“I see.” Daniel scanned the manila folder that lay open on his burn-scarred walnut desk. Picking up the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, he took a deep, soothing draw and watched the young Soviet rider across from him.
Straka carefully worked to hide his nervousness and was doing a damned good job. Only an occasional sideways glance from his astonishing blue eyes hinted at how ill-at-ease the young man actually was.
Tall and spare, with angular features that made him look more man than boy, Straka rested an elbow on his armrest while one long leg stretched a little in front of the other. Blue-black hair, so thick and shiny it reflected the fluorescent light overhead, curled just above his collar.
Daniel admired Straka’s fortitude but with Khrushchev in power, Soviet relations were strained at best. Daniel needed to know exactly why Janus Straka had come to the United States and had already taken the steps necessary to determine exactly that.
In the weeks since Straka’s defection, Daniel’s men had put together a dossier that covered every aspect of the young man’s life. Daniel had read the file more than once.
He glanced down at the page. Janus Straka, only son of Stefan Straka, an international celebrity in the horse world in the nineteen twenties and thirties. At the turn of the century, Stefan’s father, Vaclav Straka, a wealthy landowner, had accepted a political appointment in Ruthenia, then controlled by the Austria-Hungary Hapsburg Dynasty. In 1920, Czechoslovakia took over the government, but the Strakas decided to stay.
At twenty, Stefan Straka joined the Czechoslovakian cavalry, a career that gave him the chance to work with the horses he loved. As a lieutenant, Stefan participated in the IX Olympics in Amsterdam, winning the silver medal in the individual show jumping event.
Daniel rolled a yellow pencil between his thumb and forefinger, his thick hands the result of too many fistfights in too many unnamed Korean bars during his Army years. He’d been recruited by the agency when it was time to re-up four years ago. Since then, he’d traveled extensively and already become a senior case officer. He loved the work, the excitement, and especially the danger.
“Tell me about your father,” Daniel prodded.
For the first time, Straka smiled, softening his features and betraying his youth. “He was one of the finest horsemen in the world,” Straka said in his heavily accented English. “He rode in three Olympics. He won a silver medal at Amsterdam.”
“Your father once visited this country,” Daniel said, encouraging Straka to continue.
“Yes. In nineteen thirty-two. He loved the people and the opportunity he saw all around him. He believed that in America a man could achieve whatever he was willing to work for. All his life he wanted to come here. Listening to him made me want to come, too.”
“Enough to defect, even after his death?”
The piercing blue eyes dimmed for an instant. “We planned for years in secret. He came up with the idea for Rome. By then I wanted to leave as much as he did. When he died...it was a great loss to us all.”
“What about your family? Won’t you miss them? Who will take care of them?”
“I will send whatever I can. My mother and I were never close. My sister, Dana, is eleven years older. They knew I would go if I ever got the chance.”
“Why didn’t your father come to the States before the war? He was a wealthy man. He could have afforded to make the move.”
“He had responsibilities, family to think about. After the Soviets took over, he regretted not leaving. He never got used to the repression, the constant mistrust. He was Hungarian. He never accepted Soviet domination.”
Daniel glanced back at the file. In 1950, Stefan Straka moved to Moscow to lend his skills to the Soviet Team. Janus was nine and already a horseman. He learned to speak Russian and improve his English, graduated from the University of Moscow and became a member of the team the following year. His record was impressive, the man even more so.
“What will you do in this country?”
“It is my dream to become an American. I wish to go to school to perfect my English. I want to become a citizen.”
“You’re a fine rider, Janus. One of the best in the world. After what happened in Rome, you’re a celebrity—“
“That is not what I want,” Janus interrupted. “I want to change my name, make my way on my own. I am a private person, Mr. Gage. I do not enjoy...how do you say? No-tor-it-y?”
“Notoriety.”
“Yes, notor-i-ety. I want to be as you are. I want to live my own life, my own way.”
“I won’t lie to you, Janus. Your father may have had a somewhat romantic picture of life in the States. If you use your celebrity, things could be a whole lot easier for you.”
“That is a decision I made years ago. I have not changed by mind. I am just grateful for the chance.”
“What about Popov?” Daniel asked.
“You know him?”
“Only by reputation. Will he give you any trouble?”
