35
TREIZECI ȘI CINCI
omrade Director gave a discreet nod when I passed him in the hall the next day. So after school I waited in the bathroom then headedC for the apartment. Did the agent meet with other informers there?
If I arrived early or waited afterward, would I see them? He probably staggered his schedule. But maybe I’d see the residents of the apartment.
Would I recognize them?
Each step stirred questions—and anger.
Frustration.
Bunu. Liliana. Luca. It was all such a mess.
I peered through the crack in the door. The agent didn’t see me. Not at first. He sat, sucking on a cigarette.
I had a moment to evaluate the miserable creature that Paddle Hands must have been, ruining the lives of teenagers and forcing them to become spies. What motivated him to sell his soul? Was he blackmailed, like me?
Perhaps he had an ill family member too? Or was it the steady supply of Kents and the shallow power of driving a black Dacia that kept him going?
He didn’t wear a wedding ring. No, a bottle of țuică, plum firewater, kept him company on cold winter nights. How did Luca deal with this guy? Luca was kind but not savvy. No wonder our classmate had a breakdown.
But I was not going to have a breakdown.
I was going to take them all down.
If I got my notebook to Mr. Van Dorn, the embassy would see me as a source of truth and report that Ceauşescu was duping everyone.
I watched as the agent fiddled with his pack of BT cigarettes. He had removed the stamp decal from the top of the package and was curling it around his little finger. The cigarette smoke, like sins rising, crept up and
around his neck.
Choke him.
“Come in and close the door,” he ordered, finally aware of my presence. “Take a seat.”
I entered and sat. Calculus notebook in my lap.
“So, how have things been going?”
“Fine,” I lied.
My thickening file sat on the desk in front of the agent. What was in it?
“Did you visit the target?”
I nodded. “I accompanied him to the American Library as instructed.”
“And what did you learn?”
I took a breath and began to recite. “He reads Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, and Billboard magazines. He’s bored and misses home. He has a
tutor who comes to the apartment.”
“What’s the tutor’s name?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
“Male or female? Does his father interact with the tutor?”
“He didn’t say. He wants to go home for Christmas. He likes a girl—”
“What’s her name? Is she Romanian?”
I took a breath and continued. “He likes a girl who plays guitar in an
American band—”
“They’re dating?”
I thought of Dan, joking about his pretend girlfriend in the magazine. I couldn’t resist. “Yes, they’re dating. Long-distance relationship. Serious.
She’s older, lives in New York.”
“Do his parents know?”
“No. It’s a secret. A big secret. He’s going to Princeton and they’re making plans to be together there.”
He nodded, making notes in front of him. “The son has access to money?”
“He’s never mentioned money.”
“What does he think of Romanian girls?”
“He’s never mentioned them. Only talks of this girl who plays guitar.”
“Does his father interact with Romanian women?”
“I have no idea.”
Why the questions about women? Where was this going?
“In the American Library, what did you see?”
I was happy to answer that question. “I saw an album with photographs of Beloved Leader at Disneyland in California. He and Mother Elena were playing with Mickey Mouse, having a grand time in the Magic Kingdom. I was surprised—I thought Disneyland was make believe. Comrade Major, is it a real place?”
Paddle Hands looked up at me, edgy. “Did the target remove or take anything with him from the American Library?”
The question was too specific. He knew about the magazine. How?
“Yes, he removed a page from a magazine.”
“What were the contents of the page?”
“An article about American musicians.” I thought of the article, still
sitting in my closet.
“What was described in the article?”
“Just general sentiments of a song,” I said.
“And what was the sentiment?” he asked, impatient.
One of Bunu’s lectures sifted back to me, about words having power. I paused, drawing out the delivery of the phrase I had invented. “The sentiment . . . I think it was something like . . . power to the one who doesn’t want it.”
The agent nodded and continued to scribble. He even asked me to repeat it. I almost laughed. I was definitely losing my mind.
“Power to the one . . . who doesn’t want it,” I told him.
He pushed on, writing, the irony lost on him. I shifted in my seat and repositioned my notebook in the process, making certain the Steaua logo was casually visible. I had drawn it on my notebook the night after our last
meeting. The agent’s eyes shifted to the image. He set down the pen for a quick pull on his cigarette. I took the chance.
“Do you follow Steaua or Dinamo?”
“Steaua,” said the agent quietly.
“Me too. Steaua’s the most underrated team in all of Europe. Over a hundred games, undefeated.”
The agent leaned back, nodding. He pulled another drag from the cigarette and resumed playing with the paper ring from the package. “And remember, the other European teams import and buy players. But our team is real—all Romanians,” he said.
“Exactly. When I was little, I dreamed of being a goalkeeper for Steaua,” I lied.
The agent gave a small laugh. “Didn’t we all.” His body suddenly stiffened, returning to tight posture, as if lashed by an invisible whip. He dropped the paper ring from the cigarette pack and picked up his pen. But the momentary, minuscule crack in his armor, I saw it. I had chiseled my way in and briefly distracted him. It was possible.
“Dan Van Dorn doesn’t like soccer. He likes American football,” I told him.
“Write it all down. Everything you’ve told me. Sign the bottom,” he instructed.
The agent made notations in his ledger while I wrote. When I finished I handed him the signed paper.
“I’ve learned the target’s father has a large desk in the apartment,” he said. “I need to know what’s on the desk.”
“I need medicine for my bunu.”
The agent looked up from his notes. I stared at him, unblinking.
“I told you I’d take care of that. Find out what’s on his desk. We’re done,” he said.
I gave a nod and left the apartment. Jerk.
And then I had a thought. How did Paddle Hands learn that Mr. Van Dorn had a desk? Was there another informer assigned to the Van Dorns?
If so, who was it?
|| OFFICIAL REPORT ||
TOP SECRET [14 Nov. 1989]
Ministry of the Interior
Department of State Security Directorate III, Service 330
Discussion with source OSCAR at host location. OSCAR displayed arrogance and tried to manipulate the conversation. Signature on today’s report differs from last. OSCAR provided the following information on target VAIDA:
-VAIDA’s son has a school tutor who works with him in the home -VAIDA’s son is engaged in a clandestine relationship with an American female musician -at the American Library, VAIDA’s son removed an article from a magazine that expressed anti-communist sentiments For further documentation, OSCAR is now tasked with: -retrieving information on VAIDA’s home desk
NOTE: Consideration should be given to OSCAR’s family loyalty and viability as a continued source. Recent reports state that while at the American Library, OSCAR viewed American political magazines.
Additional reports indicate OSCAR is distressed within his romantic relationship with neighbor, Liliana Pavel (17).