The Man Who Remembered Ch. 02

"A good memory aid, for him and for me."

Oleg paused and straightened his tie, a nervous sign that Lev remembered from the academy, slight, but a signal that Oleg had yet to address some final issues. Lev could guess what they were, since they were on his mind, but he wanted to hear Oleg's presentation.

"Aside from patriotic service, you are perhaps wondering how this work will benefit you. That's acceptable, Lev. We live in that kind of era."

"We always did. Why else should I do this?" asked Lev. "A medal? A week at a spa on the Black Sea?"

"Let me ask you, Lev: How is your son's business these days? Telecommunications systems, I believe?"

Lev considered. Oleg probably knew more about Grigori's business than Lev did. "Considering the economy, good. He knows the technology, he can market, he maintains honest relationships with his suppliers."

"And his krisha?" asked Oleg, referring to the "roof," or common "protection" offered by the Russian mafia to ward off other criminals.

Lev hesitated. "Unobtrusive but effective. A cost of doing business."

"If JACKPOT cooperates, certain companies stand to benefit from the influx of technology opportunities. That naturally includes telecommunications. We've had our eye on Grigori as a possible vendor. Everything you said about him is true. The organs can always use more telecommunications gear. We can take care of our own, you know."

"Understood. But where does the krisha fit in?"

"We can offer better protection, less financial pain, and in an official capacity, as a state agency. One of the benefits of dealing with us. But that hinges, for Grigori and others, on whether JACKPOT plays with us."

Oleg stood up, gathering the folders and placing them in the briefcase that he left unlocked, Lev noticed. He pushed his chair back and stretched. The apartment looked more temporary than ever, a way station between places in Lev's life. Once resigned to that station, Lev now felt that Oleg offered him a road to another place. Packing would take little time. He could leave in a few days.

Oleg shrugged the expensive coat on and exchanged closing words with Lev. Picking up the brief case, he said, "Oh, I almost forgot. One more file." He pulled a thin folder from the briefcase and tossed it on the table.

"Somewhat off the subjects we're discussing, but here's a file you will enjoy reading. You can keep it. I have the original."

"Thank you."

"It's the initial file on JACKPOT's younger sister, Helene. Remember her?"

"Somewhat. She kept her distance from politics."

"A shame, since she was so bright and personable. Attractive, too, judging from the file."

"It was a long time ago."

"Lev, the two of you had serious conversations. She wanted to show you New York. I believe you remember her more than 'somewhat.'" Oleg smiled, the magician pulling the audience in to one more trick.

"You know about our conversations? I shouldn't be surprised," Lev felt a flush, recalling his private moments with Helene, a teenager.

"Who watches the watchers? Somebody has to," said Oleg, eyes boring into Lev. "And she expressed herself very passionately about you."

"How do you know, or should I not ask?"

"We read her diary. We have copies of the pages about you. A matter of operational security, of course. She was very taken with the 25 year old representative of the first socialist republic."

"I never had any intentions toward her. She was so much younger than me, relatively, and 'operational security' could not be compromised," said Lev, wondering how Helene might have endangered him.

"You were no Lavrenti Pavlovich, I see. We're all better for that."

"We know how things ended for him. I preferred to make as few enemies as possible in my career," said Lev. He paused, then continued, "How is Helene?"

"Healthy, happy, as far as we can tell. A widow for several years, two children, in Atlanta and Los Angeles, several grandchildren. She still lives in New York. She works as a researcher for a management consulting firm. All the details are in the follow-up folder, in the New York office. I don't have it. You can see it when you get there, of course. Most interesting reading. Her married name is Helene Weinstock."

Lev could now see below the surface of the conversation, to where the file on Helene danced and flickered like a tropical fish in sunlit waters. Oleg played his last trick, exquisitely. Even without Helene, Lev knew he'd take the assignment, but now Oleg had dangled a 50-year old inducement that still had a power that left Lev shaken. Helene! She was barely 16 when he met her at a save-the-Rosenbergs event, where he fetched a package of papers from JACKPOT. She had long wavy hair, a form-fitting sweater favored by high-school girls of the day, ripe lips, a strongly Semitic nose, a serious manner tinged with a flirtatiousness that drew the furtive attention of all the young men in the room. Did she know the power of her allure? Surely she did, for several times she focused its bright beam on Lev, only for him to skitter away, fearful of the operational consequences. She was too young, too close to a major contact of his, and too volatile and uncontrollable at a time when Moscow would have no scruples about yanking him back and executing him for any step that harmed undercover operations in the U.S. He'd seen that happen, too.

Oleg smiled. From reading her file and diary, he knew just what passions Lev had avoided – preserving his career, perhaps his life, in the bargain. She was beautiful in that first-generation Eastern European way, Helene of Flatbush if not Helene of Troy. Oleg never would have mentioned Helene had Polina been alive. Even he, Oleg, the very sword and shield of the revolution, would not have betrayed Polina, his old instructor, by dangling a youthful love in front of Lev. But Polina was gone, Lev was lonely, and a job in the U.S. needed a man who remembered. Helene's file was simply – how did the Americans phrase it? The ice on the pie? It made no sense, but whatever the Americans said, Helene played that role here, even more than the opportunity for business for Grigori. He was certain that an old man's curiosity about his younger self's passions would prove irresistible.

"My friend, I must return to the offices and inform New York of your arrival. The travel office will contact you about the arrangements," said Lev, his hand on the doorknob. "I am confident everything will work out, for you and for Grigori."

Lev shook his hand. "Thank you, Oleg Sergeyevich. I am pleased that you called on me for this assignment. I will serve the best I can. I can pack quickly."

"Welcome back, tovarisch," said Oleg, using the Russian word for "comrade."

As soon as Oleg left, Lev sat at his computer with the files in front of him, and began to read more about his past and his future.