Comrade Straka, that you are going to repay the debt you owe your country. If you do not, your mother and sister will face the full wrath of the Soviet Government. They will pay for your disloyalty. They will be relocated, assigned new duties. To put it bluntly, Comrade, it is doubtful your mother and sister will live out the remainder of their years.”
Jake gripped his coffee cup, fighting to control his temper. His mother was seventy-eight years old, his sister fifty-eight. They had already suffered enough by his leaving. The Soviets had allowed no communication between them for twenty-eight years. Letters he had written had been returned unopened, the money he’d sent them still inside.
In a way, he’d believed it was better. Time had a way of easing the loss. The letters would have been a constant reminder for all of them.
“What is it you want me to do?”
“When the time is right, you will be told. For now, it is enough for you to know that you will be called upon soon. Enough to know the consequences, should you fail to do as you are asked. Your family will be kept under surveillance until such time as you have completed the tasks we assign.”
“And when will that be?”
“Not long, my impatient friend. After twenty-eight years of waiting, for me it will seem only minutes.” The Russian downed the last of his coffee. “It would be best if you stayed a while before leaving.” With a parched smile, Popov slid the check across to Jake and headed for the door.
Jake left the diner fifteen minutes behind the Russian and drove down highway 78 to Black River Road, taking the long way home. He needed time to sort out his thoughts, time to decide what to do.
Whatever Popov and his associates planned had something to do with the upcoming Olympics, of that Jake was certain. And it was bound to be detrimental to the American team.
It had been years since Jake had dealt with the Soviets. In his youth in the late nineteen fifties, the government under Khrushchev had been rife with suspicion. Things were better than they had been under Stalin, but still, constant arrests of dissenters, anyone who disagreed with the State, affected everyone’s lives.
He and his father had often talked politics when they felt certain no one would overhear. Just before Jake had left in 1960, Article 70 of the Criminal Code had been adopted, making slander of the Soviet political system punishable by imprisonment for up to seven years.
The KGB was adept at planting subversive material, falsifying documents, then bringing charges against individuals under Article 70. It was an easy way of ridding themselves of anyone who happened to disagree with them.
Because Janus Straka had fled to the West, it would have been easy to use those same tactics against his mother and sister.
Though Jake hadn’t been able to correspond with them, Daniel Gage had kept him informed. Jake’s sister, Dana, had married a tradesman and delivered two sons. Now the boys were grown and married, with children of their own. When her husband had died five years ago, Dana had moved back in with their mother. The women now lived in a small flat in Moscow.
At least that was the last Jake had heard. He hadn’t spoken to Daniel in almost three years.
Jake cruised the Mercedes along the winding, two lane road leading back to Gladstone. With his once-close ties to the Soviet Union, he remained a dedicated follower of world events. Over the past few years, newspaper accounts told stories of greater personal freedoms enjoyed by the Soviet people, of a country that desired to live in peaceful co-existence with its neighbors.
The Reagan-Gorbachev Summit had recently ended, with both sides receiving plaudits for the advancement each had made toward peace.
Was the Soviet government behind Popov’s threats? Or was Popov acting on his own?
“After twenty-eight years of waiting...,”the Russian had said.
Had Popov risen high enough in the hierarchy of the KGB to work without the knowledge of his superiors? Was he willing to jeopardize his career to gain revenge on the man he believed had destroyed his life and that of his family?
They were questions Jake pondered as he drove through the lush New Jersey countryside. Recalling the threats the KGB man had made, one thing was clear—Jake had done the right thing in breaking off his relationship with Maggie Delaine. He couldn’t afford to endanger Maggie and her daughter’s lives.
He couldn’t afford to give Nikolai Popov another club to hold over his head.
Jake spent a sleepless Tuesday night and a restless Wednesday running over his options.
The team had been briefed and were meeting at the La Guardia Airport tomorrow for their five-p.m. flight to Paris. Since he had first been contacted by Popov eight months ago, Jake had been waiting to meet with him. Waiting for an answer to the puzzle of what the Russian wanted. Now that the meeting had occurred, he knew little more than he had before.
Time was running out. If he was going to take action, it had to be soon.
