I saw it. The flash of a sleeve in a cafe, as Sidorov hung up his coat. He took a seat at a little table, his back to the wall, so he could see the station through the large plate-glass window. It was a snug place, no more than ten tables, built to offer a quick bite and a cup of tea between trains. It was packed with travelers, their suitcases and duffel bags making movement difficult. Sidorov sat alone, his eyes darting, his body still. I moved behind a pillar and took out my newspaper, allowing myself a glance up every few seconds. I was at the edge of his field of vision, one of a hundred GIs killing time in a busy station. I didn’t think he’d made me.
A squad of British Tommies marched past, two abreast, their sergeant barking at them to look lively. They blocked my view and by the time they’d gone, there was another man sitting at the table with Sidarov. He faced away from me, and all I could make out was his dark hair slicked back and the gray cloth coat he wore. A waitress brought Sidorov his tea, but his companion waved her away, the gesture betraying his worry, as if he didn’t want her listening, and couldn’t wait to finish the conversation. In about two minutes, he pulled a fedora hat down low over his eyes, stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, and made a beeline for the exit. I glanced at Sidorov, sitting with his cup of tea in front of him, as he lit a cigarette. I wondered if he’d drink the English tea, but I couldn’t hang around to find out.
I followed the fedora. It was a lot easier than tailing Sidorov. Out the main entrance, up Buckingham Palace Road a couple of blocks, before disappearing down an alleyway adjacent to the Rubens Hotel. As I turned the corner I heard a door slam shut. Three steps led up to an enclosed landing. Above the door the sign read STAFF ENTRANCE. I tried the handle and it opened. Inside, in a narrow hallway with coat hooks along the wall, Sidorov’s pal had hung up his fedora and was pulling off his coat. He had a surprised look on his narrow, thin face. His eyebrows shot up in a questioning look, and he seemed on the verge of telling me I’d come in the wrong door, but he held back, uncertain of what I was there for.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, grabbing him by the collar. I snapped his head against the wall, enough to let him know I meant business. Then I took one wrist and pulled it up behind his back and propelled him down the hall.
“Ow! Let go of me, you crazy Yank! Ow! That hurts! I’ll scream for the police, I swear I will.” He began squirming and kicking at my feet, but I pulled up on his wrist some more, and he stopped.
“Let’s call the police. I’m sure that they’ll be interested in apprehending a spy.”
“I’m no spy! What, are you drunk? Let go of me.”
“Not a spy? You might be right. I mean, the Russians are our Allies, so it’s not like spying for the Germans. But the Poles are guests in this hotel, and I’m sure your employer will have something to say about that. What’s your job here?”
“What’s it to you? You’re a Yank.” I slammed his head into the wall again, to keep him focused.
“Ow! Stop that!”
“Are you all right, Eddie?” A small voice came from a door, held open a few inches. A girl in a maid’s uniform gazed at Eddie and what I hoped was a good-sized bruise on his forehead.
“Yeah, yeah, just a misunderstanding, Sheila. I’ll be there in a minute,” Eddie said. I let his wrist go and put my arm on his shoulder, to show her we were just a couple of pals roughhousing. I figured it also put Eddie in my debt, since I didn’t make him look bad in front of the young lady. I smiled at her, but she kept her eyes on Eddie, trying to figure out what was happening. She was good-looking, with thick, dark hair pulled back behind her ears, brown eyes, and a small mouth that hung open for a few seconds in surprise until she recovered.
“I’ll see you later then, after our shift,” she said, and shut the door. I tightened my grip on Eddie’s shoulder and gave him the hard stare.
“I’ve got a whole bunch of options here, Eddie, and you basically have none. I could tell the manager you’ve been selling out the guests, and then you’d be out of a job. Or I could tell the Poles, and they’ll cut your tongue out. Or I’ll tell Sidorov you’ve been giving him phony information, and he’ll slit your throat.”
“Who’s Sidorov?” Eddie said. He was beginning to shake, and his voice had a desperate quiver to it. “I haven’t done anything wrong, honest.”
“The Russian you just met in Victoria Station. He probably gave you a different name.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie said, his voice breaking. “It was just some easy money, you know. Nothing was supposed to go wrong. What are you going to do with me?” His lower lip was shaky, and his eyes were watering up. I didn’t want a blubbering mess on my hands, so I soothed him a bit.
“Listen, Eddie. I think we can work something out. I have a friend on the Polish staff. Do you know Lieutenant Kazimierz?”
“The baron, you mean? Small fellow?”
“That’d be him. He might be interested in hearing about the Russian. He might even see his way clear to paying you to keep meeting with him.”
“How about I just stop, and we all part company as friends?” Eddie offered.
“Sorry, Eddie. It doesn’t work that way. Either we talk to Kaz or I throw you to the wolves.” Eddie had that look in his eye, the look I’d seen a hundred times before. A guy in a dead-end job, or with no job, sees a way to make a quick buck. At first it works like a charm, but then something goes wrong. The fact that you can count on something to go wrong escapes these chumps. Then when it does, they get the look that Eddie was giving me. A beseeching, haunted look. The look of a guy who is hoping you’ll set things right, when the whole thing was his fault in the first place. The look of a guy who will never learn.
“OK, if you say so,” Eddie said.
“You can trust me, Eddie. The name is Billy.” I stuck out my hand and we shook. Eddie might never learn, but I’d learned fast. A chump is a chump, but the best chump is your chump.
Within twenty minutes we were in a room with Kaz and Captain Valerian Radecki. I couldn’t leave Eddie in place as Sidorov’s spy, so I explained to both of them what I’d seen, and suggested they might want to use Eddie to funnel phony information to the Russians. It gave me a headache trying to figure out which side I was on, so I’d gone with helping Kaz.
“Edward Miller,” Valerian said, leafing through Eddie’s billfold as he paced behind him. “Why are you not in the army, Edward Miller?”
“I tried to sign up. Punctured eardrum, they said. What are you going to do with me?”
“Eddie,” Kaz said, leaning on the table, leaning into Eddie and his nervous eyes. “We should be asking what you were going to do with us. Betray us? To the Russians?”
“It didn’t seem that serious, sir, honest. Just some harmless information, about who came and went, what the gossip was, that sort of thing.”
“But the money was good,” Valerian said. “More than a tip for your cooperation, correct?”
“Yes, it was.” Eddie stared at the table. He was afraid of Valerian, who somehow managed to give the impression of easy violence lurking beneath the surface.
“What did he ask you about today?” Kaz said.
“About that fellow, the real nervous one. Tadeusz Tucholski. Lately that’s all he’s been asking about. Where does he live, who sees him, what does he talk about, that sort of thing.”
“What did you tell him about Tadeusz?” Kaz said. I watched a nervous glance pass between him and Valerian.”
Only what I’ve seen-that you, in particular, are working with him on something. It looked to me like you were writing a book, taking down what he was saying.”