Liberation Movements

Gavra

Brano drove him back to the Metropol to retrieve his car. They rode in silence until Gavra cleared his throat. “There’s something wrong with this.”

“I know,” said Brano. “There’s a lot wrong with this.”

“Then what are you doing about it?”

Brano turned up Yalta Boulevard. “It’s best you’re kept in the dark, Gavra. I know you don’t like this, and despite what you may believe, I don’t enjoy keeping things from you. But I am working on it.”

“Tell me about Ludvik Mas.”

Brano took a breath. “He used to be like you, Gavra. Some years ago I brought him into the Ministry. He was young, intelligent, and eager to please. But he was also desperate for power. I didn’t see that; it’s my fault. Once I realized my error, it was too late. He had gone over my head-and against my orders-when he set up Room 305. This office began with the operation you’ve just heard about, a fraud around parapsychology, but has since expanded considerably. The Lieutenant General calls it ‘Disruption Services,’ because its various operations also work to disrupt capitalist countries’ internal workings. Often by funding dissident groups.”

“Like terrorists.”

Brano nodded. “Once Ludvik had set it up, under the protection of the Lieutenant General, I could do nothing to stop him.”

“So you disagree with the operation.”

“Like I said, I told him not to begin it. It’s always been my belief that the Ministry should not be involved in the haphazard murder of foreign agents. But others above me felt differently.”

He parked behind Gavra’s car and turned off the engine, then stared out the windshield at the opaque windows of the Hotel Metropol. “Gavra,” he said, “I want you to be very careful. I don’t trust that Mas won’t try something again, and you’ll be in danger. He knows as well as I do that you’re a homosexual, and for that reason he places little value on your life. He’s that kind of person.”

Gavra felt as if his chest were being squeezed. His vision was fuzzy. “You know?”

Brano surprised him by patting his knee. “Of course I know. And I knew that was no girl in your bed back in Istanbul. My only concern is that you keep such things quiet. You can’t afford to be…” He paused, as if the next word were not part of his vocabulary: “Flamboyant. It could ruin your career. Or worse.”

Gavra was at first unable to think of a reply, but then it occurred to him. “Thank you, Comrade Sev.”

Brano placed his hands on the wheel again. “It’s nothing, Gavra. Though I do suggest you avoid becoming involved with Adrian Martrich.”

“Of course.”

“But watch him. Make sure Katja stays away. This doesn’t need to spread any further than it already has.”

“Yes, comrade.” Gavra opened the door and climbed into the hot sunlight.

He returned to find Katja and Adrian in the living room, drinking cans of Zipfer beer. Katja was in a state. She was pulling at her hair, making it dirty, and when she noticed Gavra she spoke with an unfocused voice. “Okay, you can tell me now.”

“What?” Gavra asked as innocently as he could manage.

She pointed at him. “Everything.”

Adrian shrugged at his questioning glance.

She said, “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark. You’ve been meeting with a man named Peter Husak, correct?”

“I don’t know who that is,” said Gavra.

Katja stood, the beer in her hand. “Either you tell me what’s going on, or I’m walking out of here right now, and you can take care of this yourself.”

Perhaps it was Brano Sev’s half-remembered training coming back, but Gavra became hard at that moment. His jaw tensed, squaring his face. He said, “I can’t tell you. If you want to leave, then fine.”

Katja walked over to him and emptied the rest of her beer on his shirt. Before leaving, she said, “Sorry about the floor, Adrian.”

“No problem,” said Adrian.