At the moment of their arrival, Nicholai had been puzzling over a move in the recalled master game that had the fragrance of a tenuki, but which was in fact a subtle reaction to the opponent’s preceding play. Before looking up, he concentrated on the board, freezing its patterns in his memory so he could return to it later. Only then did he lift his expressionless bottle-green eyes to the Major’s face.

“What did you say?”

“I am Major Diamond, CID.”

“Oh?” Nicholai’s indifference was not feigned.

The Major opened his attaché case and drew out three typed sheets stapled together. “If you will just sign this confession, we can get on with it.”

Nicholai glanced at the paper. “I don’t think I want to sign anything.”

Diamond’s lips tightened with irritation. “You’re denying murdering General Kishikawa?”

“I am not denying anything. I helped my friend to his escape from…” Nicholai broke off. What was the point of explaining to this man something his mercantile culture could not possibly comprehend? “Major, I don’t see any value in continuing this conversation.”

Major Diamond glanced toward the burly civilian behind Nicholai, who leaned over and said, “Listen. You might as well sign the confession. We know all about your activities on behalf of the Reds’”

Nicholai did not bother to look toward the man.

“You’re not going to tell us you haven’t been in contact with a certain Colonel Gorbatov?” the civilian persisted.

Nicholai took a long breath and did not answer. It was too complicated to explain; and it didn’t matter if they understood or not.

The civilian gripped Nicholai’s shoulder. “You’re in maximum trouble, boy! Now, you’d better sign this paper, or—”

Major Diamond frowned and shook his head curtly, and the civilian released his grip. The Major put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, looking into Nicholai’s eyes with worried compassion. “Let me try to explain all this to you. You’re confused right now, and that’s perfectly understandable. We know the Russians are behind this murder of General Kishikawa. I’ll admit to you that we don’t know why. That’s one of the things we want you to help us with. Let me be open and frank with you. We know you’ve been working for the Russians for some time. We know you infiltrated a most sensitive area in Sphinx/FE with forged papers. A Russian identity card was found on you, together with an American one. We also know that your mother was a communist and your father a Nazi; that you were in Japan during the war; and that your contacts included militarist elements of the Japanese government. One of these contacts was with this Kishikawa.” Major Diamond shook his head and sat back. “So you see, we know rather a lot about you. And I’m afraid it’s all pretty damning. That’s what my associate means when he says that you’re in great trouble. It’s possible that I may be able to help you… if you are willing to cooperate with us. What do you say?”

Nicholai was overwhelmed by the irrelevance of all this. Kishikawa-san was dead; he had done what a son must do; he was ready to face punishment; the rest didn’t matter.

“Are you denying what I have said?” the Major asked.

“You have a handful of facts, Major, and from them you have made ridiculous conclusions.”

Diamond’s lips tightened. “Our information came from Colonel Gorbatov himself.”

“I see.” So Gorbatov was going to punish him for snatching away his propaganda prey by giving the Americans certain half-truths and allowing them to do his dirty work. How Slavic in its duplicity, in its involute obliquity.

“Of course,” Diamond continued, “we don’t take everything the Russians tell us at face value. That’s why we want to give you a chance to tell us your side of the story.”

“There is no story.”

The civilian touched his shoulder again. “You deny that you knew General Kishikawa during the war?”

“No.”

“You deny that he was a part of the Japanese military/industrial machine?”

“He was a soldier.” The more accurate response would have been that he was a warrior, but that distinction would have meant nothing to these Americans with their mercantile mentalities.

“Do you deny being close to him?” the civilian pursued.

“No.”

Major Diamond took up the questioning, his lone and expression indicating that he was honestly uncertain and sought to understand. “Your papers were forged, weren’t they, Nicholai?”

“Yes.”

“Who helped you obtain forged papers?”

Nicholai was silent.

The Major nodded and smiled. “I understand. You don’t want to implicate a friend. I understand that. Your mother was Russian, wasn’t she?”

“Her nationality was Russian. There was no Slavic blood in her.”

The civilian cut in. “So you admit that your mother was a communist?”

Nicholai found a bitter humor in the thought of Alexandra Ivanovna being a communist. “Major, to the degree my mother took any interest in politics—a very modest degree indeed—she was to the political right of Attila.” He repeated “Attila” again, mispronouncing it with an accent on the second syllable, so the Americans would understand.

“Sure,” the civilian said. “And I suppose you’re going to deny that your father was a Nazi?”

“He might have been. From what I understand, he was stupid enough. I never met him.”

Diamond nodded. “So what you’re really saying, Nicholai, is that the bulk of our accusations are true.”

Nicholai sighed and shook his head. He had worked with the American military mentality for two years, but he could not pretend to understand its rigid penchant for forcing facts to fit convenient preconceptions. “If I understand you, Major—and frankly I don’t much care if I do—you are accusing me of being both a communist and a Nazi, of being both a close friend of General Kishikawa’s and his hired assassin, of being both a Japanese militarist and a Soviet spy. And you seem to believe that the Russians would arrange the killing of a man they intended to subject to the indignities of a War Crimes Trial to the end of garnering their bit of the propaganda glory. None of this offends your sense of rational probability?”

“We don’t pretend to understand every twist and turn of it,” Major Diamond admitted.

“Don’t you really? What becoming humility.”

The civilian’s grip tightened painfully on his shoulder. “We don’t need wise-assed talk from you! You’re in heavy trouble! This country is under military occupation, and you’re not a citizen of anywhere, boy! We can do anything we want with you, with no interference from consulates and embassies!”

The Major shook his head, and the civilian released his grip and stepped back. “I don’t think that tone is going to do us any good. It’s obvious that Nicholai isn’t easily frightened.” He smiled half shyly, then said, “But still, what my associate says is true. You have committed a capital crime, the penalty for which is death. But there are ways in which you can help us in our fight against international communism. A little cooperation from you, and something might be arranged to your advantage.”

Nicholai recognized the haggling tone of the marketplace. Like all Americans, this Major was a merchant at heart; everything had a price, and the good man was he who bargained well.

“Are you listening to me?” Diamond asked.

“I can hear you,” Nicholai modified.

“And? Will you cooperate?”

“Meaning sign your confession?”

“That and more. The confession implicates the Russians in the assassination. We’ll also want to know about the people who helped you infiltrate Sphinx/FE. And about the Russian intelligence community here, and their contacts with unpurged Japanese militarists.”

“Major. The Russians had nothing to do with my actions. Believe me that I don’t care one way or the other about their politics, just as I don’t care about yours. You and the Russians are only two slightly different forms of the same thing: the tyranny of the mediocre. I have no reason to protect the Russians.”