Sasha leans against the chair, although not very much, because his hands are secured in a pair of handcuffs behind the chair’s back. “Whatever’s happened, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of it.”

“Yes, I’m sure of that,” the woman says. “Because if we don’t, I’m afraid we shall have to imprison you and your entire family as traitors to the Soviet people.”

“What? That’s nonsense!”

“I’m afraid so. You see, we have incontrovertible proof that you’ve been passing along vital and highly classified information about the KGB and its agents abroad for the past four years, in a counterspy operation named”—she looks down at some papers before her—“Honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle? I’ve never . . .”

The sentence dissolves in his mouth.

“Yes, Comrade?”

“I’ve never heard of it. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The woman puts her elbows on the table and leans forward. “Think, Comrade. Tell me about ASCOT.”

“The racecourse? I’ve been there.”

“Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not playing. I sincerely don’t know what you mean. I’ve spent the past four years tirelessly working on behalf of the Soviet people, who have welcomed me so warmly. I have never acted as a counterspy in the Soviet Union. Look at my records. Since coming here I’ve been grateful to be relieved of the burden of hiding my true loyalty. I’ve given up the booze, I’ve given up women, I’ve been a devoted husband and father. Just look at my records.”

He says the last words fiercely. Of course, he knows they’ve had him under surveillance. He’s always accepted this state of affairs philosophically, as the price one pays to hold off the ever-present threat of counterrevolution. Until now, in fact, he’s been glad of them. Let anyone doubt his true intentions in defecting! Let anyone say a word against him! In those dark and terrible days after Iris found him bleeding inside their apartment in Oakwood Court, having shot Beauchamp as an intruder, he had sworn that if Iris forgave him and offered him another chance, he would be true and loyal to the rest of his days. He would never touch another drop of alcohol! He would devote himself to Iris, as she had devoted herself to him. When she agreed to go along with him—yes, she would do it, she would defect with him, take the children and start over again with him in the Soviet Union!—he had worshipped her for it. He had loved and cared for Claire just as if she were his own child. And now this! This was how they repaid him! Just look at my records!