"Stein killed him."
"You didn't work all that hard to stop him. And now we can identify you. The girl, the old man, and me. Are you going to kill us if you get the chance?"
"The question is academic," Lindemann said.
"Not to me . . . Maybe not to you, either."
"All we wanted was Kaplan. Angelos—it was an accident. I am sorry for it."
"Me too," said Craig. "He didn't have to die at all. You could have bought Kaplan. He's for sale."
"Bought him?"
"A million rubles COD."
"We are Israelis," Lindemann said.
Craig looked over to Kaplan. "Is that right?" he asked. Kaplan said, "I don't know. I've never seen them before."
"But you spoke in Russian," Miriam said. "They're Russian, aren't they? KGB?"
"Russian, yes. KGB, no," said Craig. "They're in your file," he told Kaplan. "They're the ones who survived the break-out from Volochanka. Their names are Daniel and Asimov. Daniel's the dead one. Right?" The young man looked away again. "You wanted Kaplan because he betrayed you. Isn't that right, Kaplan?"
Kaplan said, "I have never—have never-" Then his
voice choked. He turned away.
"You've wanted him dead ever since you got out of Volochanka."
"One year, three weeks, and four days," said Asimov. "It was the only thought in our minds." "Tell us about it," said Craig.
"He's sick," the girl said. "He should be in a hospital."
"No," Asimov said. "That isn't important. What Kaplan did—that is important. I want you to know."
"We do know," said Craig.
"Not all. I am sure Kaplan did not tell you all."
Asimov looked at Kaplan then, with a hunger of hate such as Craig had rarely seen, an almost sensual appraising of the older man's body, as if Asimov were calculating how much he could endure before he broke.
"Please. I want to get out of here," Kaplan said.
"No," said Craig, and at once Omar moved in on Kaplan, who sat down and turned his face from them. He was willing himself not to listen, Craig knew, but his will was not strong enough.
"He told you about the minyan, no doubt," said Asi-mov. Craig nodded. "And about our plan to escape? It was a good plan. A beautiful plan. Daniel made it." He looked up then, facing Craig. "There is something you must realize. I worshipped Daniel."
"Go on," said Craig.
"The plan worked perfectly, as Daniel had promised it would. Only—when we got out, Kaplan was missing. I thought he had been unfortunate, but even then Daniel knew better. He knew that Kaplan had betrayed us—and because he knew it, I am still alive. When we split up, you see, we took a different route—not the one we had discussed when Kaplan was present—and so we got out alive. We learned later that the others did not. The guards caught them and killed them, every single one."
"What happened to you?"
"We should have died then. I mean—there was no real possibility that we could survive. And yet somehow we did. Fishing. Trapping animals. Digging up roots. We lived like beasts, and like beasts we survived, and got away to the West. The filthy capitalist West. A place called Vardo, up in the north of Norway. By then it was winter, and we got a job on the railway. We told the boss we were Finns and we'd lost our passports. He didn't believe us, but he didn't do anything about it either. Labor's scarce up there in the winter. We worked through till spring, then took off. It was time for him to tell the police about it. We got to Oslo. That wasn't easy, but after Volochanka, nothing was too difficult."
"You could have told the Norwegians who you were," said Craig. "They'd look after you."
"On their terms," said Asimov. "We wanted our freedom—to find out about Kaplan."
"What happened in Oslo?" Craig asked.
"Daniel knew of a man there who could forge papers for us if we paid him."
"Where did you get the money?" asked Miriam.
"We stole it. Stealing isn't difficult—not if you're taught by experts. There were many thieves in Volochanka. We got the money and the man gave us our papers. We became Israelis. Lindemann and Stein. Then we flew to Cyprus."
He stopped then, as if the recital were finished. Craig thought otherwise.
"You didn't stay here," he said. Asimov looked at Miriam.
"I really am tired now," he said. The girl moved closer to them, her eyes fixed on Asimov, glowing with admiration. Behind her Kaplan sat like a stone man, but he had heard every word.
"Can't he rest for a while?" Miriam asked.
"No," said Craig. "He has to finish it. Then we can decide what to do with him."
"He's been through so much."
"More than you realize," said Craig, and turned to the Russian. "Tell us about when the KGB found you."
Asimov's good hand clenched on his lap. He said nothing.
"Was it the man who forged your papers?" Craig asked. "Is that how they found out?" He waited a moment, looking at Asimov. He was white now, exhausted, the onset of shock catching up with him at last.
"I've got all night," Craig said. "I don't think you have. But the KGB found you, didn't they? They even offered to help you. Weapons—money—information. And you took them all."
Kaplan said, "That can't be true. You know that can't be true."
Craig looked at him. His face trembling, Kaplan walked over to Asimov, looked down at him, and spoke, his voice a scream. "Is it true?"
Asimov lay back and closed his eyes, and Kaplan grabbed for him, shook him.
"You must tell me now," he screamed.
Miriam went to him, pulled his hands from Asimov and pushed him into a chair.
"Let him rest," she said.
"You will never know how important this is," he told her.
"I know," said Craig. He bent closer to Asimov. "All right you're tired, so I won't make you talk. All you have to do is listen. But you'd better do that Asimov, or I'll leave you with Kaplan."
"Talk, then," said Asimov. "It's all foolishness anyway."
"The KGB reached you," said Craig, "and they told you what you already knew—that Kaplan had betrayed you. They said they'd help you to find him, because they wanted him dead too. They gave you money, and sent you to New York." The girl turned to him, wide-eyed. "You had to get information from Marcus Kaplan, I should think, but when you got there you found the Americans were ahead of you. Marcus already had a bodyguard. So then you went to see the man who'd interrogated Kaplan, a man called Laurie S. Fisher—at an apartment building called the Graydon Arms."
Asimov leaned back further in the chair.
"Don't go to sleep now," said Craig. "This is where it gets interesting. You found Fisher all right. The way you found him must have been perfect for you. He was in bed with a woman. You killed the woman, then tortured him until he told you all you needed to know. Then you killed him." He hurried on, not looking at Miriam. "Then your KGB contact found out I was in town and sent a couple of blokes to kill me. They tried, when I was with Marcus Kaplan—and they made a mess of it. But that wasn't too important, was it? Fisher had told you Kaplan was in Kutsk, and you went there looking for him. You made a mistake at Kutsk, Asimov. That place is full of Omar's relatives. The only language they understand is money ... But your luck held anyway. You stayed on in Famagusta, waiting. It's nice and handy for Turkey, and your cover was good. A lot of Israelis stay here. Then damn me if I didn't walk right in on you at Angelos's night club. And the girl who takes them off while the bouzouki plays said: 'I can't understand Angelos. He's never at the club these days.' So you followed him, didn't you, mate? And you did a spot of mountaineering and climbed in through the kitchen window and brought your score up to three."
"How can you know this is true?" Kaplan asked.