The Russians turned away from her, not wanting to get involved in a domestic dispute. The Westerners watched.
“Help! I’m not—” Faith shouted before he slapped his hand over her mouth. She bit him until she tasted blood. She kicked and squirmed. She bent over, then straightened up and slammed against him as hard as she could. Her ribs throbbed, but he laughed into her ear. She fell limp, but her weight meant nothing to him; he dragged her across the broken concrete.
“Let her go!” Frosty said as he pushed through the crowd and ran toward her. Frosty punched the kidnapper’s face, but someone took hold of his arm.
The kidnapper shouted in Russian, “My wife’s not your whore, you capitalist bastard!”
Frosty threw off his assailant and jumped the kidnapper. The man dropped Faith. Sharp pain slowed her as she pushed herself up to see two more pile out of the Volga. They seized her arms and hauled her into the car.
“Frosty, get out of here! Go!” she shouted just before they slammed the door.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
It is true that liberty is precious;
so precious that it must be carefully rationed.
—LENIN
LYSENKO RESEARCH FACILITY, MOSCOW
SUNDAY, APRIL 30
Faith didn’t know if she had passed out from a blow or from fear. Either way, her head throbbed from the scuffle, the pain reaching down her neck until it met the twinge coming up from her ribs. She didn’t know how long she’d been out. She gagged from the stench; the room reeked of a high school biology lab. She was alone—at least they didn’t get Frosty. But she was alone. And scared.
As she pushed herself up from the cold tile floor, pain shot through her ribs and right shoulder. She stood in the dark room and slowly shuffled her feet as they blindly explored her confines. A band of light emanated from the bottom of a door. She inched her way to it and pawed for the latch. She pushed it, but knew it was locked.
Plaster fell off into her hands as she patted her way around the room. Then she hit something, a flat surface. A shelf. Grit coated her fingertips. She reached above it and found another. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were built into the wall. The back of her hand hit a smooth, cool cylinder. A glass jar. She ran her hand along it and estimated it held over a gallon. The entire shelf was filled with the containers; hundreds of them lined the walls. The strong chemical odor guarded them from the curious.
When they apprehended her, they had no way of knowing she had brought them Play-Doh. So if the Stasi thought they got what they wanted, why were they holding her? Shouldn’t she be free or dead? And where was Zara, along with her promised KGB assistance? KGB headquarters was close enough to the Bolshoi that they could’ve walked over to help her. Frosty had defied her instructions and had come to the theater to help her.
An electric hum came from overhead. Faith squinted as fluorescent lights glowed. No one appeared. A hunk of wrinkled flesh floated in each jar. Brains. Human brains. And she had almost reached inside one.
Each brain was labeled with initials, a last name and a reference number. She’d heard rumors that Hitler’s brain was pickled somewhere in Moscow. The Soviets did keep brains of gifted luminaries for research into the origins of their intelligence. For the last fifty years, their scientists had sliced away and stained brain specimens of their leading citizens in their quest to perfect the New Soviet Man. She recognized the names of a geneticist, a cosmonaut and a Politburo member.
My first Mensa meeting.
A lock turned and the door flung open. Zara and a guard entered the room and locked the door afterward. Faith rushed toward her, but stopped herself when she saw the woman’s steel eyes and unyielding face.
Now Faith understood.
Zara had used her, betrayed her, attempted to kill her. She told herself the pain in her chest was from breathing the formaldehyde, but she knew better.
“It’ll be easier for you if you’ll cooperate with us, Doctor Whitney.” Bogdanov looked away as she spoke.
“How can you do this to me?” Faith seethed.
“Who are your local accomplices?”
“You were the one who told me to go along with Schmidt or Kosyk or whatever his real name is. I’m here because of you, so I’d say you’re my accomplice and you were working on behalf of the KGB, so I’d say the whole KGB is involved. You do work for the KGB, don’t you? It was them you were working for when you tried to seduce me, wasn’t it?”
“How did you plant the bomb on the airplane?”
“Are you out of your mind? I was on that plane. You did it, didn’t you?”
“If I wanted to eliminate you, we wouldn’t be talking. Who made the bomb?”
“Not me. I’d guess someone from your organization who didn’t want me to make the delivery. You know, the delivery you were going to intercept and use to nail Kosyk and company? If you ask me, it seems not everyone at the KGB is on the same page with this one. Do you guys ever have staff meetings?”
“Turn around and put your hands against the wall.”
“Maybe there’s an empty wall here I’m not seeing. What’s the deal with this place? You guys running out of space in Lubyanka all of a sudden?”
“Then place your hands on the desk and lean over.”
“So you can fuck me some more?”
Bogdanov reached inside the breast pocket of Faith’s leather jacket and removed two pens, a wad of dollars and rubles, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and some matches. She flipped through the banknotes and threw them onto the guard’s tray. She left the watch in Faith’s pocket. “Why the cigarettes?”
“You know I’m a chain-smoker. Besides, they’re a second currency around here,” Faith said.
She clicked the top of the pen, but no point popped out. She dropped it onto the tray. Bogdanov’s hand reached inside Faith’s jacket. Bogdanov ran her hands over her chest, violating her. Faith jumped from pain and Bogdanov lightened her touch.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Faith said under her breath.
“Neither can I,” Bogdanov whispered in English as she ran her hands down Faith’s inner thighs. “Take your shoes off.”
Bogdanov reached inside the shoe. She paused and made brief eye contact with Faith for the first time since entering the room. Faith knew she had found the C, but Bogdanov set the shoe down and searched the other one.
Bogdanov turned to the guard. “She’s clean.”
“I demand to see a doctor,” Faith said.
“Trust me, you don’t want to. We need you to tell us what you’re planning. We have the plastic explosives you smuggled into the USSR.”
“What plastic explosives?”
“The C-4 you gave to Lieutenant Alexandrov during your Bolshoi escapade.”
“You know I don’t deal in arms. I don’t know anything about explosives.”
“We have the bag and its contents and we’ve apprehended one of your co-conspirators. You’ll confess, or someone you care about is going to get hurt.” She turned toward the guard as she walked through the door. “Bring him in.”
Bogdanov spun around on her heels and left the room. The lights went out.
Faith sat alone in the darkness, too angry and too terrified to cry. The Play-Doh would buy her time, but not her freedom, nor her life. She racked her brains, but at that moment, brains weren’t much use to her.
Later the door opened and a body was shoved inside. Faith shuffled closer in the darkness, careful not to kick whoever it was. She heard a groan. “Frosty? It’s okay. It’s me. I’d hoped you got away.” She knelt down.
He mumbled something. She pulled off his blindfold and noticed his hair was gone. Why would they ever shave his head? She ran her fingers over the wide forehead and the bald head. Then she felt a very familiar ear. Summer. She found the edge of the duct tape and ripped it from his mouth with a single jerk.
“Faith?”
She threw her arms around him and put her head against him, carefu
l not to put pressure on her ribs. Tears flowed down her face.
“You okay?” he said.
“I’m pretty bunged up, but nothing that won’t heal. They’re going to kill us.”
“Pull yourself together. We’re gonna make it, honey.”
“I know you’re just saying that.”
“Hell, yes. But you have to get it together and get my hands freed up before we can do anything.”
“What are you doing here? Did you come after me?” She tugged at the tape around his wrists.
“Not exactly. Where the heck is here?”
“Moscow. Some old KGB lab’s storage room.”
“Holy moly.” He wiggled his wrists, trying to get some slack into the tape handcuffs. “Moscow? I was afraid of that. They’ve kept me blindfolded, but I had a feeling we were flying east. Hell, I didn’t need a feeling to know they were taking me to Russia. Where are Walters and Meriwether? I couldn’t hear them on the plane, but I wasn’t totally sure they weren’t there.”
“I have no idea who they are.”
“The last I saw them, the East Germans had them,” he said.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but something big. This isn’t working. I can’t get this stuff off.” The tape stuck to itself. Her short fingernails picked at it.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got anything sharp?”
“Hold on.” Faith unscrewed a lid from one of the jars.
He sniffed loudly. “Jeez, someone dissecting cadavers around here?”
“You don’t want to know.” She smacked the jar lip against the heavy metal desk. Her finger explored the jagged edge. Sharp enough. Her foot raked stray shards under the desk. “Where are you? Talk to me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Over here. This way.”
She inched over to him and sat on the floor beside him. “I’m going to do my best not to cut you, but I can’t see a damn thing.”
“Just take it slow, nice and slow.”
She sawed through the tape a few frustrating millimeters at a time.
“How many of them are there?” Summer said. “Any idea what’s outside the door?”
“At least two. Three or four guys brought me here, but I don’t know if they’re still around.” She nicked herself with the makeshift knife. “I have no idea what’s outside, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t set up for prisoners. Summer, you need to know, I’ve got some C stuck in my shoes.”
“A cap?”
“I had a blasting cap and time fuse in two pens, but she took them. She also took my matches.”
The fluorescent lights buzzed, then glowed.
“They’re coming.” Faith stuffed the glass shard into her pocket and smashed the tape back to cover up her handiwork.
Summer looked around in the light. “What the heck is wrong with these people? Pickled brains?”
“They study brains of smart people to try to figure out the secrets of their success. Yuri Gagarin’s over there. From rumors I’ve heard about his drinking and the truth behind the plane crash that killed him, he probably came prepickled.”
Bogdanov walked in, carrying a white brick wrapped in clear plastic. The guard closed the door behind them and stood erect, his gun pointed at Summer’s chest.
“I see you’re making yourselves at home,” Bogdanov said in English, startling Faith. “You’re in the company of great minds.” Her face fell, her mood shifting like a wind shear. She threw the brick to Faith, who caught it. “What’s this?”
“Play-Doh. Personally, I prefer Silly Putty. I like to smash it on colored Sunday funnies and stretch—”
“I don’t have time for foolishness. Where’s the C-4?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Guard, leave us alone for a few moments,” Bogdanov said. “I think I might be able to be more persuasive without a witness.”
“General Stukoi’s orders were very clear. No one is to be alone with the prisoners.”
Bogdanov snapped her head around toward Summer and raised her voice. “I’m talking about a CIA agent and a US Navy special forces commando who brought C-4 into the Soviet Union on a secret mission to assassinate General Secretary Gorbachev to stop his reforms and save the budgets of their Cold War–dependent agencies. You’re here to save your militaryindustrial complex from the threat of peace and friendship with an open, democratic Soviet Union. I prepared your confessions. Sign at the bottom. It may even help you avert the death penalty.” Bogdanov handed them the papers and two pens, both from the same Berlin travel agency.
Faith fingered the pen. It was the same one Bogdanov had confiscated earlier. She studied Zara’s face, but it betrayed nothing. She skimmed the document. “This is dated May first. It’s not May first yet, is it? And it’s not a confession about an attempt on Gorbachev. It’s a murder confession.”
“Things will go much easier for you if you voluntarily confess. I only have you for another twenty minutes. I can’t wait any longer. You have only twenty minutes. If you don’t sign by then, I can’t be responsible for what happens to you. Up until now, I’ve seen that you were treated well. Commander Summer’s trained to hold up under torture, but Doctor Whitney isn’t. Others can be more persuasive. Once you’re outside this wall . . .” She made eye contact with Faith, then looked at the wall. “Once you’re outside this wall on your way to Lubyanka, I can’t help you. Trust me; you don’t want to be in here in twenty minutes when they come for you.”
“We’re not going to sign. Forget it.” Summer shook his head.
“I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to consider it. Would you like a cigarette while you’re thinking?”
Bogdanov tapped the Marlboro pack until a cigarette tip came out. “Go ahead.”
The guard objected in Russian.
She turned to him. “It can’t hurt. What are they going to do? Put burn marks on Stalin’s brain?”
The guard laughed.
Faith hesitated before she pulled the cigarette from the pack and put it in her mouth. Bogdanov tossed her the matchbox. Faith palmed two matches as she removed one for the light.
Summer leaned forward. “I’ll take one, too.”
Bogdanov put the cigarette in his mouth. Faith lit it for him and threw the matches to Bogdanov.
“You have less than twenty minutes. Think carefully about what I’ve said. Do the smart thing.”
They left the room, but the lights didn’t go out.
“She’s the bitch who kidnapped me. I don’t know what the deal is with her, but she made it pretty clear we’d better be out of here in twenty minutes.”
Faith extinguished her cigarette and cut at the tape on Summer’s wrists. “I’ll have you out in a minute now that I can see what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry about cutting me; just get my hands free. And get this cancer stick outta my mouth, but don’t let it go out. We’re going to need it.”
“I got a couple of matches.” Faith removed the cigarette and crushed it out on the floor. “The pens she left us have time fuse and a cap in them. And I swear she knew it.”
“That KGB bitch is a slick devil. What kind of fuse did you get? How much?”
“About four inches.”
“Four inches of time fuse will give us fifteen seconds or so.”
“I don’t know if it makes any difference, but it’s Russian made.”
“Then we’ve got a problem. I used Russian fuse in Somalia once. Burns like greased lightning.”
“It’s all I could get on short notice.”
“You should’ve let me help you in Berlin. Guess we can use a cigarette as a timer if we have to.”
Faith dug the glass shard into the tape, jerking it back and forth.
“You’re doing this like a girl, Faith. I’m gonna pull my hands apart as far as possible—which isn’t much. Now you’re gonna poke it into the middle of the furnace tape. Don’t worry about what you’ll do to me long as you don’t get an artery. Pull it as hard as y
ou can toward yourself. Do it.”
Faith plunged the crude knife into the tape and pulled back as hard as she could, rocking it so it sawed the tape. She tipped backward as the glass cut through the edge. The tape wasn’t completely severed, but Summer was able to pull his hands apart. A few drops of blood smeared onto it. He stretched his shoulders through a range of motions as he stripped off the last pieces of tape. Faith excavated the C-4 from her shoes. It had become pliable from her body heat.
He unscrewed the pen and removed the short fuse. “I only had to walk up six steps, so I’m assuming we’re at ground level. You start moving brains from the shelves and pile them up over there. There’s a long crack in the mortar and I’m going for that weakness. The blast wave will go out toward the street, but that glass’ll go everywhere. The only protection we’ll have is that desk. I want it turned over. We’ll hunker down behind it. Get to it.”
Summer grabbed two jars, turned around and handed them to Faith with such force that she nearly lost her balance. The sweat from her palms instantly mingled with the thick dust, creating a grimy paste. She steadied the jars against her chest and set A. N. Tupolev in the corner and then wiped her hands on her slacks. She hurried back for L. P. Beria and T. D. Lysenko. She ferried the brains across the room, all the while dissociating her own mind from those she carried.
“Get a lid. I also need the tape. Hope it’s got enough stick-um left.” Summer pushed explosives into a crack. He rolled the rest into a ball, inserted the time fuse into the hollow end of the cap and crimped both together with his teeth.
Faith handed him a lid and the wad of tape.
“See what you can do with the tape. Pull enough pieces apart so I can use it to hold the lid against the wall.”
“Can’t you just stick the C to it?”
“Only in the movies.”
She plucked at the tape wad. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Okay, we’ve gotta do something else. You go back to moving jars.” He took the metal lid, placed it on the floor and stomped on one side of it. He wedged the flattened side between the shelf and the wall. Careful to keep the cap positioned correctly, he lodged the explosives between the wall and the lid. “Give me a cigarette and a match.”
Rift Zone Page 24
