This fantasy had been shattered months ago. Yet why wouldn’t the wounds heal? Why couldn’t he move on as he’d moved on from his devotion to the MGB? He’d been able to swap devotion to the MGB with another cause, devotion to this investigation. But he had no one else to love; there’d never been anyone else. The truth was that he couldn’t let go of the small hope, the fantastical notion that maybe, just maybe she could love him for real. Although he was reluctant to trust his emotions since he’d been so categorically wrong before, he felt that he and Raisa were closer than they’d ever been. Was that merely as a result of their working together? It was true they no longer kissed or had sex. Since Raisa had told him the truth about their history it hadn’t felt right. He’d been forced to accept that all their previous sexual experiences had meant nothing to her — or worse, they’d been unpleasant. Yet far from circumstance being the only thing keeping them together—You have me. I have you. — Leo preferred to think that circumstance had been keeping them apart. Leo had been a symbol of the State and one that Raisa had loathed. But now he no longer represented anything other than himself, divested of authority and stripped out of the system she so hated.
They were almost at the shop door when they saw Ivan approach from the other end of the street. They didn’t call out or draw attention to themselves, they didn’t move from the line, watching as he entered his apartment building. Raisa was about to leave the queue when Leo touched her arm, stopping her. They were dealing with a dissident: it was possible he was under surveillance. It occurred to Leo that maybe the hollow coin had belonged to Ivan: maybe he’d been the spy. What was it doing in amongst Raisa’s clothes? Had she undressed in Ivan’s apartment, picked up the coin by mistake? Leo pushed the thoughts aside, aware that his jealousy was playing tricks on him.
Leo checked the street. He couldn’t see any agents taking position around the apartment. There were several obvious places — the foyer to the cinema, this grocery queue, sheltered doorways. No matter how well trained the agents might be, keeping watch on a building was difficult since it was such an unnatural action: remaining stationary, alone, doing nothing at all. After several minutes he was confident there was no one following Ivan. Without bothering to give a reason or make a pantomime of having forgotten a wallet, they left the queue exactly at the point when they were finally about to enter the shop. It was suspicious but Leo could count on the fact that most people were smart enough to mind their own business.
They entered the apartment building, walking up the stairs. Raisa knocked on the door. Footsteps could be heard inside. A voice, nervous, asked through the door.
— Yes?
— Ivan, it’s Raisa.
A bolt was pulled back. Ivan cautiously opened the door. Upon seeing Raisa his suspicions dropped away and he smiled. She smiled in reply.
A couple of steps back Leo watched their reunion in the gloom of the hallway. She was pleased to see him, they were easy together. Ivan opened the door, moving forward, hugging her, relieved that she was still alive.
Ivan noticed Leo for the first time. His smile fell away like a picture falling off a wall. He let go of Raisa suddenly unsure, glancing at her expression, checking that this wasn’t a betrayal of some kind. Sensing his unease, she remarked:
— We have a lot to explain.
— Why are you here?
— It would be better to speak inside.
Ivan didn’t seem convinced. Raisa touched his arm.
— Please, trust me.
The apartment was small, well furnished, polished-wood floors. There were books: at a glance they all seemed to be authorized texts, Gorky, political tracts, Marx. The door to the bedroom was shut and there was no bed in the main room. Leo asked:
— Are we alone?
— My children are with my parents. My wife is in hospital. She has tuberculosis.
Raisa touched his arm again.
— Ivan, I’m so sorry.
— We thought you’d been arrested. I feared the worst.
— We were lucky. We’ve been relocated to a town just west of the Urals. Leo refused to denounce me.
Ivan couldn’t keep the surprise from his face, as if such a thing were remarkable. Stung, Leo held his tongue as Ivan stared at him, evaluating.
— Why did you refuse?
— She isn’t a spy.
— Since when has the truth stopped you?
Raisa interrupted:
— Let’s not get into that now.
— But it matters. Are you’re still MGB?
— No, I was demoted to the militia.
— Demoted? You escaped lightly.
It was a question, accusatory.
— It’s only a temporary reprieve, demotion, exile — a prolonged punishment in obscurity.
Seeking to comfort him, Raisa added:
— We weren’t followed here. We’re sure of that.
— You’ve travelled all the way to Moscow? Why?
— We need help.
At this, he was puzzled.
— What could I possibly help you with?
Leo took off his coat, his jumper, his shirt — retrieving the files taped to his body. He summarized the case, offering the papers to Ivan. Ivan accepted the papers but didn’t look at them, sitting down on a chair and placing the evidence on the table beside him. After a moment he stood again, collecting a pipe, carefully filling it.
— I take it the militia itself isn’t investigating these murders?
— All these murders have been solved incorrectly, covered up or blamed on the mentally ill, some political enemy, a drunk, a vagrant. No connection has been drawn between them.
— And you two are working together now…?
Raisa blushed.
— Yes, we’re working together.
— You trust him?
— Yes, I trust him.
Leo was forced to remain silent as Ivan questioned his wife, scrutinizing the integrity of their relationship in front of him.
— And together you plan to solve this crime?
Leo answered:
— If the State won’t, then the people will have to.
— Spoken like a true revolutionary. Except, Leo, you’ve spent your entire life murdering for the State — whether in war or peace, whether they be Germans or Russians, or whoever else the State tells you it hates. Now I’m supposed to believe you’re bucking the official line and thinking for yourself? I don’t believe it. I think this is a trap. I’m sorry Raisa, I think he’s trying to win his way back into the MGB. He’s duped you, and now he wants to hand them me.
— He’s not, Ivan. Look at the evidence. This is real, not some trick.
— I haven’t trusted paper evidence for a long time, nor should you.