Complication by Isaac Adamson Page A

with what I know, I become an accomplice.
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    AGENT #3553: Pity you did not immediately act upon this thought. Didn’t you resent him using you?
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: No. I knew I should. But no, I didn’t.
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    â€œFifty copies,” he resumes. “Each a prison sentence as soon as I walk out that door. So now, I ask of you a favor.” Vokov glances over his shoulder, nods toward the fireplace in the corner. “Burn these,” he says. “Each and every copy.” Which shocked me.

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    AGENT #3553: Why should it shock you that he wanted to destroy evidence of his wrongdoing?
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: Think of all the work involved. All they’d been through to make this thing. “It’s already too late for me,” he insists. “One way or another, I’m finished. But the others still have a chance. The choice is simple. Preserve the work or destroy its authors.”
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    AGENT #3553: Remarkable. So he not only presented himself as a martyr willing to sacrifice himself for a greater good, but also placed any blame for what might happen to his co-conspirators onto your shoulders? You must have been struck by the arrogance of such a tactic.
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: I don’t know how to explain my reaction except to say the man was very convincing. I said I could take them. I could deliver the case to his contact. The man on Petřín Hill.
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    AGENT #3553: But why? Such actions are irrational.
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: I have my reasons.
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    AGENT #3553: Did it not occur to you that even if Vokov really was being followed, and the police knew or suspected what was in the accordion case, that it would make much more sense for the police to not arrest him right away, but to instead wait and see who he gave the case to, in order that this member of the conspiracy might also be brought to justice?
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: I don’t think like a policeman. Or like a criminal. I had my reasons and I don’t care to dwell on them. Isn’t it enough that I’m cooperating?

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    AGENT #3553: Are you? It’s of tremendous importance that you make us understand why you did what you did.
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: Alright, fine. I had an idea that maybe one day The Defenestrator might consider publishing my work. No one else is going to, let’s face it. Not in this lifetime. And if they couldn’t publish it themselves, then maybe they could find a place for it outside the country.
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    AGENT #3553: And you calculated this action would put you in their good graces. Make you a member of the club.
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: Something like that.
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    AGENT #3553: We must tell you that this answer is unsatisfactory on a number of levels. You would do well to drop this whole samizdat charade and tell us what really happened.
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: I am telling you.
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    AGENT #3553: We know what you’ve done. The enormity of your crimes. These lies you tell us about this imaginary figure Vokov—
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    REZNÍCKOVÁ: Imaginary? I assure you—
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    [Loud banging sound consistent with fist hitting table]
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    AGENT #3553: We will bring you to reality! We will bring you to reality!
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    [Banging sound repeated 3 times]

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    AGENT #3553: We will bring you to reality. All we need is time, comrade. And we have all the time we need.
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    [Session terminated]

CHAPTER 4
    T he graying edifices near my hotel were graffiti riddled and timeworn, and in places I could still see the watermarks upon the walls five years after the flood, but in Old Town’s winding, cobblestoned lanes, the buildings wore fresh coats of paint and sunlight bounced off clean-scrubbed windows. Tourists squeezed down constricted passageways past storefronts bursting with Bohemian crystal, wooden puppets, garnet and amber jewelry. There were Franz Kafka T-shirts, Franz Kafka coffee mugs, Franz Kafka refrigerator magnets. Window after window of Russian