A Very Private Plot by William F. Buckley Page B

Nikolai shot up his hand, palm upstretched. “ You must not go on !” He was breathing heavily, his complexion pale. “And I certainly won’t repeat what you have said!” He walked away, leaving his lunch half eaten.
    Viktor Pletnev, his spoon playing with his unconsumed soup, was deep in thought. His eyes followed his colleague. Nikolai’s stride toward the entrance door was interrupted by Tatyana, seated with a companion woman teacher. Nikolai resisted, but was constrained to sit down with them.
    Pletnev resolved to attempt to probe deeply into the character of his colleague, the slim young man with the arresting face and the reputation as a scholarly polymath. Nikolai did not know that Whittaker Chambers was dead? But the book Nikolai had withdrawn from the library last Sunday carried the date of Chambers’s death on the first page.

CHAPTER 12
    SEPTEMBER 1985
    On the following Monday, Nikolai approached Viktor at the morning break, told him that he had got hold of the Chambers book, had found the passage on the Narodniki, and translated it. He handed him the sheets.
    â€œThat is most awfully kind of you, Nikolai. I shall look for an opportunity to return the favor. Did you find the passage interesting? I am anxious to read it.”
    â€œYes,” Nikolai said noncommittally. “It was very interesting. As you will see, it provides a very … passionate view of the Narodniki.”
    Viktor stretched out his arm and touched Nikolai’s shoulder, a gesture of thanks, and sat down at one of the tables to read. Nikolai left the room.
    At three, after classes were finished, Nikolai walked hand in hand with Tatyana, speaking to her in English. They would have time to promenade only once around the block because she had an appointment. There was the nip of autumn in the air and, coatless, Nikolai was glad to reach the shelter of the metro. He would go directly home. He did not need to pause at the library for more books—he had three in his apartment, including a little-used book on the structural work done on the Kremlin when the decision was made in 1901 to electrify the palace. He would devote himself to further study on the morphology of the Kremlin and then share his findings with Andrei when he came in at six from his police work. He took out his key, opened the door to apartment 6K, turned the tap for some water to boil, and was startled to hear a knock on the door. He looked rapidly about him to make sure there was nothing sitting in the room that should be concealed. Of course there wasn’t. He opened the door to Viktor Pletnev.
    Viktor did not give Nikolai an opportunity to be inhospitable. He walked in directly, his tattered briefcase in one hand, a paper parcel in the other. He closed the door behind himself. “I need to talk to you.”
    â€œVery well, Viktor. Sit down. A cup of tea?”
    â€œYes. And,” he struggled with the package, “I have something for you, a little gift to thank you for the trouble you took.” He took from the bag six bananas and a box of dried figs.
    â€œYou didn’t have to do that, Viktor, but thank you. Sit down.”
    â€œNikolai, I discovered quite by accident that you … deceived me. You had already seen the book last week. Your name was on the card.” Viktor continued talking without pause. He did not want to prolong the humiliation. “My purpose is to tell you that I was enormously moved by the information you brought me about the Narodniki. And to tell you something more, Nikolai, which is that I flatly disbelieve what you say, that you are not interested in the political cauldron we live in. I know you are some sort of an academic star, that you have mastered several languages and electrical engineering, and that you fought bravely in Afghanistan. But I know also that our country needs help and I believe that in your heart you know that it needs help and that in reading the book by Chambers