Janet sat on the edge of the bed, carefully watching this Ken James as he told his story. There was something frightening in him. It was so weird listening to him tell that story, not his and yet entirely his, and the way he slid into the first-person present tense … All of the students at the Connecticut Academy studied their alter egos, but in her memory Andrei was the only one in the Academy who actually seemed to live his alter ego, experiencing everything he did, every hurt, every triumph, every sadness. And Maraklov’s eyes, they were scary but held Janet — born Katrina Litkovka, the daughter of a Red Army colonel — so that she didn’t want him to stop.
“What about college?” she asked.
“I’ve been accepted at a dozen schools,” he replied in perfect mid-Atlantic American English. “I haven’t made up my mind. I was even considering skipping a semester, getting away from it all. I’ve even thought about enlisting in the Marine Corps. I told that to my stepdad once. He said it might look good on a résumé if I want to run for a congressional seat someday. I’ve never forgotten that.”
Janet still had a bit of trouble keeping up with his fluent English — years earlier she had been schooled in English as much as he but had lost much of her skill out of disuse. Still, she understood enough to be amazed — the clarity, the realism, the precise detail of his story’ … The Academy rarely if ever managed to teach their students to his degree of authenticity.
He stood, his back toward her. She eyed his tall, youthful, athletic frame — broad shoulders, thin waist, tight buttocks.
It seemed Andrei Maraklov had so totally immersed himself in the life of Kenneth Francis James that he had assumed his emotional identity as well as his documented public one. How else could Andrei reel off intimate, secretive aspects of hisJames’—life so naturally? Of one thing she had no doubt: this man could easily beat the best interrogators, polygraphs, hypnosis or even drugs.
Andrei Maraklov is Kenneth James …
“But now I’m on my way to Hawaii,” James/Maraklov continued. “I’m going to take it easy, maybe raise some hell, maybe do some painting; I don’t know …”
He turned toward the bed once again, but she was too caught up in his eerie transformation to think about having sex with him again. Actually, he frightened her … he was a stranger. Uncharacteristically, she clutched the sheet tight to her breasts.
“Cathy Sawyer gets wet every time she sees me,” he said, a slight smile on his lips. “I know it. But when we’re alone she won’t touch me.” He moved toward her, and she flinched.
The smile disappeared, his eyes narrowed. “All right, damn you you’re like everyone else.”
She had pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. He seemed to be frozen in place, his powerful chest rising and falling. As she tried to step around him, he quickly reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Kenneth—”
“No, I’m not leaving and neither are you. Not yet.” He grasped her forearms with two powerful hands. The sheet fell away from her breasts. He pulled her forearms up and toward him, drawing her toward him so that she was barely touching the floor. “I’m going to show you what I did to that bitch Cathy Sawyer the night before I left. She never showed up for graduation; did I tell you that? They thought we ran off together, but we didn’t. Poor Cathy … I wonder what happened to her…”
He is going to kill me, Janet thought. He’s crazy, he’s going to…
Abruptly the terrifying grin was replaced by a broad, pleasant smile. His body relaxed and he let her drop back onto her feet, then planted a playful kiss on her nose.
“Gotcha.”
“What?” Her voice high, edged with fear. “What do you think you are doing?” She said it in Russian.
“Uh oh, remember, lover, English only is spoken at this academy …”
“I thought … I thought you …”
“… were crazy,” he said. His smile was making her even angrier. “I know what you’re thinking. Every time we’re together you want to hear my little stories about the American. So I tell you what I think he’s like, what he’s going through, what kind of life he lives.”
“You scared me to death. Why?”
“Because you wanted it. I was only doing what you—”
“You are crazy,” she said, grabbed up her clothes and put on her blouse and pants. “Get out of here.”
“Janet, wait …”
“I don’t want to see you again.” She yanked open the front door to her bedroom. “Now get dressed and get out.”
The smile stayed, but he obediently put on his jeans and sweatshirt, gathering his underwear and shoes in his arms. But just before he left her apartment he turned to her.
“You’ll miss me,” he said. “The sex you can get from any of the others. But you need the excitement of living with a real American. It’s your high. It’s the worst transgression for a female KGB operative. You love it.”
“Andrei Ivanschichin Maraklov—”
“My name is Kenneth James.”
“You will not be allowed to leave the Academy. You will never see America except in your own mind. That I promise-”
His smile disappeared, but she couldn’t stop.
“I will make recommendations to Mr. Roberts that you never be allowed to graduate. You could compromise the whole operation.”
It pleased her to see the panic in his face that had now replaced his smug expression. “What are you going to tell them, Janet? That while we’ve been screwing each other I somehow scared you and you think I’m crazy? You’ve no credibility. A thirty-year-old ex-whore having sex with a seventeen-year-old high school student. You’ll make a very reliable witness.” He stepped toward her, his expression softening. “You’ll drag yourself down as well as me. Don’t do it. I promise I won’t scare you again. Janet …”
She pushed him away. “I don’t need credibility. I can destroy you without anyone ever knowing it was me. A notation here and there, a rumor, a changed grade or a negative entry on your progress charts. You will be on your way to a border lost before you know it. Now once more, get out.”
“Don’t do it,” he was still saying as the door slammed in his face. “You’ll be sorry if you do …”
His morning regimen had been the same for the past five years. Wakeup at five A.M., calisthenics and a morning three-mile jog, breakfast by six-thirty. The Academy even taught students o enjoy the typical American breakfast dishes while at the game time giving them healthier, more substantial foods.
Classes began at eight. Usually there was a bit of time before he morning class — today’s was on the stock market and Amer-can economics — so James spent his time reviewing the latest intelligence on his “target”—the real Ken James.
How could anyone with so much going for him act the way James had? Maraklov asked himself. The report said James vas going to ace every course he was enrolled in in his final semester of high school, including several advance-placement college-level courses. At the same time a police blotter report noted that James had been caught with a bag of marijuana. He vas not charged with a crime, only reprimanded — his stepfather carried a good deal of influence in the small town where he lived. But James had risked his whole career on a one-ounce bag of dried grass. Stupid.
No pictures were included in the latest intelligence, but previous photographs showed a tall, handsome youth shopping in fancy stores, driving expensive cars, going to parties, every weekend. He had seemed like a normal well-adjusted teenager. Maraklov knew, of course, about James’ unfortunate past, but that was ancient history. Surely that ugly episode was long forgotten? Maraklov sat back now and thought about what it was like to be Ken James …