He told of Colonel Anatoli Grishin. The colonel had been convinced Turkin was going to die, so he had been happy to boast of previous triumphs. Turkin was told in detail of men he had never heard of, Kruglov, Blinov, and Solomin. He was told what Grishin had done to the Siberian soldier to make him talk.
When it was over, I prayed for death as I have many times since. There have been many suicides in this camp, but somehow I always hoped that if I could hold on, I might one day be free. Not that you would recognize me, nor would Ludmilla or my boy Yuri. No hair left, no teeth, not much body and that torn by wounds and fever. I do not regret what I did, for it was a foul regime. Perhaps now there will be freedom for my people. Somewhere there is my wife, I hope she is happy. And my son Yuri who owes his life to you. Thank you for that. Good-bye, my friend.
Nikolai Ilyich
Jason Monk folded the letter, placed it on a side table, put his head in his hands, and cried like a child. He did not go in to work that day. He did not ring and explain why. He did not answer the phone. At 6:00 P.M. when it was already dark, he checked the phone book, got into his car, and drove across to Arlington.
He knocked quite politely on the door of the house he sought, and when it opened he nodded at the woman, said Good evening Mrs. Mulgrew and walked on past leaving her speechless in the doorway.
Ken Mulgrew was m the living room his jacket off and a large glass of whiskey in one hand He turned saw the intruder, and said Hey what the hell? You burst—”
It was the last thing he said without whistling uncomfortably for several weeks. Monk hit him. He hit him on the jaw and he hit him very hard.
Mulgrew was the bigger man, but he was out of condition and still feeling the effects of a very liquid lunch. He had been to the office that day, but no one was doing anything except discuss in traumatized whispers the news that was raging through the building like a forest fire.
Monk hit him four times in all, one for each of his lost agents. Apart from breaking his jaw, he blacked both his eyes and broke his nose. Then he walked out.
¯
“SOUNDS like a bit of an active measure,” suggested Nigel Irvine.
“About as active as you can get,” agreed Jordan.
“What happened?”
“Well, thankfully Mrs. Mulgrew didn’t call the cops, she called the agency. They sent a few guys around, just in time to find Mulgrew being shoveled into the ambulance, en route to the nearest emergency room. They calmed down the wife and she identified Monk. So the guys drove around to his place.
“He was there, and they asked him what the fuck he thought he had done and he gestured at the letter on the table. Of course, they couldn’t read it, but they took it with them.”
“He was busted? Monk?” asked the Englishman.
“Right. This time they busted him for good. There was a lot of sympathy, of course, when the letter was read out in translation at the hearing. They even let me speak for him, whatever good that did. But the outcome was foregone.
Even in the aftermath of the Ames arrest, you couldn’t have spooks with a grudge going around turning senior officers into hamburger. They fired him outright.”
The waiter was back again, looking plaintive. Both men rose and headed toward the door. The relieved waiter nodded and smiled.
“What about Mulgrew?”
“Ironically, he was dismissed in disgrace a year later, when the full measure of what Ames had done was more widely known.”
“And Monk?”
“He left town. He was living with a girl at the time, but she was away on a seminar and when she came back they parted. I heard Monk took his pension as a lump sum, but anyway he left Washington.”
“Any idea where for?”
“Last I heard he was in your neck of the woods.”
“London? Britain?”
“Not quite. One of Her Majesty’s colonies.”
“Dependent territories—they’re not called colonies anymore. Which one?”
“Turks and Caicos Islands. You know I said he loved deep-sea fishing? Last I heard he had a boat down there, working as a charter skipper.”
It was a brilliant autumn day and Georgetown was looking lovely as they stood on the sidewalk in front of La Chaumière waiting for a cab for Carey Jordan.