The Summer Garden. Paullina Simons

in his uniform, leaned into his microphone. “With all due respect to the other members, we’re not here to assess the length and quality of Captain Barrington’s marriage. This is not one of the questions put before this committee. This is an executive closed session to assess the security risk this man poses to the United States. I second the counsel’s request for a recess.”

      The members took recess to confer. While waiting, Matt Levine whispered to Alexander, “I thought you said you weren’t going to get riled?”

      “That was riled?” said Alexander, taking a long drink. That wasn’t riled.

      “Don’t you understand, I want them to subpoena your wife,” Levine said.

      “Not me.”

      “Yes. She’ll plead spousal privilege to every single fucking question and we’ll be out of here in an hour.”

      “I need to smoke. Can I smoke now?”

      “They told you no.”

      The seven men returned to the order of business. They concurred with counsel, and Dennis Burck was forced to move on.

      But he didn’t move far.

      “Let’s return to your record then, Mr. Barrington,” said Burck. Didn’t anyone else have any questions for Alexander? “I had a chance to review your Military Tribunal papers from Berlin in 1946. Fascinating bit of business.”

      “If you say so.”

      “So then, just to assert, as per the record, Alexander Barrington and Major Alexander Belov are one and the same man?”

      “They are.”

      “Why then did you describe yourself as a civilian man, Mr. Barrington, when your record clearly states that you were a Red Army major who escaped a military prison and killed a number of Soviet soldiers after a protracted battle? Are you aware that the Soviets want you extradited?”

      “Objection!” yelled Levine. “This meeting is not concerned with the demands of Soviet Russia. This is a U.S. committee.”

      “The Soviet Government says this man falls under their jurisdiction, and that this is a military matter. Now, once again—Mr. Barrington, are you or are you not aware that the Soviets want you extradited?”

      Alexander was silent. “I am aware,” he said at last, “that the Red Army stripped me of my rank and title in 1945 when they sentenced me to twenty-five years in prison for surrendering to German forces.”

      Richter whistled. Twenty-five years, he mouthed.

      “No,” said Burck. “Your record states that you were sentenced for desertion.”

      “I understand. But the rank and title is removed upon conviction for desertion or surrender.”

      “Well, perhaps the title was not removed,” said Burck with a gentle expression, “because there was no conviction.”

      Alexander paused. “Pardon me, but then why was I in the Soviet prison, if there was no conviction?”

      Burck’s demeanor stiffened.

      “My point is,” said Alexander, “I cannot be a deserter in 1945 and a major in 1946.” He took a breath, not wanting to leave his name besmirched with desertion. “Just for the record,” he said, “I was neither.”

      “Your record says you are a Red Army major. Are you saying your record is wrong, Mr. Barrington?” said Burck. “Incomplete? Perhaps less than truthful?”

      “I’ve already explained I was a major for only a few weeks in 1943. My direct statement to the tribunal in Berlin regarding my years in the Red Army is clear and unequivocal. Perhaps we need to go over it.”

      “I move to go over the commander’s record,” joined in Richter, opening his notes, and then proceeded to ask two hours of questions about Alexander’s years in the Red Army. He was single-minded and relentless. He was interested in Alexander’s war experience, in the weapons the Soviets used, in their military campaigns in and around Leningrad, and through Latvia, Estonia, Byelorussia and Poland. He asked about Alexander’s arrests, interrogations, and years in the penal battalion without supplies or trained soldiers. He asked so many questions about the Soviet activities in Berlin that Burck, who was otherwise quiet, finally piped up with an exasperated request that they move on to the order of business.

      “This is our order of business,” said Richter.

      “I just don’t see how these alleged Soviet activities in Berlin are relevant to the assessment of the man before us,” said Burck. “I thought we were trying to determine if this man is a communist. When do you think we could begin determining that?”

      That was when John Rankin from HUAC finally leaned into his microphone and spoke for the first time. He was a tall stiff gentleman in his sixties, who spoke with a deep Southern accent. A Democrat, Rankin had been a member of Congress since the twenties. He was grave, purposeful, and humorless. Alexander thought Rankin was a military man himself, something about his no nonsense demeanor as he had sat and listened.