“So there’s still a chance they’ll come after me.”
“There’s a very big chance.” Tanya paused, took in Andula’s frightened expression. “You mustn’t underestimate the Flame. Their name is appropriate. They want to use you to burn this world down.”
It was starting to snow, delicate flakes drifting down from the gray sky. Andula looked away from Tanya and stared across the courtyard. Tanya didn’t push her. She thought of the advice from her grandfather’s construct: When the time is right, then we will act. But when was the time ever right? This moment in this courtyard, everything quiet and muffled by the snow—why couldn’t this be the right time? The Flame was watching Andula, too. And they weren’t going to wait.
And then there were those Americans at the lecture. Tanya had noticed the one—tall, broad-shouldered, bland-faced, so quintessentially how Americans pictured themselves—watching her at the reception, sliding through the crowd with his wine glass, like that could disguise him. He might be Flame, but she doubted it. He was far more interested in her than he had been in Andula.
“Why?” Andula whispered, still staring up at the sky. “Why did this happen to me?”
“We are born into the places in which we’re born,” Tanya said. “Some things can not be changed.”
Andula’s shoulders hitched. For a moment, Tanya was afraid she was crying, but when Andula looked away from the snow, her eyes were dry. “I don’t want this,” she said. “You tell me the Flame wants to use me. Why should I believe you?” She stared at Tanya. “How do I know this—this Ice doesn’t want to use me up, too?”
Tanya kept her voice neutral. “A fair question.”
Andula watched her. Waiting.
“The Ice wants the world to stay as it is. Even with all its imperfections, this is our world, our reality—why should we change that? We have no need to use you the way the Flame would. We only want to protect you. That’s all.”
Andula toyed with a button on her coat, twisting it on its threads. The snow swirled around them. It was falling more thickly now. She seemed close to accepting, closer than she had the night in the park. Maybe the time was right, after all. Maybe she just needed that one extra push.
“There was a man at the lecture,” Tanya said. “An American. Did you see him?”
Andula dropped her hand away from her coat button. “What? An American? Are they Flame, too?”
“Some of them.” Tanya glanced out at the empty courtyard, filling up with snow. “This one, I don’t think so. But he was CIA. He came to the lecture, he sat in the audience, and you didn’t even see him there.”
The wind whipped Andula’s hair in front of her face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you cannot protect yourself,” Tanya said. “I’m saying that if you want to be safe you need the protection of the Ice. This American didn’t attract your notice, and he didn’t even have magic on his side.” Tanya hoped this was true.
Andula’s eyes were wide with fear. She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t believe you.”
Damn it. Her grandfather was right, after all; Tanya had pushed too much, too soon.
“You saw those constructs,” Tanya said. “You saw what they are capable of. We can keep you safe—”
“I didn’t ask for this!” Andula shrieked, her voice cracking through the frozen air. “My whole life, I’ve been good. I’ve been loyal to the Party; I’ve served my country. This isn’t fair.”
“This has nothing to do with politics,” Tanya said quietly.
“Then why did you tell me a CIA man is following me?”
“He’s not following you.” I think. “I was only trying to show you that there are layers to this world, layers you haven’t been trained to see.”
“And let me guess: You’ll train me,” Andula said in a mocking singsong. “In some labor camp, yes? To keep me safe? Just like the StB wanted to keep my sister safe?”
“That is not what this is about. There are no Ice labor camps.” Tanya knew she had lost control of the situation. Andula’s face was red, her eyes bright. The falling snow confused things, like they were talking through static. “Listen to me. If you don’t want to come with me now, there are ways to contact us if you change your mind. We won’t approach you again until you contact us first.”
Andula shook her head. Tanya grabbed her by the shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. Andula was terrified. Tanya could see it, could sense it. She should have listened to her grandfather. She should have waited.
“We’re watching you, yes,” she said, “but only to keep you safe from the Flame. If you change your mind, place a lit candle in your window.”
“I thought you were with the Ice,” Andula snapped. “Not the Flame.”
Tanya sighed. “It’s not an Ice trick. There’s no magic in it.” She let go of Andula’s shoulders and took a step back. “I hope you change your mind, Andula Zlata.”
Andula watched her through the snow, her eyes brimming with fear.
“A lit candle,” Tanya said. “That’s all you need to call us to your aid.”
Andula didn’t move, and for a moment Tanya felt a flicker of hope that she was relenting. But then she turned and stalked out of the courtyard, leaving Tanya alone in the cold and the snow.
• • •
“Did you see her?” Gabe asked. Off to the side, a group of students erupted into laughter.
“Who?”
“The blonde who was standing over by that painting.” Gabe tilted his head in that direction. Josh stared at him. “Short, wearing a blue sweater. Had her hair back. You didn’t see her?”
“That describes half the women in this room.” Josh crossed his arms over his chest. “Just tell me what you think you’ve got.”
Gabe scowled in frustration. “I don’t know what I’ve got. She was speaking with Andula Zlata. Off in the corner.” He lowered his voice. “Her name’s Tatiana Morozova. She’s KGB.”
Josh’s eyes widened. “And she was talking to Andula? The girl from the lecture?”
Gabe nodded.
“You think Morozova was grooming her?”
Gabe peered around, taking in the scene: groups of students, talking together with earnest expressions, laughing, waving across the room. They had the carefree look of youth about them; they probably didn’t worry about anything more than an exam or a research essay.
Except that Andula Zlata hadn’t been carefree. She’d been terrified. Confused.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Something about it seemed—off.”
Josh frowned. “Off?”
“The girl was scared. If it’s a grooming, it’s going badly.” Gabe’s chest tightened. “We need to find her. Andula.”
Josh stepped toward him. “If the KGB finds out we’re here—”
“You didn’t see the girl’s face, Josh.” Gabe stomped away from his partner, heading toward the exit. He shoved the door open just as Josh slapped a hand on his arm.
“Where are you going?”
Gabe shook him off. “Where do you think? I’m not just leaving her to that Russian woman.”
Josh had that blank expression of someone desperately trying not to roll his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. We can take the information back to the office. Let Frank know. But chasing down KGB agents isn’t why we’re here right now.”
A flurry of movement rippled through the reception. Gabe leaned away from Josh. His heartbeat quickened. It was her—Andula. She pushed through the crowd, her coat buttoned up to her throat and her hair and shoulders dusted with snow. Her head was tilted down so that her hair spilled over her face and her hands were shoved into her pockets. She looked like she was trying to shrink herself down into invisibility.
Where the hell was Morozova?
“Gabe, don’t even think about it.”
Gabe ignored him. The girl was making a beeline for them—Gabe sidestepped out of the way, turning his head to the side. Not that she was looking at him.
She breezed past, so close that Gabe caught a whiff of a sweet, cloying perfume. She pushed open the doors and cold air trickled in from the entryway.
“I’m going after her,” Gabe muttered.
“Gabe, this isn’t protocol. I know you feel awful about Drahomir, but there’s no reason to go against orders like this. We’ve got their names, we’ve got a location—let’s just take it to Frank.”
Gabe bristled at Josh bringing Drahomir into this. That girl was upset. Shaken. If this was an attempt at grooming, Morozova was terrible at it.
He shrugged on his coat and slipped outside. The girl was several paces ahead of him, the heels of her boots clicking against the sidewalk. Snow fell in thick swirls, muffling the whole world. Good. It should keep her distracted. Keep her unaware.
He followed. As Andula moved farther away from the university, her steps slowed. She seemed to be heading in the direction of the river. An apartment, maybe? Or an arrangement to meet some other contact? Maybe one she felt safer with than Morozova?
Pain began to creep back into his temple. God damn it. Not now. Gabe rubbed at his forehead, trying to will the headache away. Christ, he didn’t have time for this hocus-pocus bullshit.
The headache subsided. A little.
Andula stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. She let out a shout and stomped her foot against the ground. Then she stopped and stood there. Gabe slowed. There was a shop up ahead; he could duck inside and watch her from the window if he had to.
Andula covered her hands with her face. Her shoulders shook. Gabe realized she was crying.
He was approaching the shop. Move, move, he thought at the girl, and then his chest twinged in an inner reprimand. The poor thing had been terrified back at the reception. Who the hell knew what they had on her? What they had threatened her with?
Gabe slid into the shop. The air was warm and dry and smelled of spices. His head throbbed with a sudden, single bolt of pain and behind his eyes he saw a flash of Cairo, a narrow alley glazed with sand, yellow eyes watching from the shadows. As quickly as it came on it disappeared.
At least he could still see Andula from the window.
“Hello!” a voice creaked from the back of the shop. “Can I help you?”
“I’m only looking,” Gabe called back. He picked up a bag of flour and pretended to examine it as he watched Andula across the street. She kept crying there in the snow.
Footsteps shuffled from the back of the store. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” the shopkeeper said. Gabe glanced back at him; an old man, bent over at the waist, wobbling on a cane. He looked back out the window. Andula was still there. Still crying.
“My wife wants to bake koláče tonight,” Gabe said, watching Andula. “She sent me to the store.”
The man sniffed in response. Outside, Andula was wiping her eyes. She lifted her head, peered around—did the KGB have a tail on her, too? Gabe hadn’t noticed anyone.
She wiped at her eyes, smoothed her hair back. Gabe set the flour on the shelf.
“Don’t want those koláče after all?” said the shopkeeper.
“It’s not that.” Andula was moving again, her steps shaky and unsure. “Only that I just remembered we have flour at home.”
And then he plunged back out into the cold street. Andula turned a corner up ahead; Gabe tensed, but when he rounded the wall a few moments later, he spotted her easily. His headache had become dull and distant; if he focused on Andula, he could tune it out. They were parallel to the river now; he could smell it, metallic and acrid, like old gasoline. This time of year the water turned to slurry, and the barges piled up, blocked by ice floes freezing the water outside of the city.
Andula walked, and he followed. Snow tumbled down from the sky. They walked past a barge bobbing in the river—old, rusted metal and dead engines. Waiting for its turn to move along. The wind gusted Andula’s hair back, and she leaned into it, her hands shoved into her pockets. The wind was colder here, and damp from the river. Gabe’s head throbbed.
Jesus Christ, not now.
He forced himself forward. The pain in his head grew, spreading like molten silver from his temple to his brow, down into the space behind his right eye. He curled his hands. The sounds of Cairo came back to him, that piercing sharp laughter, the howl of a storm that wasn’t really a storm. He forced himself back into the present. He wasn’t in Cairo; he was in Prague. The air was cold and damp, not hot and dry and baking.
He kept his gaze on the girl. The wind howled off the river, low and keening, like it contained the trapped voices of the dead.
Andula turned sharply into a narrow street. Gabe waited a few moments before following her. She was walking more quickly now, almost a jog, her shoes tapping against the cobblestones. Was she trying to lose him in the tangle of buildings? It seemed strange, for a university student to know even that basic bit of tradecraft.
But then she stepped onto a path leading up to a shabby concrete apartment building. She reached into her purse and extracted a key. Gabe stepped into a doorway of a building across the street, pretended to check his watch, like he was waiting for someone. His headache had faded. The river, he thought. It was the river that was doing it. Maybe a ley line ran underneath the Vltava.
Andula unlocked the door but she didn’t go in. Instead she stood in place, glancing around. Left. Right. Not behind. She didn’t look at him. Another tail, after all? He still hadn’t noticed anything, but then, he had been distracted. The pain.
Andula slipped the key out of the lock and disappeared inside. The door clicked shut behind her.
Gabe considered his options. He could try to get inside the apartment building, see if this was her place or if she was meeting the KGB here.
Or he could suck it up and take Josh’s advice. Let Andula go, for now, and find out what the office had on her. There had to be something, if the KGB was interested. Had to be. If nothing else he could confirm this was indeed her address. Then come back later, with backup, the way he was supposed to do things.
He ducked out of the doorway and headed back the way he’d come. He hoped Josh would have something on Morozova’s movements at the reception.
Gabe trudged down the street. His footprints, Andula’s footprints, had been covered over by the falling snow. His head pulsed as he neared the river. Christ. Magic migraines.
But Morozova and Andula, that felt real. The battles between East and West, between communism and democracy, those, at least, he still understood. They were something he could grasp on to, to keep him from drowning.
3.
“We don’t have anything on her.”
Gabe was back in Frank’s office, two days after he’d tailed Andula Zlata to her apartment. The report Gabe had typed up after getting back from the lecture was fanned across Frank’s desk.
“What do you mean?” Gabe leaned forward. “There’s got to be some reason the KGB would be interested.”
Frank shrugged. “She’s not the sort they usually go after. Doesn’t have the kind of connections that would be useful to them. It looks like her sister was involved in the protests back in ’68—”
Gabe’s heart surged with excitement. “Well, there’s your connection.” He leaned back in his chair. “Something with her sister.”
“The sister’s gone,” Frank said. “And Andula herself avoided all that mess. She’s boring. I’m not doubting there’s a connection there, but we sure as hell can’t see it.” He fixed Gabe with a hard scowl. “And while I appreciate you showing some initiative, there wasn’t any reason for you to break protocol like you did.”
“She was being tailed. I thought she might be in danger.”
“You didn’t see the tail,” Frank said. “Said so right in your report. You didn’t see much of anything, in fact, save for a moment of contact at the reception.”
Gabe huffed in frustration. “That’s all it takes.”
“I don’t disagree.” Frank wove his fingers together o
n top of the scattered file. Gabe remembered the frantic urgency of typing it up, hitting the keys on the typewriter so hard that the ink in the letters smudged. “But there was nothing about the contact that required you to break off with your partner and tail the girl like that. You should’ve brought it back to me. Let us follow up on it.”
“I told you—”
“Dammit, Pritchard, I know what you told me.” Frank shoved away from his desk and stood up. Gabe felt his mood darkening. When Frank stood up, you knew he was irritated. God help you if he started to pace. “But that assignment was a chance for you to show me you could keep up with a textbook job.” He walked over to the window, a slight limp from his prosthetic. “You might have found something, and I appreciate that, I do. But after what happened with Drahomir—”
“This has nothing to do with Drahomir,” Gabe said, annoyance flaring at the back of his head.
Frank moved back across the office, his hands clasped behind him. When he paced, Gabe could see the soldier in him. He knew not to talk back. Gabe slouched down in his chair. Frank stopped beside his desk and stared at Gabe, eyes hard and piercing. “You really going to tell me that?”
“I really am.”
Frank picked up his pacing again. “And I think you’re full of shit. You screwed up Drahomir. You’re trying to show me you won’t screw up again.” He glanced over at Gabe. “But breaking protocol’s not the way to do it. You didn’t have reinforcements. You didn’t even take Josh with you, for God’s sake. Say you were right—” Frank’s steps thumped softly against the carpeted floor, one lighter than the other. “Say this Andula Zlata’s more interesting than she looks. Say she hadn’t been going home to her apartment—”
Gabe’s interest piqued at that; so the building definitely was her apartment. Good to know.
“—but to some KGB safe house. Say there were guards, they spotted you, shot you clean through before you knew what the hell had happened.” Frank turned his angry scowl over to Gabe again. “Then where would we be?”
“Come on,” Gabe said. “You know I’m better than that.”
The Witch Who Came in From the Cold - Season One Volume One Page 7
