Agent 6 Read Free

superior officer. When he understood that Leo was genuinely curious, he answered:
    —
How else do you meet someone except to introduce yourself? I spoke about her art. I told her that I’d seen some of her work—which is true. The conversation continued from there. She was easy to talk to, friendly.
    Leo found this extraordinary:
    —
She wasn’t suspicious?
    —
No.
    —
She should have been.
    Briefly they’d been speaking as friends, about matters of the heart, now they were agents again. Grigori sunk his head:
    —
Yes, you’re right, she should have been.
    He wasn’t angry with Leo. He was angry with himself. His connection with the artist was built on a lie: His affection was founded on artifice and deception.
    Surprising himself, Leo offered the diary to Grigori:
    —
Take it.
    Grigori didn’t move, trying to figure out what was happening. Leo smiled:
    —
Take it. She is free to continue her work as an artist. There’s no need to press the case further.
    —
You’re sure?
    —
I found nothing in the diary.
    Understanding that she was safe, Grigori smiled. He reached out, pulling the diary from Leo’s hands. As the pages slipped out of his grip, Leo felt an outline pressed into the paper—it wasn’t a letter or a word but some kind of shape, something he hadn’t seen.
    —
Wait.
    Taking the diary back, Leo opened the page, examining the top right-hand corner. The space was blank. Yet when he touched the other side he could feel the indented lines. Something had been rubbed out.
    He took a pencil, brushing the side of the lead against the paper, revealing the ghost of a small doodle, a sketch not much larger than his thumb. It was a woman standing on a plinth holding a torch, a statue. Leo stared blankly until realizing what it was. It was an American monument. It was the Statue of Liberty.
    Grigori stumbled over his words:
    —
She’s an artist. She sketches all the time.
    —
Why has it been rubbed out?
    He had no answer.
    —
You tampered with evidence?
    There was panic in Grigori’s reply:
    —
When I first joined the MGB, on my first day, I was told a story about Lenin’s secretary, Fotieva. She claims that Lenin asked his chief of security, Felix Dzerzhinsky, how many counterrevolutionaries he had under arrest. Dzerzhinsky passed him a slip of paper with the number one thousand five hundred written on it. Lenin returned the paper, marking it with a cross. According to his secretary a cross was used by Lenin to show he had read a document. Dzerzhinsky misunderstood and executed all of them. That is why I had to rub it out. This sketch could have been misunderstood.
    Leo thought it an inappropriate reference. He’d heard enough:
    —
Dzerzhinsky was the father of this agency. To compare your predicament with his is ludicrous. We are not permitted the luxury of interpretation. We are not judges. We don’t decide what evidence to present and destroy. If she is innocent, as you claim, that will be found out during further questioning. In your misguided attempt to protect her, you’ve incriminated yourself.
    —
Leo, she’s a good person.
    —
You’re infatuated with her. Your judgment is compromised.
    Leo’s voice had become harsh and cruel. He heard himself and softened his tone:
    —
Since the evidence is intact, I see no reason to draw attention to your mistake, a mistake that would certainly end your career. Write up your report, mark the sketch as evidence, and let those more experienced than us decide.
    He added:
    —
And Grigori, I cannot protect you again.

KM TRAMCAR
MOSKVORETSKY BRIDGE
SAME DAY
    L EO EXHALED ON THE WINDOW , causing it to steam up. Childlike, he pressed his finger against the condensation and without thinking traced the outline of the Statue of Liberty—a crude version of the sketch he’d seen today. He hastily rubbed it away with the coarse cuff of his jacket and glanced around. The sketch would have been unrecognizable to anyone except himself and the tramcar was