Agent 6

New Jersey

Nara remained silent for most of the bus ride from New York, her attention fixed on the view out of the window. Realizing the depth of the implications, she’d grown ever more certain that the investigation posed a serious threat to their asylum and questioned the wisdom of attempting to expose a controversial case when their lives depended upon the grace of their American hosts. Their actions were wilfully provocative, unwise at a time when their existence was supposed to be secret. What did Leo expect to achieve after sixteen years? There would be no trial, no arrests, his wife’s name would not be cleared – the history books would not be rewritten. Though she had not articulated these thoughts, nor had she tried to talk Leo out of his decision, he clearly sensed her doubts. Perhaps, in turn, she did not oppose his plans because she sensed his own thoughts – a confrontation with Agent Yates was inevitable.

After the discussion at Nelson’s restaurant, Yolande had taken Leo and Nara to her home, allowing them to search through her father’s extensive collection of newspaper articles from the time of the murder, covering the night’s events and subsequent commentary on the killings. Yolande kept the book of clippings as if it were a family album. In some ways it was, since it contained the only photographs she possessed of her father through his years as an activist. Most of the articles Leo had read in the public library but there were some, printed in local newspapers and on protest leaflets, that he’d not encountered. Among them there was one reference to FBI Agent Yates. Yolande argued that the largely absent figure of Yates, missing from the mainstream media coverage, was surely proof that he was involved somehow – it was illogical for such a pivotal officer, a man who’d visited Jesse Austin on the day of his murder, not to feature more prominently. The only article that mentioned Yates had been sent to Nelson by a fellow activist in New Jersey two months after the murder, a small article in a local paper, reporting that Teaneck resident Jim Yates had retired from the FBI due to his wife’s poor health and was planning to spend more time with her. There was a photograph. The article had spun the news like the man was a hero. Nelson had annotated the article with the question: What was the real reason for his retirement?

From what Leo could gather from Nelson’s comments and scribbled remarks that criss-crossed the clippings, the individual responsible was less important to him than the system they were part of. His energies were directed into trying to achieve wider societal change – a dreamer, just like Elena and Jesse Austin. Leo had given up ideological ambitions a long time ago: they had brought him close to ruin just as they had nearly bankrupted Nelson’s business. Dreaming of a better world was not without its dangers.

As the bus approached Teaneck, Nara turned to Leo purposefully. She took a breath, evidently nervous, before saying in Dari:

– You’re leaving us, aren’t you? Don’t lie to me. Just tell me the truth. You’re not staying in the United States? Something has changed.

Leo regretted not confiding in her earlier. She was no longer a naive young student. She demanded to be party to his plans and she had every right to be told the truth.

– The Soviets know about our defection, or at least, they suspect it. My daughters are being harassed. At the moment the measures against them are a warning. Should I not turn myself in, they will be arrested. The only way I can protect them is if I give myself up.

– Who told you that?

– Marcus Greene.

Nara examined the palms of her hands as if the answer were written on them.

– So you would return?

– What choice do I have?

– A return to the Soviet Union might achieve nothing.

– My country is not as it once was. They have no interest in harming my daughters. They are vindictive only if it serves some purpose. If I return, I believe my daughters will be unharmed. I can’t be sure…

– You will be a traitor.

– I am a traitor.

– They will execute you?

– I’m working for the Americans. I’m giving them information that will result in the death of Soviet soldiers.

– Those soldiers are dying because they were sent to Afghanistan, not because of you.

– That is irrelevant. I am a traitor. There is no argument.

– Is your own life so meaningless to you?

Leo thought about the question.

– I see my life only in relation to the people I love.

– You love us?

– Of course.

– But you’ll leave us?

– Nara, I have no choice.

Nara was working hard to keep her emotions in check. She was a mother: she had a responsibility to assess the situation with cool logic.

– Bear in mind if you find Agent Yates that you are leaving this country. We are not. We still have to make a life here. Your actions might have consequences for us.

– I would never allow anything to happen to either you or Nara, just as I would never allow anything to happen to Zoya or Elena.

– Going after Yates will not help your daughters.

– That is true.

– Then why?

– I’m not doing it for them.

– You’re doing it for your wife?

– Yes.

– I don’t believe you. She’s dead, Leo.

– I made a promise to her. I can’t explain it. Nara shook her head.

– You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing it for yourself. Your life is not just about the people you love. It’s also about the people you hate.

Leo became angry.

– Yes, you’re right. When the person you love more than anyone else is murdered then it becomes about hate. I hope you never have to experience that.

Nara turned towards the window. She was angry. Leo was angry too. Was his quest for the killer of his wife a selfish act full of hate and bitterness? It didn’t feel that way, although he could not explain who else might benefit from his actions. The investigation felt vital, as if he had no choice in the matter. He turned away from Nara and the two remained silent until the bus arrived at its destination: the town of Teaneck.

New Jersey

Bergen County

The Town of Teaneck

Cedar Lane

Same Day

Standing in Teaneck – curled red and yellow autumn leaves around his feet – Leo waited as Nara charmed answers from store owners, working the main street with guile and grace that confirmed she would have made an excellent agent. Leo wondered what career she would eventually take. He imagined she would make an inspirational teacher, much like his wife. Quite unexpectedly, he felt a desire to cry, pained to think of her future knowing that he would have no part in it.

Nara emerged from a grocery store, walking up to Leo. He composed himself, asking:

– Any luck?

– Yates still lives here. His wife died a few years ago.

– Did they give you an address?

She hesitated.

– Leo, I want to say this one more time, don’t be angry with me. There would be no shame in letting this rest.

– Nara, a day hasn’t passed when I haven’t thought about what happened to Raisa. For me, there’s been no rest and there can be none, not until I find out the truth. I’m tired, Nara, I’ve been thinking about this for so long. I want what you suggest: I want to rest. I want to sleep without waking up in a cold sweat, thinking about what happened. I must end this.

– What are you going to do when you come face to face with him?

– I don’t know what he’s going to say so I can’t predict what I’m going to do.

Nara’s concerns grew. Leo smiled, taking her hand.

– You’re behaving as though I was crossing a moral line from which there’s no turning back. You must remember that this used to be routine for me. I’ve arrested many innocent men and women. I hunted people down for the State, good people, knocking on doors without knowing anything about the suspect except that their name was on a list.

– Would you still do that?

– No. But I am going to hunt down the person responsible for killing my wife.

Leo paused, wondering if Nara would want no further part in this.

– Did they give you an address?

She looked up at the sky.

– They gave me an address.

*

The front yard was overgrown, knee-high weeds and dense bushes – a patch of land entirely out of place in a street where the other yards were immaculately neat and trim. Following the overgrown path, weeds brushing his shins, Leo approached the front door with Nara by his side. There was no car in the driveway. He knocked and then glanced through the window. The lights were off. He tried the door handle. It was locked. Moving quickly, he took out a tension wrench and a paperclip from his pocket. Nara looked at him in quiet disbelief, appearing unable to fathom that he was by profession an agent of the secret police and that he’d broken into the homes of countless suspects. In seconds the door was open. Leo pocketed the tools, entering the house. After a beat, Nara followed, shutting the door behind her.

Yates lived in a large family home laid out over three floors with a basement and a back yard, a model of suburban normality. Yet instead of being familiar and comforting, the atmosphere was unsettling. Everything spoke of decay and neglect, from the wilderness of the front yard to the bland comforts of the interior, decorated in neutral colours, with mock-antiques and a glass cabinet filled with porcelain trinkets. The carpets were plush, as thick as Leo had ever seen, like the fur of an Arctic animal, and were colour-coordinated with the wallpaper – but the colour had been bleached by sunlight over many years. It was a family house without a sign of a family: there were no photographs except for one lonely wedding picture, a handsome man and a beautiful wife, both veiled in dust.

As they explored, each footstep caused a puff of dust, rising up before settling over the toes of their shoes. Only the kitchen showed evidence of recent use. The lines between the tiles were black with dirt. Washing up had been stacked in the sink, coffee cups and encrusted plates. Leo checked the refrigerator. There were cartons of milk. In the freezer was a tower of packaged meals – he counted seven.

Leo could tell that Nara’s curiosity had been piqued: a desire to continu colous muddled with her anxieties. It was their second search of a suspect’s house together as mentor and student. Leo said:

– I don’t think Agent Yates is the kind of person to keep a journal.

– What kind of a person is he?

Once again, Leo recalled Elena’s words in her diary: He scares me.

This house would not have allayed her fears. In deciding whether to explore upstairs or descend to the basement, Leo chose the gloom of the basement, guessing that it might appeal to Yates.

Rectangular patches of carpet had been nailed to the wooden steps down to the basement with no concern for appearances, making it baffling why the alteration had been done at all. The answer was on the ceiling, covered in black soundproof foam. The concrete floor had also been carpeted in a patchwork of material, using the remains of carpets from upstairs. This wasn’t about aesthetics or comfort, it was about noise, the creation of a quiet room, a cocoon shut off from the world.

There was a tatty chair positioned opposite a large television set up on a small side table. There was a second refrigerator, this one containing bottles of beer, neatly lined up, labels facing forward. There was a stack of newspapers, recently read, crossword puzzles filled in. Leo looked through the home-crafted bookshelves. They contained various biographies of sporting heroes, reference books, a dictionary for the word games that Yates seemed to occupy himself with. There were magazines about fishing. There was pornography. The room was like a teenager’s den buried under a decaying, apparently respectable family house.

The carpeted stairs and soundproofed ceiling meant that neither Leo nor Nara heard Yates arrive. Only when Leo turned to address her did he see the man standing at the top of the padded steps.