And left her there.
She forced the faces of her children into her mind. She watched as she kissed them goodbye. Then she did the same with Sonny, her husband. She adored and admired that man, for he was a great father and a capable provider for his family. At the last minute, she hugged him then turned away from the embrace of her family. She couldn't let them see her like this.
Nothing.
39
Tony Folachnaya kept a small, messy office at Duds&Suds, the combination laundromat/beer hall he had purchased for his two worthless sons. Their names were Viktor and Usurayev; and they were gargantuan Cossacks who'd refused to play high school football, much to their father's disappointment. As they put it, they didn't want to "mess up their looks." They refused to attend college and refused to get jobs, so Duds&Suds had seemed the next best thing to Tony Folachnaya. It gave them a place to work and earn their keep. Lamentably, they ignored the laundromat's open time of six a.m. and, rather than showing up ready to conduct business, they stayed in bed until ten. Which forced Tony to show up and open the business. Opening at six was never a futile exercise: the Pima Indian Tribe seemed to have selected the laundromat as its official laundry. There was always a line of two or three or four Indians waiting at the door, sometimes even as many as five. "One thing you gotta give those Indians," said Tony to his worthless sons, "they sure as hell wear clean clothes. It'd be nice if you two helped them spend their dollars with us."
Which fell on deaf ears.
So it was customary for Tony to unlock at six and be inside his small office five minutes later. Which he had done, the day Thaddeus called him.
Thaddeus had obtained Tony's number from the operator, calling all the way from Moscow.
"Hello?" said Tony.
"Tony Folachnaya," said Thaddeus, "this is Thaddeus Murfee. Remember me from your trial?"
"Of course. I'd be serving twenty years if not for you. Or worse."
"You told me to call if I ever needed anything from you."
"I remember that. How can I be of service?"
"My paralegal has been tossed in jail in Moscow. I need to get messages to her. And I need to make things all right for her. I also need a computer file from GRU computers. Do you still have contacts there?"
"I can't say over the phone. These lines are tapped. Can you fax me?"
"I can."
Tony supplied his fax number and Thaddeus created a message for him. The fax was received thirty minutes later.
Tony briefly read it over and then left for Wal-Mart. He made his way back to the electronics section and found help there. With the help of a clerk in a blue vest with gold lettering, Tony selected his phone. Except it wasn't registered in his name with ATT; it was registered in the sales clerk's name, using the sales clerk's credit card. Ten $100 bills made that happen. International calling was added for five dollars a month.
Tony left Wal-Mart with his new phone, which would remain in service for one month. After that, it would be thrown away and the account canceled. If he needed more than thirty days, he would need to make arrangements with the kid again. For another thousand dollars. Tony was elated; it was a great deal.
Anything for the guy who kept him out of prison.
40
She needed him with her.
Where was he? And what was he doing with that young girl who had attached herself to him? He had called last night to tell her they were still working on setting Christine free, but that things were looking dim for her. It was too bad; Katy had only the highest respect for Christine and actually loved her like a sister. But it had been good to hear Thaddeus' voice, even though she knew Angelina was close by, probably listening to every word.
And the new baby? Ovulation was probably three days away. So the time was perfect for Thaddeus to be home and trying with her. She had tried explaining all this to him when they talked last night.
"I think we're in the seventy-two hour period for ovulation. Couldn't you at least come home for a few days and work on Christine's case from here? I would like that."
There had been a long silence.
"I can't leave her, Katy. I won't leave Russia without her. I owe it to her to do everything in my power to get her released. She's my best friend, outside of you; and it would kill me to leave her here alone."
"What about the CIA or the Embassy? Can't they help?"
"The Embassy is very little help. I have met with other authorities, and they deny any knowledge of her or why she was aboard that Swissair flight. Beyond that, I can't say much more because this phone is tapped."
Katy was frustrated, although she knew Thaddeus and she knew how much Christine meant to him. Still, it was hard not to act like the hurt little girlfriend even as the jealousy picked at her mind about the reporter who was with him every hour of the day. She wouldn't put it past the girl to try everything to get Thaddeus to wander in his marriage. Wouldn't put it past her at all.
"Well, my egg is coming and it only lives in the tubes for one day. Even if you just came for one day, the sperm can last much longer than that. They could go in now and wait for the egg. Is that asking too much, for you to come home, do your thing, and go back? That's not leaving her, is it?"
"It would be leaving her. We're getting ready to take the case back to court, so I expect to have some good news in the next week or two. Please give me that much time."
"We need to hit the sheets, Thad. That's all I'm saying."
"Good grief. Where did you learn to talk like that? Hit the sheets? Really?"
She had laughed. "I know. It's something we said in med school. We thought ourselves very liberal back then."
"Oh, it sounds very liberal even today."
"If you do surprise me with a visit in the next day or two, please ejaculate first. Otherwise, there's a buildup of dead sperm and that can't get me pregnant.
"Oh,my God! I've got to get off here!"
"Please don't joke. I'm being serious."
"All right. Ejaculate it is."
"But not with you-know-who. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"I've got to go. We can talk in the next day or two. Goodbye."
"I said I was sorry, please don't hang up mad."
"Katy, I love you and only you. I'm true to you because I want to be. You have no worries from me."
"I guess I knew that. I know I did. Well, thank you for saying that."
"Okay. Goodbye for now."
"Bye."
41
The text from Tony was short and to the point: "Karli Guryshenko. GRU. Torturing our girl."
An address followed in a second text.
"You ready to snoop?" Thaddeus asked Angelina.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"We'll take the rental car and locate the address. You will leave me there and drive straight back to the hotel. Any problems with that?"
"You're going to make me miss out on the biggest story I'll ever land?"
"You'll get the exclusive. After we're out of Russia with Christine in tow. We cool?"
Angelina nodded. "We're cool. I can do that. Although I think I should stay in the area, in case you need me."
"Why would I need you?"
"Wheels?"
"Cabs. Moscow has more cabs per capita than any city in the world. Guess again."
"Translation? In case you need me to talk to someone for you?"
He slowly nodded. "That could happen. But I doubt it. No, you come back here to the hotel. Get ready now, it's freezing outside."
"No, it's thirty degrees below freezing. According to the news."
They stepped into the parking lot. Thaddeus was wearing black jeans, black turtleneck, and black watch cap. A heavy black goose-down coat, with hood and gloves, completed his protection against the cold.
Angelina got behind the wheel of the Lada rental. The car was like a million others in Moscow that night, made by Elvolka Motors of St. Petersburg. Light blue, no interior lights, halogen headlights that ji
ggled and threatened to go out as they entered the freeway traffic and gained speed. No radio, a half-hearted heater, and lap belts but no shoulder harness—standard Russian fare.
The city lay ten kilometers south of the hotel. In the distance, it was a flare, a solar explosion, with fireflies coming and going in the air traffic lanes above Moscow. Freeway traffic was heavy, but traffic was always heavy. Muscovites were always on the move, long, endless lines of them, an army of small, boxy cars, each with a mind of its own, moving, always moving, seemingly in retreat from the unfriendliest president and police in Eurasia. Huge B-Train double-trailer rigs blasted by in the fast lane, the entire rig coasting along at eighty-five feet, tip to tail. The huge trailers trundled along, spouting foreign letters and words along their sides and rear, letters that could have signified anything as far as Thaddeus knew.
A Volvo NH15 BP tanker road train blasted by, rocking the aerodynamically-challenged Lada in its jet stream. Thaddeus realized for the ten thousandth time that he was a stranger in a strange land; and if it weren't for Angelina's language ability, he would be hopelessly lost. He revisited his decision to send her packing after she dropped him off in Karli's neighborhood. What if he needed to take a cab? Would he even be able to tell the cabbie his hotel address? Even that was formidable to him. Maybe having her nearby was a good thing, after all. He considered relying on the GPS—but it spoke in Russian. He was lost without Angelina. He hated to admit it, but it was true.
Guryshenko's neighborhood was cramped, trash-strewn, and reachable only by negotiating a labyrinth of dark, black streets after leaving the freeway. Thaddeus had warned Angelina not to slow down at the address, but to drive right by, which she did. Thaddeus turned his head to watch the apartment building pass from the side window to the rear window. The building was aglow with friendly incandescent lights in all but two upper windows. He reminded himself that, friendly or not, behind at least one of those windows lurked a deadly GRU agent who would gladly squash him. He shuddered and told her to go around the block but to stop at the far end as she came around. She wheeled the tiny car through three left turns, edged up to the stop sign, and pulled over.
"Here?" she said.
"Perfect. Turn the lights off and keep your foot off the brake."
She did as told.
"So, what's the plan?"
"The plan is, I want this guy. But, for tonight, I'm getting the lay of the land. Then we'll talk to Tony about turning him, using him."
"Is he home right now?"
"I expect so. I'm just going to check out the building. I've reassessed and think you'd be okay waiting here. Just lock the doors and leave the lights off. Don't move the car. I should be back in ten minutes, max."
"That's good. I'll be fine here. Unless you think I should come with?"
"I don't think you should come with. Hold down the fort."
He opened the door and for a brief moment was caught in the yellow glare of the dome light. Stepping into the street he quickly closed the passenger door without slamming it. Then he paused and got his bearings. Up the sidewalk, back down the sidewalk, in front, behind--no one out and about. Great.
He slipped up to the corner and turned left. The building's entrance was a hundred feet down the walk. As he walked to the door, he said a silent prayer that a keypad or a card slot wouldn’t control it. He pulled. Surprisingly, the door came open; and in a flash he was inside and headed for the bank of elevators. There was no watchman at the front desk as he passed by, and he didn't come across any residents or visitors. So far, so good.
He hit the UP arrow and waited. Back inside the walls he could hear the elevator kick into life and begin rumbling down to meet him. As he waited, hair on the back of his neck stood up. He shivered and checked behind three times to make sure no one was coming or had seen him. He didn't like waiting at the elevator—too exposed.
The doors whooshed open and inside he scampered. Karli's unit number was 1504. Thaddeus pressed the button beside the 15, and the car began sliding upward as its brakes released and its cables turned.
On seven, a young couple lurched into the car, slightly out of control from the alcohol they had ingested. They looked him over and laughed together. Something about him had drawn their attention. He was clueless what prompted their mirth.
At nine, the car stopped, the doors opened, and the couple exited. He heard a murmur of laughter as the doors closed. Then he was alone again, headed for the fifteenth.
At fifteen, the doors parted. Directly in front of him was 1504. Karli Guryshenko was somewhere behind that door, and he held the key to Christine. Thaddeus pressed his ear against the door. The strains of ABBA singing "Dancing Queen" reached his ear. He pulled away. ABBA? The GRU listens to ABBA? For a moment, his mind was disjointed as he tried to comprehend the unthinkable, that a murderous Russian secret agent would find such innocent music somehow attractive. He stepped to the side of the door and leaned his back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Now what?
He considered Christine, imagined her face in pain and wished he had a gun with him. Should he leave and arm himself and then return? What would that solve? Well, at least he could blast away at the guy who had personally assaulted Thaddeus' best friend. How sweet it would be to knock on the door and shoot the bastard in the face. His mind worked through that scenario, but it came down to the inescapable conclusion that killing this guy wasn't going to free Christine. No, he would have to be smarter than that.
Then it occurred to him.
He swung around and rapped his knuckles on the door. Time to talk.
Suddenly the music shut off and the doorknob turned. He knew he was being studied through the eyehole in the door. So he smiled. A huge, friendly smile.
It opened, and he stepped half inside.
"Do you understand English?" asked Thaddeus, certain that a Russian agent in this day and age would be required to know at least some English.
"Who are you?" the powerful man growled. "You're American?"
"I’m American, yes. Can I come in and talk to you?"
"We can talk right here. What is it?"
"You're hurting a friend of mine. A woman named Ama Gloq."
"Christine Susmann you're talking about? What of her?"
"I don't want her hurt. It's that simple. And if you keep hurting her, I'm going to hunt you down."
The huge man smiled. "Hunt me down for what? So that I can squash you under my foot?"
"Hunt you down and shoot you. It might not help Christine, but it will help me. Maybe that's all I can do. But do it, I will."
"Let me tell you something, American. I know you. And I know your hotel. Should I call on you there? You and that girl you're living with?"
Thaddeus was taken aback, even startled. They had been watching him. But hadn't he known they would be? Why be surprised? Of course, they would be watching him. This was Russia, after all. Everyone watched everyone.
"Anytime, brother. You can come snooping anytime. I don't give a rat's ass where you are when I pull the trigger. Here, there, anywhere. Just try me. Now let's agree, just us boys, that you're going to see to it that no one hurts Christine again."
"You agree. I don't agree to anything, American."
At which point, Thaddeus folded his fingers into a flesh gun and pulled the trigger in the man's face.
"Do you understand that? Do you?"
"Try me," grunted the bullish Russian. "I come for you. You have been warned. You have twenty-four hours to leave my country. Or I come for you."
He slammed the door, and Thaddeus suddenly found himself nose-to-wood. He considered hammering the door again in his fury but decided against it. He calmed himself, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. He stepped back, then stepped to the side, where he couldn't be seen. He leaned down and placed his hands on his knees and slowed his heart, slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes. Never had he felt so helpless. They had her, and they weren't going to stop until they had killed her. Or worse.
Which was when he decided.
He was going to take her from them.
He didn't know how, he didn't know when, but he was going to die trying. That was it: he was willing to die trying. To leave it all on the table.
He turned away and jabbed the DOWN arrow of the elevator. The clunky system roared to life and within several seconds the doors swung open. It had been waiting there for him, as elevators do.
Inside and falling to the lobby, he leaned against the wall. He shut his eyes and tried to see Christine's face. Almost unbelievably, he couldn't picture her.
He had forgotten what she looked like.
42
Later that night, Thaddeus was just climbing into bed when the door buzzed and jolted him from his reverie about Christine. He went to the peephole. A familiar face stared back at him. The man was wearing a heavy winter hat pulled low to his eyes. Where had he seen this person?
The security chain was latched, so he opened the door and looked through the crack.
"Can I help you?"
The man lifted a wallet, opened it, and flashed a badge.
"Jacques Lemoneux. CIA. I need to talk to you, Mr. Murfee."
"Hold the ID card up where I can get a good look."
The man obliged him. Thaddeus studied the ID, studied the man's face, and decided, What the hell?
He slid the chain free and stepped back.
"Have a seat," said Thaddeus, indicating the round dining table. But the man remained at the door, waiting.
Thaddeus shrugged. "What does the CIA want with me? I thought you people weren't going to involve yourselves with our friend."
"This room is bugged. Can we step outside?"
"How do you know this room is bugged?"
"You're in Russian on a visitors' visa. All visitors' rooms are surveilled. You're no different."
"Lead on," said Thaddeus, removing his winter coat from the door hook.
They stepped outside into the parking lot. Jacques led him to the rear property line and turned to him.
The Girl Who Wrote The New York Times Bestseller: A Novel (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thrillers Book 8) Page 17
