The Prodigal Spy (2 page)

“I was born in what was then Bohemia and is now part of Czechoslovakia,” Nick’s father said, but the carefulness of his answer had the odd effect of making him seem evasive. “I came to this country when I was four years old.”

“But you speak Czechoslovakian?”

Nick’s father allowed the trace of a smile. “Czech? No.” But this wasn’t true. Nick remembered his grandmother talking in her kitchen, his father nodding his head at the incomprehensible words. “I know a few words,” his father continued. “Certainly not enough to use the language in any official capacity. I know a little French, too.”

This seemed to annoy the Congressman. “This committee isn’t interested in your knowledge of French, Mr Kotlar. Is it not true that as a member of the Yalta delegation, you had access to information the Russians considered very valuable?”

“No. I was there strictly as an adviser on Lend-Lease and postwar aid programs. My information wasn’t classified–it was available to everyone.”

Welles looked the way Miss Smith did when someone in class was being fresh. “That remains to be seen, Mr Kotlar,” he said. “That remains to be seen.” He paused, pretending to consult a paper but really, Nick knew, just allowing his words to hang in the air. “Lend-Lease. We’ve all heard about your generosity during the war. But after the war, you went right on being generous, didn’t you? Isn’t it true you wanted to give Marshall Plan aid to Czechoslovakia?”

“The United States Government offered the Marshall Plan to all European countries.”

“Maybe it would be more accurate to say that certain officials of the United States Government offered that aid. Officials like yourself. Or maybe you disagreed. Did you feel that such an offer was in the best interests of the United States?”

“It must have been. They turned us down.”

This time there was real laughter, and Congressman Welles, leaning into the microphone, was forced to talk over it, so that when it stopped he seemed to be shouting. “May I remind our visitors that this is a congressional hearing?” There were a few flashbulbs. “Mr Kotlar, you may consider this a laughing matter. I assure you, the American people do not. Now, this aid you were so eager to hand out. A little money for the old country–even if it was now a vassal state of the Soviet empire.”

“I think you have your chronology slightly confused, Congressman. At the time of the offer, Czechoslovakia was a democracy, and President Benes was eager to participate. Subsequently, of course, they declined.”

Nick lost his father halfway through–it was Whigs and Jacobites again, too mixed up to sort out–and he could tell the audience wasn’t really following either. They could hear only the rhythm of Welles’s interrogation, the slow build and rising pitch that seemed to hammer his father into his chair. The momentum of it, not the words, became the accusation. The Congressman was so sure–he must know. It didn’t really matter what he said, so long as the voice rushed along, gathering speed.

“Round two,” the voice-over said, introducing another film clip. “And this time nobody was pulling any punches.”

“Mr Kotlar, I’m sure we’ve all been grateful for the history lessons. Unfortunately, anyone who changes positions as often as you do is bound to make things a little confusing for the rest of us. So let’s see if we can find out what you really think. I’d like to talk again about your background, if I may?” Welles swiveled his head to the other men at the long table, who nodded automatically, absorbed in the drama of where he might be going. “You are, I believe, a graduate of the Harvard Law School?”

For a minute Nick’s father didn’t respond, as if the question were so unexpected it must be a trick. “That’s correct.”

“And can you tell us what you did next? Did you join a firm or hang out your own shingle or what?”

“I came to Washington to work for the Government.”

“That would be, let’s see–1934. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, jobs were tight then, so I guess government work was pretty popular,” Welles said, suddenly folksy and reminiscent. “Kinda the patriotic thing to do in 1934. Yes, sir, they used to say the Harvard Law School ran a regular bus service down here right after graduation.” This play to the gallery had the expected effect, and Welles, smiling slyly, waited for the laughter to subside. Then he looked back at Nick’s father. “But you didn’t come right away, did you?”

Nick’s father looked at him blankly, saying nothing.

“Mr Kotlar, is it not a fact that after Harvard Law School you offered your services to the United Mine Workers union during their illegal strike?”

“It was not an illegal strike.”

“Just answer the question,” Welles shot back. “Did you work for the UMW?”

“Yes.”

“And how much were you paid for this work?”

“It was unpaid.”

“Unpaid. Free, you mean. Well now, I’m just a country lawyer–I didn’t go to the Harvard Law School. They usually work for free up there? Or just the labor agitators?”

He rushed on, not waiting for Nick’s father to reply. “The Party often ask you to do union work, Mr Kotlar?”

“No,” his father said quietly.

“No.” Welles paused. “They had other plans for you. Washington plans. Seems a shame, considering. The strike went pretty well from their point of view, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t working for the Communist Party.”

“No. Just the miners. Out of the goodness of your heart. What made them so special, I wonder. To work free of charge.”

Nick’s father waited, drawing the room to his side of the table, then let his lips form the hint of a smile. “My father was a coal miner. He asked me to help. I didn’t think I could refuse.”

There was a slight pause and then the room buzzed. Welles, visibly surprised and annoyed, covered the microphone with his hand and turned to an aide. The other members of the committee began to talk too, as if by looking away Welles had given them all a brief recess. When he turned back to the mike, the room grew still, expectant.

“I’m sure the members of the committee all appreciate a son’s devotion, Mr Kotlar,” he said, reaching again for sarcasm. But the momentum had gone. Nick wasn’t sure what had happened, but his father was sitting up straighter, no longer letting his shoulders hunch in self-protection. “Perhaps they’d also appreciate hearing that you didn’t confine yourself to legal services in that strike. It says here that the picket line at the Trousdale Colliery got pretty violent. You were arrested, were you not?”

“No. There was a scuffle with the company guards, that’s all. No arrests.”

“Mr Kotlar, we’re not talking about a speeding ticket here. Do you deny there was a violent incident in which you took part?”

“I don’t deny there was a fight. I deny I took part in it.”

“Oh? What were you doing?”

“I was trying to stay out of the way.”

Now there was real laughter, a wave that passed through the room, gathering force until it spilled onto Welles’s table, breaking as it hit his angry face.

“Mr Kotlar,” he said loudly, “I think I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough impertinence. This committee is charged with the serious business–the very serious business -of investigating Communist activities in this country. I’ve had enough of your Harvard Law School evasions. And I think the American people have had enough of high-handed boys who use their tax dollars while they sell this country down the river. You go ahead and laugh. But that was no scuffle, and you are no loyal American. When I look at your testimony start to finish, I see nothing less than an attempt to deceive this committee and this great country. Well, we’re not going to be deceived. This committee is here to look at un-American activities. In your case, I think the people of this country are going to be grateful we did.”

“Congressman,” Nick’s father said, his voice tight with scorn, “the only un-American activity I’ve seen is taking place right here in this committee room. I hope the people see that too.”

Another clip, the announcer’s voice more excited now. “But the sparring match drew to a close as Congressman Welles zeroed in on the sensational Cochrane testimony.” The clip must have been from another day, because his father was wearing a different suit, the gray double-breasted one Nick’s mother said made him look heavier.

“Mr Kotlar, Rosemary Cochrane testified that on several occasions she received government documents from you in her role as a courier for a Russian undercover operation.” The Congressman paused. “Do you recall that testimony?”

“Vividly.”

“And you denied these charges. In fact, you denied ever having met her, is that correct?”

“To the best of my knowledge, I have never met her.”

“To the best of your knowledge?”

“I am trying to be precise. I may have encountered her without my knowing it. Certainly I have no memory of having done so.”

“Is that your way of saying no?” Welles said. “Do I have to remind you that you’re under oath?”

Nick’s father managed a wry smile. “No, you don’t have to remind me.”

“Mr Kotlar, have you ever shopped at Garfinkel’s department store?”

For a moment Nick’s father looked blank. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Have you ever shopped at Garfinkel’s department store? The big store down on 14th Street. You’re familiar with Garfinkel’s?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Shirts? Ever buy shirts there?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember. Now how could that be?”

“My wife usually does the shopping.”

The camera moved to take in Nick’s mother, sitting rigidly at the edge of the row behind, her eyes blinking in the unfamiliar light.

Nick felt Nora squirm beside him. “That’s it,” she whispered urgently. “We’re going.”

“No, when it’s over,” Nick said firmly, not moving his head. “I want to see.”

Congressman Welles was talking again. “But I suppose once in a while you find time in your busy schedule to shop for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And you never bought shirts from Miss Cochrane?”

“Was she the salesgirl? I don’t remember.”

“She remembers you, Mr Kotlar. She remembers receiving envelopes from you during these little shopping trips. Does that refresh your memory?”

“She is mistaken.”

“She even remembers your size. Fifteen and a half, thirty-three. Can you at least remember that for the committee? That your size?”

His father smiled. “I prefer a thirty-five,” he said. “A longer sleeve.”

“A longer sleeve,” Welles repeated sarcastically. “Maybe you’re still growing. You’d better watch your nose then. They say it gets longer every time you tell a lie.”

“I’m watching yours too, Congressman.”

More laughter, and this time Nick got the joke. He remembered
Pinocchio
, the sick feeling in his stomach when the boy went to Donkey Island and couldn’t get back. He felt it now again, that dread, being scared while everyone around him was having a good time. But his father didn’t look scared. His smooth, lean face was calm, as if he knew it was all just a movie.

“And so this week’s round ends in a draw,” the announcer was saying, “as both sides retire to their corners to come back to fight another day.”

But it wasn’t a boxing match, it was a trial, and Welles was the only fighter who came back in the last clip, surrounded
by
hand-held microphones on the windy Capitol steps.

“I don’t think there can be a doubt in anyone’s mind that this country is under attack,” he said, his face grave, looking straight at the camera. “These people are using lies and tricks the same way their comrades overseas are using tanks and machine guns to undermine the free world. We saw it in the Hiss case and we’re seeing it again here. Walter Kotlar is a Communist and he’s going to lose his shirt–no matter what size he says it is.”

Then all at once the screen brightened, flooded with Florida sun as the newsreel switched to water-skiing formations in Cypress Gardens. Nick blinked in the light. A man and woman in bathing suits were receiving crowns. After a rooster crowed to end the newsreel, the screen went dark. Nick watched the curtain close, then open again to start the feature, but he was no longer paying attention to any of it. Nora laughed at some of the movie, but Nick was thinking about the newsreel and missed the point of the jokes and then had to pretend to laugh when everyone else did. He could still see Welles’s wide linebacker’s face, eyes peering out as if he thought he could make you squirm just by looking hard enough. He was like one of those guys who kept poking you in the chest until you had to fight. But every time Nick’s father hit back, he’d get madder. He’d never stop now. The newsreel must be a few days old. Nick wondered what had happened since.

After the movie, on the street, Nora was uneasy. “Don’t tell your mother. She wouldn’t like it.”

“I won’t.”

“He’s a wicked man, the Senator.”

“He’s not a senator.”

“Well, whatever he is.” She sighed, then brightened. “Still, I’ll say this for your father. He gave as good as he got.”

Nick looked up at her. “No, he didn’t,” he said.

Nick could see the Capitol dome from his window if he craned his head to the left, but when he lay in the bed, facing straight ahead, everything disappeared except the tree branches, thin and brittle now in the cold. In the faint light from the street they quivered when the wind shook them, too stiff to bend. Downstairs the dinner party was still going on. Nick could hear the voices rising up through the floorboards, his mother’s occasional laugh. Earlier she had been nervous, her red fingernails brushing over ashtrays as she rearranged things on tables, moving the flower vase twice before it seemed right. Then the doorbell, Nick helping with the coats in the hall, the cocktails and the clink of ice cubes, his polite farewells as they finally went in to dinner, his mother’s promise to be up later as she touched his cheek goodnight, the air around her warm with smoke and perfume. He had listened on the stairs for a while, straining to make out words in the familiar hum, then come up to bed, lying here watching the branches and waiting. She always looked in while the coffee was being served. But it was his father who came. Nick saw the shadow first against the window, then turned to see him standing in the doorway, taller than he’d been in the newsreel.