by Kenneth Eade
“You speak well. What would you like to drink?”
“Champagne, please.”
Robert waved for the waiter, but Lyosha had already taken care of that and he ordered two bottles of the bubbly, another bottle of vodka, and a specially flavored shisha for the girls to smoke. Robert concentrated on Lana. It had been some time since he had conversed with a girl who wasn’t on the clock, and even longer with one who spoke English.
“Are you still in school?”
“Oh, no. I graduate last month. I work now.”
“What was your degree?”
“I have degree in accounting.”
“So you work as an accountant?”
“Not yet. Too many accountants, so I work now temporarily in bakery until I can find job.”
Robert thought it was odd someone with an accounting degree would be working in a bakery, but he knew most Russians had undergraduate degrees and a good many had an even higher education.
The waiter arrived with a huge chrome ice bucket – more like a tub, really, which contained two bottles of Veuve Cliquot champagne and a large bottle of Imperia Vodka buried in a mountain of crushed ice. The Kalianchik (hookah attendant) set down a tall crystal water pipe with half a grapefruit in place of the bowl on top. As the waiter poured champagne into the girls’ flutes, the Kalianchik sucked the first batch of smoke through the tube to light the tobacco. Lana and Robert were oblivious to this ceremony.
“So where in America do you live, Bob?”
“I don’t live in America. I live in Paris.”
“Wow, Paris! I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“Well, you can visit me. It’s only a few hours by plane from Moscow.”
For Robert’s part in the rest of the small talk, he couldn’t reveal anything about himself, so he recited facts in his “backstop,” the history of a person who had never existed which had been hardwired into his brain.
Lana was as interesting as she was exotic. Robert drank in her smell, a combination of French milled soap mixed with a faint hint of lavender. It had been a long time since he had been in such close contact with a woman. The last time was months ago, when he had attempted to make a “normal” life for himself in Las Vegas. Robert had attempted to take control of his own life before, but he had always marched to a different beat than others, and the only place he seemed to fit in well was in the shadows with a gun in his hand. Nevertheless, he was on vacation now and allowed himself the pleasure of being with a woman who was not for rent.
Lyosha was kissing one of his new friends on her neck and meeting no resistance, and the other was still hanging on his arm, sipping champagne. Robert couldn’t understand their conversation, but it looked like he was trying to talk at least one, if not both of them, into coming home with him. It seemed he was good at more than just shooting people – persuasion was also one of his skills. No doubt it could be as useful on the battlefield as it was on the couch. Lyosha’s girls eventually got up to dance to Sia’s “Elastic Heart,” and proved to be more supple and pliant than the music as Lyosha watched them.
As it was nearing 3 a.m., Sasha had already left and it had become clear the green-eyed Masha would be spending the rest of the night with Lyosha. He leaned over to Robert and, in a loud whisper, said, “Can you make it back to apartment on your own?”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”
“Or maybe Svetlana can help you?” He winked. “We continue your Moscow tour tomorrow, okay?”
“Of course, go ahead, have fun.”
He winked again at Robert, and he and his new partner said their good-byes to Lana.
Now Robert and Lana were completely alone. If she had been one of his targets, she wouldn’t have had a chance, but this was more of a delicate pursuit. They toasted the last two glasses of champagne and Lana was the first to re-break the ice.
“Should I call us a taxi?”
Robert’s brows raised. “Yes, sure.”
“Taxi can drop me off at my apartment and then you at yours.”
It was evident to Robert that Lana the accountant/baker was not going to be an easy first date.
“Sounds good.”
The taxi ride to Lana’s place was short, taken up by the essential conversation of exchanging telephone numbers. Robert’s, of course, was a burner. She lived outside the centermost concentric circle of Moscow. When the taxi stopped, Robert attempted to kiss her goodnight, and she moved her neck away, but then returned to place a peck on his cheek. She slid off the taxi seat and bent in front of the open door. He tried not to stare at her cleavage.
“Good night, Bob. It was good to meet you.”
“You, too. Can I call you?”
“Of course. I look forward to it.”
The door closed and Robert was left with the lingering scent of Lana in the back of the taxi.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The kids were mashing their cake with their forks as their mother cleared the table. Ted Barnard was just wrapping up a dinner with his family when his cell phone rang. His wife frowned. Ted was always at work, 24 hours a day. He answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“You asked me to call you whether there were any new developments on PAL or not, sir.”
Barnard rose, put down his napkin, excused himself from the table, hurried into his den and closed the door. The walls were covered with dark wood panel, the backdrop of framed photographs containing duplicate copies of himself, smiling and shaking with various presidents. He put the phone back to his ear and sat down behind his heavy wooden desk.
“What have you got?”
“That’s just it, sir. Nothing. We’ve checked with all the hotels in Moscow, and he’s not registered.”
“Maybe he’s staying with someone else, in their room?”
“He’d still have to register his passport. All visitors have to register with the police within 10 days.”
Barnard gritted his teeth. “That means he could be off the radar for ten days? That’s not acceptable. I want him located – now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put all our local guys on it.”
“They’re already looking for him, sir.”
“Well, tell them to look harder!”
He disconnected and threw his phone on the desk.
***
As Robert was waking up around 11 a.m., his burner phone went off. He grabbed for it on the nightstand, expecting to hear a groggy Lyosha calling for a rain check on the continuation of Robert’s Moscow tour. Instead, the first voice he heard while still lounging in his bed was the sweet accented speech of lovely Lana.
“Good morning. Did I wake you?”
“No, no, I was just getting up. I’m glad you called.”
There was an awkward pause on her end. “You are? I just wanted to thank you for last evening. I had a wonderful time.”
“Me, too.”
Another pause, as if she couldn’t think of what to say next or didn’t have the nerve.
“Are you meeting with your friend today?”
“I think he’ll be sleeping most of the day. Probably tonight.”
“I thought so. Moscow life starts at about midnight.”
“That means I must be free for lunch. Would you like to join me?”
“With pleasure, but…where?”
“I’m the stranger in town. You tell me.”
“What would you like? Moscow has something for every taste.”
“Well, as my guide will probably be in bed all day, I’d like to continue my tour of the city, that is, if you’re willing.”
“Yes, of course. In that case, there’s a small café right on Red Square. It’s expensive, but good. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“I can meet you there in an hour. It’s called Bosco. It’s the only café on the square, so you can’t miss it.”
“Great. I’ll see you there.”
Robert called Lyosha’s phone, which was turned off as he had expected, and le
ft a message. Then, he got up, showered and shaved, and made some coffee in his little kitchen. Luckily, the salesgirl at Tzum had set him up with the perfect daytime wardrobe, which he slipped into and then followed the instructions Lyosha had given him to book a taxi online with the Yandex app he had downloaded on his burner phone.
The taxi pulled up as far as it could, and Robert had to walk the rest of the way to the dark stone paved square, which was closed to traffic. Even in the daylight it looked beautiful. He walked alongside the GUM shopping center building which bordered the famous plaza, and almost ran into Svetlana.
She was seated at one of several tables on the sidewalk facing the Kremlin, dressed in a flowery blouse with a silk scarf around her neck fluttering in the warm breeze, and she waved to Robert when she saw him approach. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her.
“Hello, Lana. You were right. This place was easy to find.”
She smiled. She was even more stunning in the light of day. “I ordered us some mineral water and I asked for menus in English.”
“Great.” Robert picked up the menu, but was distracted from reading it while he took in her beauty.
“They even have a hamburger.”
“That’s for back home. What do you suggest?”
“Well, since you are in Russia, why not a traditional Russian dish, like Beef Stroganoff? And you could pair it with some homemade pickles.”
“I’ve had my share of pickles the last two days, but the Beef Stroganoff sounds good.”
“Then maybe you should have some Olivier salad. That way you have two traditional Russian foods both designed by French chefs.”
“Really?” To Robert and to most everyone else he knew, Russia had always been an anomaly. Here they were, in the center of the city that had burned down around Napoleon’s army, having “traditional” Russian cuisine that had been invented by the French.
As they relaxed and got to know each other better, Robert discovered that Lana had him committed for the entire afternoon.
“I thought after lunch we could visit the Kremlin.”
Robert’s eyes raised to hers. “The Kremlin?”
“The Armory Museum and churches. Every visitor should see them. Then we can finish the day with a walk around the Novodevichy Convent.”
“Isn’t that where the czars banished their wives and female relatives?”
Lana laughed. “Yes, but the grounds are beautiful despite their gloomy historical significance.”
While Robert was sipping tea and drinking in his new company, an obscure tourist who was mulling along with the crowd of gawkers in the square, put his phone to his ear.
“I have him.”
“Where is he?”
“Central Moscow.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him but don’t be seen. And don’t engage him unless you’re engaged.”
The stranger clicked off, wandered over to the café, and took a seat at the farthest table from Robert and Lana. He was dressed in the standard American tourist uniform: T-shirt and jeans with a baseball hat and a light grey windbreaker – the latter being his own fashion statement. He ordered a cup of coffee and sipped on it while he was waiting for them to get their check and pay. When they got up and walked toward the Kremlin, he threw some cash on the table and stood.
***
After almost two hours, Robert had seen his fair share of churches and Fabergé eggs and was ready to leave the Kremlin Armory Museum until they came upon the arms collection. The massive collection contained weapons dating back to the 11th Century. He entered the hall and was held captive, fascinated by the 17th Century firearms created by the masters of Russian gunsmiths. He leaned over the case containing a pair of shiny Dutch Wheelock pistols on which heads had been delicately carved into their ivory handles. Robert stared at them as though they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He pictured two stubborn land barons, facing each other off over a duel because of some drunken argument or insult, and became lost in that moment of history.
“Are you alright?”
He suddenly became aware again of her presence.
“Oh, yeah, yeah.”
“It seems you like guns.”
Robert smiled. “They’re beautiful.”
Lana hooked her arm into his elbow and admired the pistols. “Yes, for something so destructive, their beauty is ironic. I wonder if they’ve ever killed anybody.”
Robert was pondering the same. “Probably not. They look ceremonial, and if they were a gift to the czar, he probably didn’t shoot anyone with them.”
“I don’t know. Czars were killers, you know.”
It was paradoxical to Robert to think he was enjoying the company of someone who would be repulsed if she knew who he truly was. And she was oblivious to it.
After an hour in the true armory of the museum, Lana was getting sick of looking at guns and Robert had had enough of the Kremlin, so she suggested they move on. As they exited the battlements of the fortress, a lone man stood in the crowd, unnoticed by them and by everyone. But he was aware of them. It was his obligation.
CHAPTER NINE
The sun gleamed off the white walls of the Novidevichy Convent, sparkled on the surface of the Moscow River and lit up the brilliant gold leaf onion-domed roofs of the convent’s church. Robert was uneasy. Because it had been so long since he had really relaxed, he had dropped his guard, and he was now chiding himself for it. In Robert’s business, as in his life, failing to be vigilant meant simply that you were dead. His lack of attention to his surroundings and dedication of their observance to only his peripherals was putting him at risk, and this was the cause of his angst. For Robert, being out in open spaces like this only meant one thing – he was a potential target.
He turned to Lana, who was watching some kids throw pieces of bread to the ducks from the bank of the river.
“Lana, this place is beautiful, but maybe we can go where we can sit down, have some coffee.”
“Okay. I’m kind of tired after all that walking in the Kremlin anyway. But we can sit down here. It’s very pleasant.” She pointed to a bench by the river.
“Well, I’m kind of thirsty.”
Robert’s unrest only honed his usually acute senses to alert himself to everything in his surroundings – the kids feeding ducks, mothers rolling their babies in carriages – gardeners tending to flower beds. And then he saw him. The stranger looked out of place, an artist’s mistaken stroke on the canvas. The man in the grey windbreaker was trying to blend in, but it wasn’t working for him. Robert took the lead, taking Lana by her arm. She was surprised, at the same time pleased by the gesture, but Robert had not intended it to be an affectionate one.
He increased their pace, surreptitiously watching the adventitious wanderer. They slipped behind a hedge in the garden. The move made Lana anticipate a kiss was in the making, but he surprised her by asking for a taxi instead.
“Okay, I’ll order one.”
She punched in the order for the taxi on her smartphone and, when she had finished, Robert whisked them away, noting that the interloper had just casually passed them.
Typical surveillance move. Everything in plain sight.
Robert had tried to get a good look at his face, but it proved to be problematical because he couldn’t look at him straight on. However, he took a mental snapshot that would have been good enough to identify a suspect in any lineup. Lana looked at her smartphone.
“The taxi is here. Yellow cab, number 370.”
“Good.”
Robert ushered her to the main parking lot. There he saw the stranger getting into a white Lada.
He’s using a Russian car.
As they rode, he speculated who could be watching him. Was it Lyosha’s people, who certainly had the right, or was it his own? Or was it some unknown faction which an interest in Robert’s deadly activities? It was a question that must be answered, otherwise Robert would never have peace. He always needed to know who was friend or foe, a
nd it was an ever changing dynamic that needed constant observation and reflection. He kept looking through the back window, and Lana could sense he was worried about something.
“You know, I should probably check in with Lyosha. Do you mind if we take a rain check on that cup of coffee?”
“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll tell the taxi driver to take me home.”
They sat in silence as they rode toward her apartment in the outskirts of the city. As they slowed to drop Lana off, Robert asked her, “How do you say ‘wait’ in Russian?”
She smiled. “Padazhdite. If you were asking someone to wait for you, you would say, ‘Padazhdite pajalousta’ which means ‘wait please.’”
Robert gave her a hug and bid her farewell, leaving her with a questioning expression and lingering question, which she was brave enough to ask.
“Will we see each other tonight?”
Robert was preoccupied, which she may have interpreted as ambivalence or uncertainty.
“Oh, yes, yes. I’ll call you later.”
She smiled, shut the door and turned to go into her apartment. The taxi driver pulled away from the curb and down the street.
“Padazhdite, pajaoulsta.”
The driver stopped, amused. He had heard them speaking English and now the foreigner was taking his travel Russian for a test drive. Robert looked through the driver’s side mirror at the white Lada, which had left Lana’s apartment building, but then had stopped when they had.
Could he be even more obvious?
“Okay.” Robert motioned the driver with animated hands and he accelerated, heading toward the center of town.
When Robert began to recognize the landmarks on Tverskaya Street, he told the driver to let him out there.
“Can you stop here please? Stop, stop.”
The driver obliged, turning right into a side street and stopping there. It was almost impossible to pull over on the hectic boulevard at such a busy time. Every lane was filled with cars, speeding by as if they were on a highway. As Robert paid, he noticed the white Lada had stopped a block ahead of them. It was time for Robert to make his move, and fast. He exited the car, and walked quickly to an underground crossing, slipping into it just as he noticed the stranger in the grey windbreaker picking up his pace to a sprint.
