Jonathan slipped into the dark kitchen on his left. Instantly, he caught sight of a man passing by the small window that overlooked the balcony. He quickly ducked and huddled near the stove. Sweat started to pour freely under his wool turtleneck.
The stranger was noisy with whatever he was doing on the balcony. It sounded as if heavy objects were being thrown about. Boxes perhaps, or books. Jonathan squatted forward, grabbed the edge of the countertop and lifted himself up just enough to sneak a quick look out the window. Indeed, the man was emptying drawers onto the balcony and sifting through clothes, papers and personal effects.
Jonathan could only see the back of the man, but then he glanced at the other end of the balcony. “Shit,” he whispered loudly. Vlad’s motionless body was sprawled out face down on the cement floor.
The stranger then walked rapidly to Vlad, crouched down and emptied his pockets.
Jonathan quickly glanced behind him, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. On top of a bread box was a huge rolling pin. He leaned forward, grabbed it firmly in his hand and crawled out of the kitchen.
He’d have to be quick. The woman was his first problem. If she spotted him too early, she’d make noise and give the stranger time to react. Jonathan assumed the man was armed with something more powerful than a rolling pin. So, timing would be key.
He moved out of the shelter of the entryway and looked directly at the woman, placing his index finger over his lips, signaling her to stay quiet. She stared at him for a few seconds and then looked away. He then peeked around the corner, through the open glass doors leading to the balcony. The stranger was squatting down, examining some papers scattered around Vlad’s body.
Jonathan raced toward him, raising his kitchen utensil high above his head. The stranger never saw it coming. The impact was loud and hard. The man instantly collapsed head first over Vlad’s legs.
Jonathan quickly checked the man’s neck for a pulse and ripped an empty clothesline down from the balcony and then tied the man’s hands together behind his back. He patted the man down and felt a weapon—a small pistol with a silencer. He quickly removed the magazine, emptied the chamber and tossed the weapon to the far end of the balcony.
Jonathan glanced at Vlad. He had fared worse than the stranger. A pool of blood stretched from under Vlad’s stomach to the edge of the balcony.
Hysterical moans erupted behind Jonathan. He turned to face the woman but had no idea what to do with her. Her horrified gaze was aimed at Vlad. He raised his hands, signaling her to wait. She was now on her feet, racing his way and desperately trying to free her hands. He quickly turned Vlad’s body over. He had been mortally wounded in his chest.
As the woman ran toward him, Jonathan grabbed her, removed the tape from her mouth and untied her hands. She then threw herself over Vlad and burst out crying.
Jonathan watched as she stretched her arms over Vlad’s shoulders and rested her head on his bloodied chest, mumbling in Russian and sobbing loudly.
Jonathan quickly pulled the stranger’s body aside and searched his pockets. He pulled out a wallet and, to his amazement, two passports. One was maroon-colored with the words United States of America and OFFICIAL PASSPORT printed on it, along with the eagle emblem. The name on the document was Frank Corrigan and the photo matched the man that lay at Jonathan’s feet.
Aren’t they all blue? he thought, having never seen an American passport in any other color. The other passport was Swiss, with the same photograph, but had a different last name, Urwil.
Jonathan slipped both passports into his own pocket, grabbed the man by his feet and began dragging him out from the balcony into the living room.
“Tvoyu mat!” Jonathan heard someone yell behind him. It was Alexandre, and he looked as anxious as Jonathan felt. “What’s going on?” He then said something to the woman, but she was too overcome with grief to respond.
“I’ll explain later,” Jonathan said, dragging the assailant’s lame body past Alexandre.
“Is he...is he dead?” Alexandre asked with a disgusted expression.
“No, but Vlad is.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Alexandre said, his voice now trembling.
“First, tell the woman to call the police, or this guy will kill her when he regains consciousness,” Jonathan said loudly, after which Alexandre quickly spoke with her, though she was still too distraught to pay him any attention.
“Tell me what happened,” Alexandre said to Jonathan.
Jonathan ignored him and let go of the feet and grabbed the man by his arms instead, pulling him through the hallway and into the elevator.
“I want to leave this fucker downstairs,” Jonathan said. “Away from her long enough for the police to arrive.”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Alexandre asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Did you do this to him?”
“Of course!”
“And you don’t know him?”
“Right.”
“Idiot,” Alexandre mumbled, shaking his head while holding the elevator door open. He then squeezed in behind Jonathan, his feet avoiding any contact with the unconscious man. “We must hurry!”
Jonathan pressed the button, but the elevator door wasn’t closing. He pressed it again and again.
Suddenly, one of the woman’s neighbors popped his head out of an adjacent apartment and shouted something, prompting Alexandre to yell back in Russian. The man shut up and slammed his door shut. The elevator finally headed down.
Jonathan glanced at Alexandre. “What did you tell him?”
Alexandre grinned. “I said we’re from the Federal Security Service—like your FBI. Open your door again and we’ll throw you and your family in jail for a year.”
“You have an evil side, Alexandre.” Jonathan laughed.
During the ride down, the stranger began to regain his senses. Jonathan leaned forward and began grilling him. “Who sent you here? Who are you? Who wanted Vlad killed? Answer me!”
The man’s eyes stayed closed, but he mumbled incoherently.
Jonathan grabbed the man by his collar and shook him firmly. “Answer me, dammit! Who sent you?”
“Stop!” Alexandre grabbed Jonathan’s arm. “This is crazy. What if he’s with the police?”
Jonathan waved off Alexandre’s hand. “He’s no cop. He’s American or Swiss or both, and he killed Vlad!”
“Please, let’s just get out of here.”
Jonathan continued to interrogate the man as the elevator slowly descended the ten floors. “Why did you come for Vlad?”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Alexandre pleaded.
“He killed Vlad!” Jonathan said. “I walked into the apartment, found the woman tied up, and this piece of shit going through Vlad’s belongings.”
Jonathan grabbed the man’s feet, dragged him out of the elevator through the filthy lobby and dumped him behind the adjacent stairs.
Both of them running, Alexandre led Jonathan to his car in the lot, and they took off with lightning speed.
“We are not in a Western film,” Alexandre shouted. “You can’t just beat up whomever you want. You can’t play policeman either. You could get yourself killed.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
Jonathan was scolded the rest of the drive back to his hotel, but he refused to admit he had done anything wrong.
As Alexandre zoomed into a spot in front of the hotel, he turned unfriendly eyes toward Jonathan. “I will not speak to you again. You are completely nuts.”
“Please, I understand the whole thing back there didn’t look good, but I need your help.”
“No, I can’t risk my career for your insane pursuit. And all for what? A fucking lawsuit?”
Jonathan was grasping for words. He needed Alexandre. Desperately. “It’s not only about a lawsuit. I’m looking for information about my brother. He may have been taken to Russia long ago.”
“I don’t care about your sto
ries,” the Russian said, his face bright red.
“I must tell you the real reason I’m looking for Yakovlev,” Jonathan said. He told him everything he knew about his brother, about what had happened in Gotland, and Tantina’s claim, about the attempt on his life back in Washington, D.C., and about Linda.
Alexandre appeared to listen, but he was still angry. “Your claim seems outrageous.”
“I swear, it’s all true. That’s why I’m here. I really need your help.”
“Then find someone else! Now, get out.”
“Please, Alexandre,” Jonathan pleaded, his hands in the air. “I just need a little more help from you.”
“No.” Alexandre then threw his chin up, again signaling the American to get out of the car.
Jonathan reluctantly stepped out. He watched as Alexandre’s Isuzu sprinted through the parking lot and disappeared into traffic.
16
A streak of daylight beamed through an opening between the crimson velvet curtains. Jonathan rolled out of bed and squinted at the bright sliver of light. He pushed one curtain aside. The sky was pale blue, which was a welcome surprise. It added color and warmth to an otherwise gloomy start to his day. Despite the comfortable hotel bed, he’d had a restless night, with only intermittent sleep between nightmares. And now that Alexandre wanted no part of Jonathan’s search, things looked rather bleak. What would he do now, on his own, in a city as unwelcoming as he could possibly imagine? Without Alexandre, it was hopeless and he knew it. Worse yet, he had no protection from whoever wanted him dead, the first one probably being a rather sore and vengeful Frank Corrigan. He thought about what he could have done differently at the apartment where Vlad was killed. The possibilities seemed endless in retrospect, if only he hadn’t been so scared. Had he gone overboard by attacking the stranger, who hadn’t threatened him directly? Perhaps someone else had killed Vlad before the man had arrived. Perhaps they’d been on the same side. God knows.
Jonathan cracked open the window, bringing in the orchestra of traffic into the quiet room. He checked the clock. It was about one in the morning back home, too early to call Derek or Gary, so he quickly dialed the hospital to check on Linda. The nurse on duty told him nothing had changed.
After pulling out a can of orange juice from the small refrigerator, he noticed a piece of paper under his hotel room door. He quickly picked it up. The handwritten message read:
Let’s meet at eleven. Go to a place called Bryusov Pereulok, not far from your hotel. Make sure you are not followed. First, walk toward the Hotel National, then turn the corner and go up Tverskaya Ulitsa. After the central telephone and telegraph office and the McDonald’s, you will see to your left a building with a tall archway. Pass under it, toward the Church of the Resurrection straight ahead of you. A cab will be waiting, unless you have been followed.
Alexandre
It was ten-thirty, and Jonathan wanted to believe that this was good news. Perhaps Alexandre had changed his mind and was willing to help. He wasted no time doing as he was told. He quickly got dressed and headed out.
It was a short stroll to the National, another of Moscow’s pristine hotels. Every few seconds Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, assessing whether anyone was on his tail. But it was nearly impossible to tell—too many pedestrians on both sides of the street.
He headed up Tverskaya Ulitsa, a wide, bustling boulevard. There, too, crowds filled the sidewalks. There were shoppers, old folks, kids, tourists and laborers. The McDonald’s along the way was packed. He again peered around him, attempting to spot anyone remotely suspicious, but there were still far too many faces to gauge whether he was in any danger.
After a quarter mile stroll up the busy avenue, past the telephone center, Jonathan arrived at the tall Bryusov Pereulok archway, built into a large building, with four floors rising above it.
It was just before eleven. He stopped and again observed passersby on the sidewalk behind him. No one seemed to stop or look at him unusually, neither on his side of the avenue nor the other, but just to be safe, he crossed the street and crossed back. Satisfied that he likely had not been followed, he walked under the wide archway, each side adorned with a row of granite pillars. Just as the note had indicated, the church was straight ahead, a few hundred yards down the gently sloping street.
He waited.
There were a dozen parked cars, but no cab. At ten after eleven, he headed toward the church, looking over his shoulder one more time. If the cab wasn’t there, he knew what that meant. And being followed would guarantee that he wouldn’t again hear from Alexandre.
He checked his watch. It was eleven-twenty. Suddenly, a car screeched to a halt right beside him. It was a yellow cab. The driver waved for Jonathan to get into the backseat, which he did.
“Are you—” Jonathan’s words were cut off as the man floored the car with such abruptness that it almost gave him whiplash. “Are you taking me to Alexandre?”
The man replied first with a dismissive wave of his hand and then uttered something in Russian. Obviously, he was not interested in making Jonathan feel at ease about this clandestine rendezvous. Jonathan only hoped he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
The driver did not say another word. He simply headed north, through heavily trafficked streets. After another ten minutes, Jonathan was getting extremely worried. He was no longer in the city center, and he couldn’t be sure that the driver had good intentions. He gave himself another five minutes before he would confront the man for an explanation.
Fortunately, he didn’t need to make a scene. The car drove over tram lines and headed toward a large square, when the driver suddenly stopped. Jonathan looked out his window and saw a massive free-standing arch, five times the size of the one he’d seen earlier. At the top were statues of a man and a woman, brandishing sheaves of wheat. Jonathan gazed at it and then beyond it, at what looked like a theme park of sorts.
The driver pointed at the entrance and rudely motioned for him to get out.
Jonathan again looked up, this time observing a large sign above the ticket booths. He deciphered the Cyrillic and remembered seeing a poster ad about the place in a hotel lobby. It was the VDNKh—a national exposition center used during the glory days of the Soviet Union to showcase industrial innovation from its various republics.
Jonathan stood in a short line, quickly searching his wallet for enough Russian currency to pay for a ticket. But before he could make it to the attendant’s window, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him back.
“I have your ticket,” the deep accented voice said in English as Jonathan turned. It was Boris, the gentle Chechen giant with bad teeth. “You go dere, to big fountain—Fountain of the Friendship of Peoples. Alexandre wait for you.”
Jonathan nodded and took the ticket from Boris’ hand. “I wasn’t followed, right?” he asked almost jokingly.
“Nyet.”
The snow covered the grounds, and leafless branches swayed in the breeze. The cold air seeped into Jonathan’s skin. Summer is probably a wonderful time to visit this place, Jonathan imagined as he walked toward the fountain.
And there Alexandre stood, alone, bundled in a thick fur coat that at a glance made him look like a grizzly bear. The fountain was empty, the surrounding area desolate.
“Do you know about this place?” asked Alexandre.
“A little.”
“That building over there was a pavilion for home appliances, and that glass one over there for agricultural equipment. For years, this whole place was an elaborate showcase for inferior Soviet hardware that no Westerner would want, except in a museum.”
Jonathan laughed and patted Alexandre on the shoulder. “Why are we meeting in such an open space? I thought you would want more secrecy, given what we went through yesterday.”
“Boris has the eyes of an eagle. We are quite safe to discuss things now.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Alexandre sighed. “I am not keen to help y
ou after what happened with Vlad, but, against my better judgment, I will do so anyway. I didn’t know that you had a far more personal reason for being here. You should have told me much sooner. I can imagine this is very painful.”
“It is, and I need closure,” Jonathan said, filling his breath with the cool air. “There have been so many lies. It’s possible that my brother was taken to Russia, and if he’s alive, I need to find him. And whoever tried to kill Linda did so because I’m after the truth.”
“I understand, but let’s not repeat what happened yesterday. You have now seen what a Russian prison looks like. Neither of us wants to end up in one as an inmate, right?”
Jonathan nodded, feeling a little relieved. “I promise to behave.”
“And how is your wife doing?”
“She is struggling, but she’s alive. It wasn’t easy to leave her behind to come here. I keep thinking I should be by her side, rather than pursuing an uncertain trail of clues in this city.”
“I will do my best to help you, so you can return to her quickly.”
Jonathan placed his hand on Alexandre’s shoulder. “Thank you.” He was comforted to know that the Russian lawyer seemed to genuinely care.
Alexandre lighted a cigarette. “I have a contact—a very important person who can find more information.”
“From the face you’re making, I have a feeling this will be complicated.”
Alexandre’s gaze was dead serious. “You are correct—complicated indeed.” He looked away from Jonathan, seeming to gauge his words before speaking.
Jonathan followed his gaze up at the fountain. It was gold plated, its ornately decorated central tower rising some thirty feet. “Well, tell me.”
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