by Saul Herzog
He was dizzy with the drug, barely able to lift his foot from the gas pedal to the brake. He careened around a few more side streets, then took the ramp onto the Garden Ring, swerving into the faster moving traffic as cars and trucks blared their horns at him.
Above in the sky, he could see the red and blue lights of police helicopters closing in.
82
Tatyana sat in the Mercedes and watched the entrance of Igor’s apartment building. She’d been sitting there for hours and was beginning to wonder if he was going to show at all. Maybe he’d already gone into hiding.
The lab had been attacked. The Kremlin had been attacked. Timokhin was dead. He had to know they were coming for him.
She looked at her watch.
Olga and Sofia would be at the extraction point by now. The plane would be arriving shortly. If Igor didn’t show his ugly face soon, she’d have to decide between waiting for him and going to the extraction point.
She knew what her choice would be. There was no way she would leave without finding Igor.
It wasn’t just the mission.
It was personal.
Looking back now, if she was completely honest with herself, she’d always known it would end this way. Given how her career began, it was really the only way it could end.
The men who’d recruited her, who’d trained her, who’d forced her into the service of the GRU, she’d always seen them as the same men who’d killed her parents.
She’d tried to work with them. She’d tried to see herself as being on their side. They were compatriots.
But if she ever got close to feeling at one with them, they quickly did something to remind her of the truth.
Through their callousness, their lack of compassion, their inhumanity, her mother had been deprived of a thirty-eight cent Streptomycin dose that would have saved her life.
It was the same callousness that allowed a worn out freon pipe to kill her father.
How difficult was it to maintain a pipe?
How difficult was it to provide a simple medicine?
Yevchenko’s decision had been inexcusable. Over a thousand innocent people were dead in Yekaterinburg because of him.
How many of them were little girls, like Tatyana had been?
Little girls who would now grow up without parents, without protection?
Little girls who would fall prey to the vultures who presided over the country?
Someone had to do something.
Tatyana had always known that.
She knew it when Sofia gave her the vial.
The two women never discussed it. They’d never explicitly agreed they were going to do something. It was just somehow understood between them. They were going to resist. They were going to fight back.
No explanation was necessary.
They were going to get that virus out of the hands of the men who thought they owned them.
Sofia had two vials that night at the institute.
One of them, she gave to Tatyana. That was the one Tatyana left at the consulate in Istanbul.
The reason she was here now, sitting outside this apartment, was because no one knew what had happened to the second vial.
The lab was gone.
The research strains were gone.
The research itself had been destroyed.
But what of that second vial?
Sofia had turned it over to Yevchenko. Yevchenko passed it up the line to Moscow. But where was it now?
Tatyana lit a cigarette and cracked open the window.
Her cell began to ring and she looked at the screen. It was Roth’s CIA operator. She wondered if it was worth the risk to answer it. She’d been told the communications system ran on US military satellites and was as secure as any system anywhere, but she also knew there was no such thing as a completely safe call, especially when you were sitting in a car in Central Moscow.
She looked again at the apartment building. Still nothing. She wondered if the call was because they’d found Igor.
She picked up.
A computerized voice said, “Please hold for local connection.”
That was strange. Who could be calling her locally? A man’s voice, hoarse and breathless, gasped at her.
“Tatyana Aleksandrova?”
She recognized it instantly. It was a voice she hadn’t heard since her first overseas mission, not since that fateful day in Damascus. But in all the years that had passed, she remembered him as if she’d seen him yesterday.
“Lance Spector,” she said.
“I was told you were in Moscow.”
“You sound hurt.”
“I need your help.”
“Of course.”
“I haven’t completed the mission. The vial, it’s still out there.”
“I’m at Igor’s apartment building now,” she said.
“Is he there?”
“Not yet.”
She looked at her watch.
“You should get to the extraction point,” she said. “You could still make it.”
He was breathing very heavily and there was definitely something wrong with him.
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he said.
“This is no time for chivalry, Lance.”
“It’s not chivalry,” he said, his voice so weak she had trouble hearing him. “I’m hurt, Tatyana. Badly. I won’t be making it to the extraction point.”
His voice was so groggy she could barely understand him.
“Lance. You sound drugged. What did you take?”
“My leg is a mess.”
“Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. I’ll come for you.”
“You have to finish the mission,” he said, gasping. “You have to get the vial.”
“I will finish it, Lance. It’s personal for me. I’ve got a score to settle with this asshole.”
“Good,” Lance said.
“But after I’m done, Lance, I’ll come for you.”
“No. It will take too much time. You have to get to the airfield.”
“I’m not going without you, Lance.”
“You have to.”
“You saved my life once,” she said. “I’m not leaving you behind.”
He laughed, a wheezy, gasping laugh.
“You have to get out, Tatyana. Every GRU agent in Moscow will recognize you if you stay.”
“Forget it,” she said. “Tell me where you are.”
“Tatyana,” he said, slurring the word badly. Then he went silent and she wondered if the connection had been dropped.
“Hello? Lance? Are you still there?”
“I’m still here.”
“You’re losing consciousness.”
“No, I’m okay. It’s just…”.
“Just what?”
“I’ve lost a lot of blood.” There was another long pause, then he said, “Did you find my friends?”
“The doctors, they were at the hotel. They’re at the extraction point now.”
“That’s good,” he said.
She could hear it in his voice. He was giving up. He wasn’t going to make it. She looked at her watch again. She had to get him to tell her his location.
“Poor Vasily,” Lance said. “He’s on his own now.”
“Lance,” she cried. “Where are you?”
He wasn’t even hearing her anymore.
“Please, Lance, tell me where you are.”
“What about Laurel?” he said.
“Lance. Stay with me. Do you hear me?”
She heard coughing.
“Lance. Remember what you did for me in Damascus?”
“Damascus?” he said. “There was something I was going to tell you in the chopper.”
The chopper? She’d never been with him in a chopper. He was losing it.
“Clarice was pregnant,” he said. “When Roth killed her, she was pregnant.”
“I’m sorry, Lance.�
�
“Pregnant with my child.”
“Lance, listen to me. Where are you?”
“Get Igor. That’s the only thing that matters.”
She thought of what he’d done for her, of everything she’d heard about him, and knew there’d really only ever been one way of getting his attention.
“Lance,” she said. “I need your help.”
There was a pause, then he said, “You need my help?”
“I’m hurt, Lance. Bad. I need you to save me.”
“Where are you?”
“No. I’ll come to you. Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”
“You’ll come?”
“Yes. You have to save me, Lance.”
“I’m off the Garden Ring, Tatyana” he said. “Do you know Krasnye Vorota?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in the park by the metro. At the pay phones.”
“You can’t wait in the park, Lance. They’ll find you there.”
“I have a car. It’s screwed up. I can’t drive it.”
“All right. Listen to me. Go to your car and wait for me. I’ll find you there. I promise.”
She needed to get to him soon or he was done for.
“Go wait in your car, Lance,” she said again. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Watch for me.”
“No,” he said. “Don’t come here. Go to the airfield.”
“Watch for me, Lance. I’ll come, and you can save me.”
The line went dead.
“Lance?” she said. “Lance?”
83
“Don’t speed,” Laurel said.
She was sitting next to Piotr as they drove north from the city toward the airfield. She kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, terrified that at any moment, the flashing lights of a police car would show up behind them.
But none did, and as they got further from the city, she felt the tension in her body lifting. They were following directions to the extraction point she’d been given by the phone operator. There wasn’t too much further to go.
“Thank you for doing this,” she said to Piotr as he turned off the highway onto a forested road.
He looked at her. “I thought you were dead when I saw you.”
“Oh?”
“Lying by the river. For a split second, I thought you were dead. Then you moved.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I can’t imagine this is how you thought you’d be spending your night,” she said.
He laughed. “Not exactly.”
She looked at him. “You can’t tell anyone what you did tonight.”
He nodded.
“For your own safety.”
“I know,” he said.
“You risked your life for me.”
He nodded again, and they drove on. Then he said, “My sister drowned in the Moskva.”
Laurel turned to him. “Really?”
“Yes. Not far from where I found you.”
“When?”
“When we were children. That’s why I thought you were dead when I saw you.”
“I see.”
“I thought you were her, actually.”
Laurel put her hand on his shoulder.
They drove on in silence. The road got narrower and windier. After a few miles, there was a turnoff onto a smaller road. The next turn was onto a narrow, unpaved track, and the turn after that was onto an even smaller track that was still covered in snow. There were some recent tire tracks on it but it hadn’t been plowed.
“I might get stuck,” Piotr said.
“I can walk from here,” Laurel said, looking at the directions.
The extraction point was less than a mile up the path.
“I’m coming with you,” he said.
He moved the car to the side of the track and they got out. Piotr had an extra coat in the trunk which he gave to Laurel. It was so big it wrapped her like a sleeping bag.
Together, they trudged through the forest, leaving footprints in the snow.
“Where does it lead?” Piotr said.
The moon was out and the sky was so clear Laurel thought she’d never seen stars so bright.
“See for yourself,” she said, pointing ahead.
A few hundred yards up the path was a clearing. It formed a simple airstrip, and in the center of it was a small plane. The lights of the plane were on and illuminated the runway, where two men in pilot’s uniforms were inspecting the snow. They carried flashlights and snow shovels.
Piotr was about to raise a hand in greeting when Laurel stopped him.
“Wait,” she said.
They crouched down and crept closer to the plane, staying out of sight of the pilots.
When they reached the plane, Laurel pulled herself up to the cockpit and opened the door. Two women were in the passenger cabin, huddled under blankets trying to keep warm.
One of them had a gun pointed at Laurel.
“Whoa,” Laurel said.
“Who are you?” the woman said in Russian.
“I’m Laurel Everlane. Roth sent me.”
The woman lowered the gun.
“Who are you?” Laurel said.
The woman looked relieved. “My name is Sofia Ivanovna,” she said. “This is my friend, Olga.”
“Are we cleared to take off?” Laurel said.
“I think so. As long as it doesn’t start snowing again we should be all right.”
Laurel nodded. She could see that Lance wasn’t there, not that she’d allowed herself to get her hopes up. She’d seen the way that chopper went down. She refused to think about it, but she knew no one could survive that.
She wouldn’t be seeing Lance Spector again.
84
Tatyana finally saw someone walk toward the building.
She could tell immediately it was Igor. She would have recognized that silhouette a million miles away. He walked up to the door, looked over his shoulder, then let himself in.
She threw her cigarette out the window and checked her gun.
She was in Tverskaya, one of the better neighborhoods in the city, and there was a fair amount of foot traffic on the sidewalk. The building was solid. It had a certain utilitarian, Stalinist charm to it, and was expensive enough to afford a guard in the lobby.
Tatyana decided to wait for Igor to come back down. She knew he’d be coming back down. There was no way he was going to settle in for the night, not after what had happened at the Kremlin. He was home only to get something, and she prayed she was correct in what she thought that something was.
Igor lived in the apartment with his wife of forty years. The wife was in the apartment now, and Tatyana saw no reason to involve her in what was about to happen. As far as Tatyana was concerned, that woman had put up with enough in her life. The last thing she needed was to be cleaning Igor’s blood from the carpet.
Tatyana had met her at one of Igor’s social engagements. Those events had always been awkward for Tatyana. She’d spent the night avoiding the wife. She felt guilty about what had happened between her and Igor.
Tatyana knew it was strange that it bothered her, given her job, but it did.
And she thought it was particularly cruel of the men to arrange events like that, where half the women had slept with the husbands of the other half, and all of them knew it.
At the end of the night, Tatyana and Igor’s wife were in the bathroom at the same time. As Tatyana refreshed her lipstick, studiously avoiding eye contact, the wife said, “You shouldn’t be afraid of me, you know. I was you once, and you’ll be me one day, sooner than you think. We’re in the same boat, you and I.”
Tatyana lit another cigarette and looked at her watch again. Five minutes had passed since Igor went up.
If five more passed, she’d have to go up after him.
In her hand was the gun Lance had given her. It was the gun she was given on her very first mission, and she’d carried it on every
mission since. She looked at the star carved into the handle. It felt right that it be the gun that finished this final task.
She looked at her watch again. Time was up.
She was about to get out of the car when a figure reappeared inside the building. It was Igor in his long black coat and Tatyana felt a rush of adrenaline. Then she saw that he wasn’t alone. The wife was with him.
That wasn’t good.
He was also carrying a metal case, clunky, with a black handle. It looked like a case a photographer might carry for his equipment.
Igor exited the building with his wife, and they began walking quickly down the street, back in the direction Igor had come from. Tatyana knew they were headed for the metro station.
It was also clear they were in a hurry.
Igor practically dragged his wife down the street.
Tatyana wondered why they had no driver. No car. There was always a car.
She realized it was because he didn’t want anyone knowing he was running. He was scared. He didn’t trust the agency.
The street was lively, lined with bars and restaurants, all of them open and full of patrons.
Tatyana pulled the car out of its spot and slowly rolled down the street after Igor and his wife, maintaining a distance of about a hundred yards. When they reached the park, and there were less people around, she put her foot down and caught up to them.
She rolled down the window and called out. “Hey.”
Igor and his wife peered into the car. When they saw Tatyana, her gun pointed at them, their expressions turned to shock.
“You,” Igor gasped.
“Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Mrs. Aralov,” Tatyana said.
Igor’s wife looked like she was about to drop dead.
“Let me ask you something very important, Mrs. Aralov,” Tatyana said. “Do you love your husband?”
Igor looked at his wife, who was unable to speak.
“Mrs. Aralov, I’m asking if you love him enough to die with him?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “No I don’t.”
Igor’s face dropped.
“Then go home,” Tatyana said. “Go home and stay there.”
