Gone Tomorrow

lid is back on. I advised them to forget all about it and head home.”
    “Why are they posing as mother and daughter?”
    “Because it’s a great con,” I said. “It’s appealing. It’s like reality TV. Or those magazines they sell in the supermarket. Clearly they studied our culture.”
    “Why wait so long?”
    “It takes time to build a mature television industry. They probably wasted years on important stuff.”
    Sansom nodded vaguely, and said, “It’s not true that no one knows anything for sure. You seem to know plenty.”
    “But I’m not going to say anything.”
    “Can I trust you on that?”
    “I served thirteen years. I know all kinds of things. I don’t talk about them.”
    “I’m not happy about how easy it was for them to approach Susan Mark. And I’m not happy we didn’t know about her from the get-go. We never even heard of her before the morning after. This whole thing was like an ambush. We were always behind the curve.”
    I was looking at the photographs on the wall behind him. Looking at the tiny figures. Their shapes, their postures, their silhouettes. I said, “Really?”
    “We should have been told.”
    I said, “Have a word with the Pentagon. And with those guys from the Watergate.”
    Sansom said, “I will.” Then he went quiet, as if he was rethinking and reassessing, more calmly and at a slower pace than his usual fast field-officer style. The lid is back on . He seemed to examine that proposition for a spell, from all kinds of different angles. Then he shrugged, and got a slightly sheepish look on his face, and he asked, “So what do you think of me now?”
    “Is that important?”
    “I’m a politician. It’s a reflex inquiry.”
    “I think you should have shot them in the head.”
    He paused and said, “We had no silenced weapons.”
    “You did. You had just taken one from them.”
    “Rules of engagement.”
    “You should have ignored them. The Red Army didn’t travel with forensics labs. They would have had no idea who shot who.”
    “So what do you think of me?”
    “I think you shouldn’t have handed them over. That was uncalled for. That was going to be the point of the story, as a matter of fact, on Ukrainian TV. The idea was to get the old woman next to you and let her ask you why.”
    Sansom shrugged again. “I wish she could. Because the truth is, we didn’t hand them over. We turned them loose instead. It was a calculated risk. A kind of double bluff. They’d lost their rifle. Everyone would have assumed that the mujahideen had taken it. Which was a sorry outcome and a major disgrace. It was clear to me that they were very scared of their officers and their political commissars. So they would have been falling over themselves to tell the truth, that it was Americans, not Afghans. It would have been a kind of exculpation. But their officers and their commissars knew how scared they were of them, so the truth would have sounded like a bullshit story. Like a pathetic excuse. It would have been discounted immediately, as a fantasy. So I felt it was safe enough to let them go. The truth would have been out there in plain sight, but unrecognized.”
    I said, “So what happened?”
    Sansom said, “I guess they were more scared than I thought. Too scared to go back at all. I guess they just wandered, until the tribes-people found them. Grigori Hoth was married to a political commissar. He was scared of her. That’s what happened. And that’s what killed him.”
    I said nothing.
    He said, “Not that I expect anyone to believe me.”
    I didn’t reply.
    He said, “You’re right about tension between Russia and the Ukraine. But there’s tension between Russia and ourselves, too. Right now there’s plenty of it. If the Korengal part of the story gets out, things could blow up big. It’s like the Cold War all over again. Except different. At least the Soviets were sane, in their way. This bunch, not so much.”
    After that we sat in silence for what felt like a long time, and then Sansom’s desk phone rang. It was his receptionist on the line. I could hear her voice through the earpiece, and through the door. She rattled off a list of things that needed urgent attention. Sansom hung up and said, “I have to go. I’ll call a page to see you out.” He stood up and came around the desk and walked out of the room. Just like an innocent man with nothing to hide. He left me all alone, sitting in my chair, with the door open. Springfield had