Sophia wondered if the man was Navy or a defense contractor. He wasn’t in uniform, but she doubted a Navy man would wear his blues to rendezvous with a Soviet spy. His poofy hair may have looked ridiculous on a grown man, but the part was immaculate. Sophia knew an expensive salon cut when she saw one. She looked at the man’s fingernails. They were trimmed so that no white showed at the tips and were buffed to a dull glow. A recent job. Maybe a Navy officer might get a pricey haircut, but Sophia doubted he would schedule a manicure on a Friday afternoon. Most likely, the man was civilian.
Sophia was now confident she could file a detailed description. Janov was reaching to open his door as she passed them.
“Excuse me,” she said, giving the men an innocent smile.
“Not at all,” Janov replied as he grasped Sophia’s upper arm and pushed her into his compartment. His other hand came up to cover her mouth as he maneuvered her into a seat next to the window. Its shade was drawn. As the other man closed the door behind them, sealing the three of them into an Amtrak “roomette” designed for two, Ms. Chambers’ admonition echoed in Sophia’s thoughts: “Don’t engage. Never engage!” This situation was beyond engagement.
“Please don’t scream, young lady,” Janov said. “I only wish to have a conversation.”
The other man’s face registered shock. “What the hell are you doing, Vasily?” He pulled his briefcase against his chest.
Without looking at the man, Janov responded, “You should return to your seat, Mr. Jones. I will collect you when this girl and I are finished.”
Mr. Jones, who couldn’t possibly be named Mr. Jones, said, “I think I had better stay and see what this is about.”
Yes, please stay! Sophia thought. Don’t leave me alone with this Russian!
“Very well,” Janov said, though his eyes told Sophia this wasn’t very well. “Let me do the talking.” He settled into the seat opposite Sophia. “Now, my dear, do you promise not to scream if I remove my hand?” Janov’s Russian accent was distinct but pleasant. Sophia found this confusing. “I have only a few questions for you,” he continued. “All I am is curious.”
Sophia nodded her head. She realized all her muscles were clenched. She forced herself to relax them. Mr. Jones, who remained standing in front of the door, watched her nervously. His trench coat had come open, revealing a Burberry lining.
Sophia decided to handle this situation the way she imagined Ms. Chambers’ would–coolly. Janov’s eyes were sympathetic rather than menacing. That threw Sophia. She decided she would remain cool, or fake it, until the moment she sensed imminent danger. Then she would scream.
Janov took his hand away. Sophia channeled defiance into her voice and said, “Who the hell do you think you are grabbing me like this? It’s illegal. It’s kidnapping.”
Mr. Jones let out an anxious little laugh. “I mean, if you wanted a girl, Vasily–”
“Be quiet!” Janov said, a sneer revealing his distaste for Mr. Jones’ words. “I assure you that is not why you are here, young lady.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Perhaps I am simply laboring under a misunderstanding, but I have the impression you were following me this evening.”
“Following you? Why would I be following you? I don’t know who you are.”
“Perhaps not, but I saw you several times tonight. Behind me on Forty-second Street. In Grand Central. In the lounge car. And just now right outside my compartment. That seems more than a coincidence to me.”
Sophia couldn’t believe he had spotted her on Forty-second Street. She wasn’t as good at tailing as she thought. “Well, that’s all it is,” she said, “a coincidence. I think maybe I saw you in Grand Central, but I must have seen dozens of other people who are on the train now. People in train stations tend to ride trains.” OK, that’s enough, she told herself. Don’t protest too much.
“Perhaps, but I am wondering if you are playing a game with your friends. You select a person at random and follow them. Young people play such a game in my country. Although you must have been very determined to win if you followed me aboard a train.”
“I’m not playing any game,” Sophia said. “I’m just going to Albany.”
“Oh, what is in Albany?”
“SUNY. I’m visiting the campus this weekend. I’m thinking of going there.”
“A fine school, I am told. But we will be arriving there late tonight. How will you get from the train station to campus? You were alone in Grand Central, so I assume you are traveling alone.”
“A student there is picking me up. I’m staying in her dorm room this weekend.”
“What is her name?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“I’m merely curious,” Janov said casually.
“Allison Stephens, I think. Or maybe Stephenson. I have it in my backpack.”
“Oh, when I saw you earlier I don’t remember you carrying any luggage. I must have been mistaken.” His tone became more convivial and he leaned forward. “What is the name of the dormitory? Is it Adam Hall?”
A warning sounded in Sophia’s head. Why would a Russian know the campus of a state school in Albany? She suspected Janov was feeding her the name of a phony dorm to trap her in a lie. “I’m not really sure of the dorm’s name,” Sophia replied, “and I’m not really comfortable telling you where I’ll be spending the night.”
“I can respect that,” Janov said. His expression indeed conveyed respect, like that of a swordsman acknowledging his thrust had been parried.
Mr. Jones grunted to remind them he was still there. As if he needed to, Sophia thought. The compartment was scarcely larger than two phone booths stuck together. Standing at the door, Mr. Jones loomed over her and Janov. Sophia wondered why he didn’t take the third seat, the hard plastic one right next to him. A second later, Sophia realized it was a toilet.
Janov resumed his questions. “Now, if you are only going as far as Albany, you must be riding coach. What were you doing in the sleeper car? I could report you to the attendant.”
Sophia shrugged. “So report me. I was just exploring. I wanted to know what one of these rooms looked like. I suppose I was curious, too. Like you.”
“Well, now that you see what one of these rooms looks like, I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”
“It is, and I’d like to go now.”
“Soon,” Janov said. He gave her a reassuring smile. “I don’t suppose you would mind sharing your name?”
“Harriet Welsch,” Sophia said. She left out the “M.” That would have been pushing it.
Janov’s reaction was unexpected. He chuckled delightedly and slapped his knee. “Do you get teased?” he asked.
“For what?” Sophia replied.
“You share your name with a character from a famous American children’s book.”
Before she could reply, Sophia’s voice faltered. She had told the wrong lie. She cleared her throat and said, “Only by people familiar with the book. Not that many people know it, really. I’m surprised you do.”
Janov waved his hand in a “la-di-da” circle. “I bought a copy several years ago to send back home to my daughter as a birthday gift. The title amused me.”
Sophia didn’t respond. Mr. Jones, clearly perplexed, looked from Janov to Sophia and back. “Well,” he said, “what’s the name of the book?”
“Harriet the Spy,” Janov said, still smiling at Sophia.
Mr. Jones reacted as if Janov had slapped him. “What?” he asked, filling the single syllable with a soliloquy’s worth of apprehension.
“She’s not really a spy,” Sophia said, feeling compelled to offer Mr. Jones an explanation and allay his fears. “She’s just a little girl who snoops on her neighbors and classmates. She would have made a terrible spy. She gets caught.”
Sophia turned back to Janov. His smile was gone. He sat watching her, nodding sagely with his folded hands resting between his knees. “Yes,” he said. “Spies s
hould not get caught.”
Sophia and Janov looked at each other in silence. His gray eyes appeared old. Observing him from a distance over the last few weeks, Sophia had figured he was in his early forties. Now, with Janov less than two feet way, she reckoned he was nearer to fifty. He looked at her as if he wanted to ask another question but didn’t know how to form it.
She considered his words: “Spies should not get caught.” Was it an admission or an accusation? Perhaps both. Maybe he was acknowledging they had caught each other and had hit an impasse. His manner was not malevolent, but conflicted. Sophia sensed he wanted to work out a solution, and maybe they could if they were alone.
But they were not alone.
“All right,” Mr. Jones interjected. “All this talk of spies is making me nervous. This isn’t a joke anymore. I don’t know why this girl is here, but she’s dangerous. She knows who I am.”
“No I don’t!” Sophia said.
Janov added, “I am sure she has guessed your name isn’t really Jones.”
“Well, she knows what I look like, and that’s bad enough. I don’t like it, and I want to know what you plan to do with her, besides discussing children’s books.”
For the first time Sophia sensed the greater threat was not the Russian spy but the man from Groton, the man probably betraying his country.
“Do you realize that your words are only feeding this girl’s imagination?” Janov said. “I asked you earlier to leave. I still believe that is a good idea. Let me handle this.”
The train started to slow. It was approaching a station. Poughkeepsie. Sophia despaired. She couldn’t make a break for it, not with Mr. Jones blocking the door. Now when she got off the train–if she got off the train–she had no idea how she’d get back to New York.
“Not on your life,” Mr. Jones snapped back at Janov. “This involves me. I’m the one who will be ruined if the girl talks. So what are you going to do about it?”
Janov fixed a baleful stare at Mr. Jones. Sophia’s attention was divided between their showdown and the train’s arrival at the Poughkeepsie station. The train stopped and she heard voices from outside the window. A quick shout of “All aboard!” and the Lake Shore Limited was moving again, leaving hope behind for Sophia.
Janov seemed to have been waiting for the train to resume its journey. He said, “It so happens that I have an ample amount of cash with me. Perhaps we can buy Miss Welsch’s silence.”
A bribe? Sophia wasn’t expecting that. How much would Janov offer her? Enough to buy that diamond necklace she had been eyeing at Macy’s? Not that she’d be able to wear it. Her parents would demand to know where she got the money. She would be in enough trouble with them anyway when she got home. It was now after nine o’clock, assuming the train was running to schedule. If her parents weren’t worried about her yet, they would be in another hour. Anyway, why was she kidding herself? Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to take money from Janov. Still, if it meant getting out of this compartment alive, maybe she should take it.
The rage on Mr. Jones’ face told her that wasn’t likely to happen. “Are you shitting me?” he shouted. “That money is mine! You’re not giving it to her!”
“Please keep your voice down, Mr. Jones,” Janov said. “And relax. I can get you more money.”
“You bet you can. A lot more money. We’re renegotiating this deal.” Mr. Jones hugged the briefcase closer to his chest. “You assured me this train would be the safest place to meet. But you’ve left me exposed. To a kid! What kind of amateur are you?”
Janov stood and faced Mr. Jones. His voice hardened. “We will not have this conversation here.”
Sophia pushed herself back into her seat as if she could escape through the wall behind her. She realized, finally, that she had intruded into a world where she did not belong. She thought that by following Janov aboard the train to learn his compartment number she would score points with Ms. Chambers. She had treated the whole thing as a game, but now she knew this wasn’t a game to men like Janov and Mr. Jones, whoever he really was. This was a fierce reality.
Janov continued, “If you would calm down, you might see that you are the one making this situation dangerous to yourself.”
“Bullshit! You made it dangerous the minute you grabbed the girl. Now stop pussyfooting around and get rid of her.”
Sophia’s skin went cold. She pulled her ski jacket tighter.
“And how do you suggest I do that?” Janov’s back was to Sophia now. Sophia wondered if she could break the window and jump through it.
Mr. Jones shrugged. “Shoot her.”
Janov laughed. “I don’t know what books you’ve read, Mr. Jones, but your government doesn’t approve of foreign diplomats carrying concealed firearms, especially not diplomats from my country.”
Mr. Jones pulled a gun from beneath his trench coat and pointed it at Janov. He continued to grip his briefcase with his left hand. “Lucky me,” he said. “I’m covered under the Second Amendment. And stop calling me Mr. Jones. I’m sick of it.”
Sophia didn’t know much about guns, but she could tell Mr. Jones was holding an automatic and not a revolver. She also recognized the six-inch cylinder protruding from its muzzle as a silencer. That was the extent of her gun lore. She wondered if this finally was the time to scream, but that might get her shot. Sophia remained quiet and waited for Janov’s reaction.
She could not see Janov’s face. When he spoke his voice was icy. “Did you bring that to use against me?”
“Just being careful,” Mr. Jones replied. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before. I didn’t know how it would turn out.”
“It would have turned out with your debt being erased,” Janov said. Mr. Jones flinched at the mention of debt. As the two men stared each other down, Sophia turned in her seat so that her knees faced the door.
Janov shook his head. “I warned my superiors about your volatility.”
“I’m not the one at fault here, asshole. I followed all of your instructions to get here without being tailed. You’re the one who dragged the girl along.” Mr. Jones gestured toward Sophia with the gun.
In a flash Janov’s right hand shot up and grabbed Mr. Jones’ gun hand by the wrist. He forced the pistol upward. A silenced phut sounded and a small black hole appeared in the bulkhead that hid the upper berth. Sophia yelped.
Janov grabbed Mr. Jones’ other shoulder with his left hand and twisted him into the wall behind his seat. Mr. Jones’ briefcase hit the floor. Janov continued to press his opponent against the wall, clearing a path to the door. Sophia crouched and pushed past the struggling men. Mr. Jones lashed at her with his left hand and caught her arm.
One benefit of attending an all-girls’ private school in Manhattan is the frequent self-defense demonstrations during physical education class. Sophia thrust her elbow into Mr. Jones’ stomach. He grunted and released her arm. She grabbed his briefcase before unlocking the door and sliding it open. Janov and Mr. Jones looked at her with intense eyes. Each had an arm across the other’s throat. Neither could come after her without losing the advantage–and perhaps his life–to the other man. Sophia squeezed through the door and into the empty passage. She slid the door shut behind her.
Sophia had to move fast. She didn’t know who would win the fight, but her money was on Janov. The best outcome for her would be if they killed each other. Merely thinking that made her a little sick. Sophia sprinted to the end of the sleeper car, then slowed to a fast walk as she entered the lounge car.
The lounge car had changed since her last visit. It was now crowded and noisy. Every table was filled to capacity, and nearly every person was waving a cigarette. The solid ceiling had become a moving miasma of smoke, and the overhead lighting was dulled by the haze. The sudden stench of the tobacco made her gag. Aaron looked up at her from behind the counter as he pulled a saucer-sized pizza from the microwave. Sophia considered asking him for help, but decided that could lead to a violent, public situation the
FBI would want to avoid.
Her wristwatch was useless and she didn’t have time to consult the train schedule, so she didn’t know the next station or when the train would arrive. She wanted to hide in the nearest restroom until the train reached the next stop, but she had to get the briefcase to the FBI. Janov or Mr. Jones still might ambush her as she tried to leave the train. She needed to do one last thing before she could hide. If Sophia remembered correctly, there was something she could use two passenger cars ahead.
Sophia glanced over her shoulder as she left the lounge car. Neither Janov nor Mr. Jones was following. She entered the first coach car to find it dark. The overhead lights had been switched off. Dim illumination came from small lamps where the seats met the floor. Many of the passengers already were asleep. Sophia hoped that held true in the next car.
In the next car her eyes went to the overhead luggage rack and despite the low light, she felt a surge of hope when she spotted what she needed. Now if she could just move casually. No one noticed her pause by the luggage alcove at the rear of the car. As she counted down the rows Sophia prayed her luck would hold. Thank God, she thought as she looked at the man in the target seat and found him sprawled out and snoring. She reached up nonchalantly and moved away, hesitating to see if anyone had observed.
Sophia had one witness. A young Hispanic girl, probably six, gaped at her from the opposite seat. The girl turned to her mother for advice. She found none because her mother was asleep. Sophia put her finger to her lips and grinned at the girl. She grinned back, and Sophia continued her journey to the front of the car. She was ready to hide in the next restroom.
Sophia didn’t realize how much time the encounter with the little girl had cost her until Janov appeared behind her like a vampire formed from the darkness. She gasped as he pushed her into the narrow, accordion-covered vestibule between the cars.
Young Adventurers Page 4
