Same Day

Leo stood up, peering through the boxes, checking to see if Clarke was close by. There was no sign of him. Returning to the case, his hands still shaking in nervous anticipation, he clicked the locks open and looked inside.

The disappointment was crushing. The case was empty. Recovering his composure, he breathed deeply. He ran his fingers along the lining, searching for a noe, a letter hidden in the fabric. There were no knife cuts, no stitched compartments. He examined the outside, turning it upside down, feeling the base and the corners. He could hear Clarke’s footsteps on the concrete floor.

—Mr Demidov?

The case offered no more clues. He checked the objects nearby: there were at least twenty other suitcases. He recognized none of them. Surely Zoya and Elena’s belongings were also here. They’d been confiscated: the girls had returned to Russia with only the clothes they were wearing, everything else had been taken. Leo memorized the item number of Raisa’s case. Clarke’s footsteps were getting closer: he was only metres away. As he came into view, Leo stood up, moving away from his wife’s case.

Clarke smiled at him.

—Find anything?

—No, not really.

It was a weak denial. Clarke didn’t pick up on it. He was carrying a large hardback book protected with plastic.

—Here’s the catalogue.

Leo took it from him, saying nothing about his discovery, trying to remain calm and unflustered, opening the book and flicking through. Clarke put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

—I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a few boxes of items I’d like your opinion on.

The reading area was near the office, situated inside the archive since no items could be removed. A table had been provided. There was a desk lamp, a chair and several boxes filled with items to look through. Clarke chatted to Leo for a while, explaining his interest in the contents. Leo barely listened to a word, tortured by the delay, desperate to look up the reference number of the suitcase in the catalogue. Finally, Clarke left him alone and he was able to study the entries. The numbering system was complex. From memory he scribbled down the code number of the suitcase. He found the entry log. The description read:

He checked the vocabulary in his dictionary. The use of the word RED was almost certainly a reference to Communism, a prominent Communist voice – surely it referred to Jesse Austin.

Leo stared at the codes trying to figure out how to trace the other documents connected to the same investigation. Unable to crack the system, and reluctant to ask for assistance, he had no choice but to work through every entry, running his finger down the descriptions. He was halfway through the catalogue, constantly checking to see if Clarke was approaching. His finger stopped, pressed against the words:

He wrote down the location for the box – code 35 / 9 / 3.3 – and shut the catalogue, slipping the paper into his pocket.

Standing up, he edged forward, seeing Clarke nearby in the office. He was occupied and Leo took his chance, moving quickly, hurrying towards aisle 35. Reaching the aisle he turned right, his hand moving across the numbers, finding the ninth unit. The box was on the top shelf, third along. He took hold of it, his arms trembling with emotion. The box was heavy and he struggled with it before managing to set it down. As if he was handling a box of precious treasure, he slowly removed the lid.

Inside was a mass of documents, details of the United Nations concert, a programme, official letters written from the Kremlin regarding the trip, discussing the Student Peace Tour, the proposals and protocol. As a former agent, Leo’s sense for what was important had been developed over many years of searching through papers and personal belongings. These were formal state documents. They revealed only the surface gloss of the tour. His hand touched the bottom of the box, feeling something hard, the spine of a book – it was a diary.

Leo read the first entry, remembering the words as surely as if he’d written them himself: