by Tim Tigner
“That’s right.”
“Amazing,” he said, thinking of the church, the girl, and the dress.
About thirty people filtered in over the next ten minutes as Alex admired the enduring architecture. Then, promptly at eight, Father Nikoli came through the entryway clad in an antique gold-and-silver robe. He walked slowly, ceremoniously, to the front, where he stood between two enormous candles. Once in place he spread his arms wide to gather the crowd’s attention and then slowly brought his palms back together to focus it. After a thick moment of silence, he invited them all to bow their heads in silent prayer for the souls of their lost sons.
Alex found it an amazing experience, standing there in the ancient, candle-lit chamber, praying in silence amidst a crowd of mourning villagers. As the priest circled them in silence, waving the smoking censer, Alex felt as though the tiny tunnel had transported him back through the ages to the days of parchment and apostles. He knew he was standing among God’s people, and felt he finally understood what was meant by “the meek shall inherit the Earth.” It was a feeling he would never forget.
Ten mystical minutes later the priest began speaking a language that Alex did not understand, interspersed with words that he did. Regardless of the language, Nikoli’s rich baritone voice seemed to pour out of the rocks and into Alex’s soul. He began to understand how some cults attracted more than just the feebleminded. He mouthed along as they recited a collective prayer, and then Father Nikoli concluded the service by reading the names of the twenty-five victims, including Anna’s brother, Konstantine Anatolievitch Zaitsev.
Anna turned to Alex. She seemed about to speak but stopped to look at his face instead. Alex realized it must be fraught with emotion. Her eyes lit up, and she leaned close to whisper in his ear. “We can go now. Mother will stay here chatting with her friends, perhaps for hours. They’ll walk her home.”
Alex thanked Mrs. Zaitseva for a lovely meal and a touching evening, and left the church with Anna on his arm—a Russian norm among friends. Her apartment was a good kilometer away, but the sky was clear, the air was dry, and they were warmly dressed in wool dublyonkas, so it was a pleasure despite the hour. He enjoyed walking with Anna, although they didn’t speak much. She was obviously lost in thought, and he did not want to disturb her.
“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you, Alex?” Anna asked, as they hung up their coats, and she locked the door behind them.
“Or the day after,” he said softly.
She gave him a long, sad look, and then he saw the sparkle he had grown so fond of. “You’ve changed me, Alex. I find myself looking at the world and my life differently after sharing your foreign perspective for a few days. I’m aware now of something that was missing, and I feel better equipped to deal with the challenges I’m facing. You’ve inspired me to find the courage to take the chances required to live life without regret. I want to start doing that, right now.” She reached back to unzip her dress and let it drop to the floor.
For the second time that night, Alex found himself having a religious experience. Anna looked as divine as any form that had ever graced his eyes, and the sight of her nearly naked body was enough to turn his throat dry. He stood motionless for a moment, stunned and silent as he drank her in with his eyes.
While moonlight streamed through the curtains to illuminate her heavenly body, Anna glided over and placed her hands lovingly around his neck. Her touch was warm and gentle, and it convinced Alex that, despite the fantastic nature of what was happening, this was not a dream.
Chapter 52
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
Anna felt a quiver of pleasure run down her body when she heard the knock on her door. Coming this early, it could only be Alex. He must have rushed through his work and run back to her bed. She was all for that.
“Helloooo—” she said in mock-romantic tone, opening the door with a flirtatious grin. “Karpov,” she swallowed the name and stepped back in shock, pulling her bathrobe into place as she did so. Further words would not come so she just stared in shock.
Mixed emotions crossed the general’s face like lightning on a thunderhead. “Good morning, Anna. These are for you,” he said, extending an enormous bouquet of roses. “I apologize for such an early arrival. I wanted to get you these while they were still fresh. I brought them by last evening, but you weren’t here . . .”
Anna blinked a few times, forcing her mind to switch gears before responding. “Yes, yes, I had dinner with my mother, and then we went to church.”
“I see,” he said, flashing one of his trademark smiles and clearly waiting for an invitation to enter.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said, trying to sound genuine. “Now I must get ready for work. Mondays are our busiest days at the hospital.”
“I see. Well, I hope—”
“Have a good week, and thanks again for the roses. You’re very thoughtful.” She closed the door and turned the lock.
Anna stood with her back to the door for a moment, digesting this startling twist. She could feel Karpov on the other side of the door doing the same thing, so she moved quietly to the kitchen. She put on tea and nestled atop the kitchen chair to think with her knees tucked up beneath her chin.
Karpov’s visit had doused her with a cold shower of reality. Despite the roses, his appearance was an unwelcome reminder of the world she actually lived in. Anna had been getting used to the thrill of living a secret, double existence with a handsome American spy. Now her old life seemed not only mundane but frightfully so. When she left for work this morning, she would be walking back into her old life, which suddenly seemed cold and stale and gray.
She missed Alex. With him there, she had been living in a retreat, a hideout. Now all she could see were the walls of a prison cell, and she felt condemned to solitary. Adding to her list of frustrations was Vasily Karpov. How did you get rid of a KGB general? She had been foolish to think that she could get him to reveal the secret of her brother’s death. Was Karpov out there right now, guarding her like a jealous stalker? Probably not, but possibly. What would Alex think of that situation? As she drank the last swallow of her tea, Anna decided not to mention this morning’s incident to Alex. Vasily Karpov would remain her little secret.
Chapter 53
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
Karpov’s eyes sprang open as a shocking thought jolted him from sleep. Only in the calm of the night with his mind freed from the labors of a conquering general’s daily grind, had his processor found the wherewithal to make the subtle connections that sounded the alarm. The clock read five a.m.
Now he lay there staring at the ceiling, chewing on his latest insight while the sharp taste of bile grew ever more bitter in his mouth. Anna was seeing Alex Ferris.
Karpov would normally have figured it out as soon as he heard the old lady’s words—“You’re too late. She’s already fallen for that handsome foreign patient of hers”—but Anna’s rebuff, coming just thirty seconds earlier, had him feeling like James Bond’s martini.
The babushka had needled Karpov from a bench by the entrance to Anna’s building, much to the amusement of her peers. He had hurried past rather than inquiring, embarrassed for the first time in ages and eager to put the incident out of his mind. It was a scornful, puerile mistake.
Before berating himself further, Karpov decided to dissect his subconscious conclusion. On the surface it seemed farfetched. What were the odds of Anna and Alex meeting? He tossed this question around a bit until he came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t a gambler. Forget the odds. Look at the facts.
Karpov knew from an obsession-driven background investigation that Anna had never been swept off her feet. This was clearly not due to a lack of opportunity on her part, but rather to her exceptionally high standards. Therefore, Karpov reasoned, it would take somebody extraordinary to win Anna over, somebody like himself, or, he spat out a surge o
f bile, perhaps an American.
Yesterday Karpov had been caught up on the word “handsome,” and had let “foreign” fly right by. Chinamen and Mongols were the foreigners that first came to mind in Novosibirsk, not Americans. As a handsome American, Alex embodied one thing that Karpov did not: the appeal of an exotic, forbidden fruit. That and a much narrower age gap.
The babushka had also called the man Anna had fallen for “her patient.” How would the old lady know that, unless Anna had treated him at home rather than in the hospital? Plus the babushka had obviously seen Ferris; the word “handsome” made that clear. Her wording further implied an ongoing relationship, which in turn implied that his condition had been serious. But if Anna’s patient were seriously ill, he would be treated in the hospital, unless he couldn’t go to the hospital. Who but Ferris couldn’t go to the hospital?
That was one long chain of supposition—and the longer, the weaker—but there was more. There was the news from Yarik, news that had taken a week to filter up. Yarik had sent word through a hermit that the KGB should establish checkpoints to look for Alex on the roads leading into Novosibirsk from the south. So Karpov knew that Alex was headed this way. But neither Yarik nor Alex had surfaced, and eight days had elapsed.
Karpov now realized that he had handicapped Yarik when he gave him the order to bring Alex in unharmed. He had not considered it a factor at the time. A general normally wouldn’t worry about straining Yarik’s combat skills any more than a billionaire would worry about buying beer. But suppose he had gravely underestimated Alex’s power. Was Alex the David to Karpov’s Goliath? Karpov had to admit that the facts on hand—a wounded foreigner and a missing Yarik—fit nicely with that nasty conclusion, unbelievable though it may seem.
Karpov knew his conclusion might not be particularly robust, but it wasn’t flimsy either. And somehow, as tenuous as it all seemed, it still felt right. Rather than feeling pleased with himself for figuring this out, Karpov found himself getting angry. He was not sure why. Welcome or not, catching Alex at Anna’s would be a victory. Of course he was angry with himself for being slow to catch on, but the emotion he felt was different; it was more primitive. Eventually he got a handle on it. Finding Alex there would confirm that the American had both bested Yarik and seduced Anna. Karpov wasn’t angry; he was jealous. It was the first time in thirty years that emotion had crossed his cortex.
A smoldering fury began to burn within him. Karpov had caught the look in Anna’s eyes and seen the drape of her robe when she first opened her apartment door, confident that the knock had come from another. That look had quashed his composure and caused his pitiful oversight with the babushka. He had been blocking the image out ever since. Now it was back, as painful and distressing as a dagger in his side. Like the thought that Yarik could be bested in combat, the idea that he might have serious competition for a woman had simply never entered his mind. Karpov had always enjoyed his way with women. Always.
Then Karpov realized that he could still possess Anna. Her affair with Alex did not rule that out. By consorting with a spy, Anna had committed a serious crime. That gave Karpov a hold on her he might otherwise never have had. Perhaps that dagger in his side was really a double-edged sword. Did he still want Anna? A resounding “yes” came without hesitation.
Karpov was systematically finding the answers, but the questions kept coming as well. He took them to the shower. Where was Alex? What was his plan? Did he know about the Knyaz? What about Yarik? The answers, he realized, were all in one place. He would confront Anna—now, this morning, immediately.
As Karpov toweled off, a wonderful, terrible thought occurred to him. He should take Medusa with him to Anna’s. There was a chance that Alex would be there. If he was, then Medusa would help him bring Alex in unscathed. A little paralysis would also add the perfect touch of poetic justice to that historic occasion. After all, it was Alex’s search for his brother’s killer that brought him to Russia. The least Karpov could do was explain it to him firsthand.
Taking Medusa would require a trip to The Complex—Karpov didn’t dare to keep something so incriminating in his apartment. Could he afford the time? Might that extra delay allow Alex to slip through his fingers? There was no way of knowing. He certainly liked the idea . . . Then Karpov remembered Victor and Yarik, and the decision was made. They had both underestimated Alex. He would not.
Chapter 54
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
It was a quarter to six in the morning and Alex was half frozen before the first set of headlights approached his snare. It was a jeep, and a general’s jeep no less. Clean cars were a rarity in Siberia in the winter, but this one shone in the starlight, and its flag was easy to spot.
He dropped flat to lie motionless beneath the white sheet borrowed from Anna’s bed. As the wind began concealing his cover beneath freshly blown snow, he wondered if a VIP vehicle would stop. Alex supposed that depended on who was driving. He hoped it was just a chauffeur.
He held his breath as the headlights illuminated the large cardboard box he’d placed in the middle of the road. The jeep slowed . . . and stopped. As the lone occupant got out and walked toward the front, Alex scurried to the back and slid underneath. He wriggled toward the front axle, sliding quietly on the cardboard strapped to his back like a sleigh. His heart was trying to pop out of his chest, and his lungs were protesting the noxious exhaust, but still it felt good to engage.
The driver kicked the box and shouted “undisciplined fools” loud enough to be heard above the rumbling engine. Alex strained his neck to see his host but could only see his feet. Spit-shined shoes, and sharply creased pants with an officer’s stripe. Alex slipped a leather belt around the filthy front axle and then wrapped one end around each wrist as the officer opened the door. Forgive me if I don’t salute.
As the jeep lurched forward, the picture of two bloody stumps clutching a belt flashed through his mind. Did he really know what he was doing? Whether he did or not, he was now committed. If he got caught now it would be a capital offense, and potentially a national embarrassment. He was an ex-CIA operative breaking into a KGB compound.
The officer seemed to listen to Alex’s telepathic command, and slowed but did not stop while passing the gate. Excellent. From this side of the gauntlet, all Alex had to hope for was that they weren’t headed for covered parking. He did not relish the idea of being dragged over bare asphalt. Regardless, he could not let go for fear of being spotted in the rearview mirror.
The jeep neither stopped nor drove over bare asphalt. This puzzled Alex, and it wasn’t helping his back either. The main entrance to the KGB headquarters was just fifty meters or so from the guardhouse. Surely a general would have priority parking, especially at this hour. What was happening? Anybody got an aspirin?
Alex felt the road beneath the snow turn from asphalt to gravel. Should he release there, away from the guards and lights? Or should he hold on to see what it was that pried a KGB officer out of bed at five thirty in the morning? Alex decided to give it two more minutes. After that, the hike back would be too long, and he would be in trouble with his dentist.
It took five minutes, but as soon as they stopped Alex knew he had chosen wisely. That was two gambles that had paid off today, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. He wished he were in Vegas.
Alex looked up at the mammoth chimney silhouetted against the starry Siberian sky and enjoyed one of those deep smiles that warms you from the inside out. The officer had parked before the abandoned nuclear power plant. This virtually confirmed a suspicion he had been harboring ever since Anna told him the story of her brother’s death. Another piece of the puzzle slid smoothly into place.
He waited motionlessly while the officer entered the building. Unarmed and under a jeep was no way to engage the enemy. That line wasn’t from Sun Tzu, but he was sure The Master would agree. Besides, if his hunch were right, there was no great hurry.
Alex w
atched the red second hand on his compass-watch make one full sweep, and then he rolled out from under the jeep. It took just twenty seconds for him to brush over his tracks with a branch and hide behind an evergreen that yielded good views of both the entranceway and the approaching road. In the distance to his left, Alex saw the moonlight reflecting off the lake that had guided him to this place, and felt a rekindling of something that might actually be pride. He had come a long way.
Reflecting on the current situation while the wind further obliterated his trail through the snow, Alex figured there were three likely scenarios: one, the officer had come to the complex this early to retrieve something; two, he had come in to meet someone who, given the absence of any other vehicles, had not yet arrived; or three, he had come in early to work. If it were either of the first two, it would be a mistake to move now. So Alex decided to wait for ten minutes and see what happened. Where could he get a cup of coffee?
As it turned out, he was still warm from the under-jeep adrenaline rush when the officer emerged. He had been inside just four minutes. As the officer walked briskly to the jeep, Alex caught sight of the star on his shoulder board. Thank you, general.
Seconds later the jeep’s taillights were fading fast down the gravelly road, and Alex found himself with only the ghosts of the past to keep him company. Time to rock and roll.
Alex caught himself holding his breath as he swiped Yarik’s card-key through the reader. He had moved from craps to roulette, and now he was betting big on green. What would he do if an alarm sounded? His only option would be to run across the surrounding field of virgin snow. Yes, he was betting big indeed. But his color came up, there was a click, and he was in. Too easy? He wasn’t home yet. Let it ride.
As the door swung open, the stench of stale air greeted his nose while nothing but the blackness beyond met his eyes. Had there been a doormat, Alex would have expected it to give way at this point, dropping him into a pit or a moat, but all remained as still and silent as the crypt everyone was supposed to think it was. Alex stepped in decisively and closed the door behind him. As the latch clicked, dim, emergency-level lighting switched on to reveal a corridor with a dozen doors each on the left and right. Which way to go? The dilemma reminded Alex of the Dungeons & Dragons games he had enjoyed as a child. Fortunately, Detective Ferris did not have to guess.
