by Tim Tigner
“You don’t know . . . You don’t know . . .” he said, keeping his voice low as he looked out the window. Then Victor turned so that his face was just inches from hers. “We’ve only been flying for ten minutes. It will take us at least three hours to get back to Academic City. Hell, if the weather gets bad, we may have to touch down and spend the night in this thing.” He slipped the pliers around the middle knuckle on her index finger, waggled the teeth a bit, locked his eyes on hers, and then raised his brows in silent query.
Victor was thrilled by how quickly his strategy had worked, but not surprised. He had not used the pliers on Anna. His father had ordered him not to harm her. Of course she had no way of knowing that, so his properly played threat had been enough. He kept the pliers out as a reminder anyway.
While walking her through the interrogation, he felt a flood of confidence begin to wash over him. By the time they were halfway to Academic City, he was sure he knew everything that she knew, and he was feeling better than at any other point in his life. Karpov would have to respect him now. Talk about leaving on a high note.
Although Victor was convinced that Anna had told all, he had to be certain. Meticulous. “You know, Anna, you’re much smarter than Alex. He chose to go through days of the best my colleagues had to offer before telling us where to find you.”
Anna did not respond, so Victor leaned over and lightly bit her earlobe. Then he whispered exactly what it was they had planned for Alex. Afterward, he sat back to appraise his work. Although she had been pale before, Anna was positively ghostly now. It was time for the coup de grace.
“If you’ve held out on me, I’ll see that you get a one-way ticket to the Lubyanka. You know what happens to people at the Lubyanka, don’t you? In the Lubyanka they have mastered the pain-to-damage ratio. The only result that counts for the scientists there is sustainable discomfort. It’s a contest among those guys. If you’ve lied to me, I will probably visit the Lubyanka basement on weekends to watch you scream and squirm while I drink vodka and enjoy blinis with caviar.”
“And what’s to happen to me if you are satisfied with my cooperation?”
It was her first question, and an inevitable one. In truth he did not know what Father had planned for Anna, but he wasn’t about to reveal his ignorance. Given that he shared Karpov’s genes, Victor felt he could make a good guess. The only thing that was going to keep his pants on for the next hour was Karpov’s order that she not be touched.
“Assuming you’ve been truthful, and completely truthful, all that has occurred will be chalked up to your being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We will consider you the victim of American subversion, rather than a coconspirator.
“Now, is there anything you would like to add?”
“No. You know it all.”
Excellent.
Chapter 63
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
Karpov was vexed. Despite a week of wrenching torture, Alex still maintained his annoyingly witty veneer. The unwavering persistence of his flippant remarks and use of his first name had gotten under Karpov’s skin. How was he doing it? Karpov was in control, complete control. Yet somehow Alex seemed to be the one scoring points.
It had been so long since he had engaged a worthy opponent that he had forgotten what it felt like. Well, Karpov would beat Alex at his own game. Alex would die with no doubt as to exactly who had beaten him, who had bested him, who had won. Karpov owed that much to Yarik.
Time to shake things up a bit, he thought, removing a propane torch from the supply closet. He flipped it over twice in his hand, getting a feel for its balance and weight as he grabbed a sparking igniter from the shelf. Then Karpov flung open the door to the interrogation suite, rocking it on its hinges.
“No more games, Alex. Today you are going to tell me everything.”
“What is it you want from me today, Vasily?”
Karpov felt himself going red. No. Don’t let him get to you. You’re better than he is. Beat the boy at his own game.
“Give me the list.”
“Which list is that?”
“Do you really want to play games, Alex?” He squeezed the sparker twice.
“Actually a good game of chess sounds wonderful. You any good?”
“Perhaps later.”
“After drinks, you mean?”
Karpov held up the torch and gave Alex a very serious look. “Left eye or right eye?”
“If it’s up to me, I’ll choose your left eye.”
Karpov turned on the propane and gave the sparker another squeeze. Then he adjusted the flame to a small, blue cone. Satisfied with his tool, Karpov grabbed Alex by the hair on the back of his head and began pushing his face closer to the flame. He did it slowly, drawing it out, letting Alex feel his power.
“Okay, okay, gee whiz. Where’s your sense of humor, Vasily? Give someone a big star for their shoulder board, and it’s all work, work, work.”
Karpov stopped pressing, but did not pull Alex’s head back yet. He left it there until the smell of burning hair filled the air. Twenty seconds and Alex’s eyelid would be gone. Another minute after that and his eyeball would come to a boil in its socket. Cocky bastard.
Alex would die, and soon, but not yet. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved Alex’s head back from the flame. “Last chance.”
“I’d be happy to show you the list, Vasily, if you’ll let me go afterward.”
“Show me? Show me? Surely you’re not in the mood for more games,” he said, gripping Alex’s hair even tighter. “I know you don’t have the list stashed anywhere around here.”
“Yes, your boys were quite thorough in their examination. My compliments. I mean I’ll take you to the list.”
“Take me to it?”
“That’s right. Do we have a deal?”
“Sure.”
“And once you have the list you’ll drop me off at the US Consulate? Forgive and forget and all that?”
“Wherever you like.” Alex would have to be mad to believe that. Was it possible? Excessive humor was often the first sign of madness.
“Deal.”
“Let’s go.”
“Just you and me?”
“Don’t push it.”
“You afraid, Vasily?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Well then?”
Karpov scoffed. It hardly mattered. He was a god in this town, and Alex could barely walk, much less run. He would defeat him, one-on-one. “Okay. Why not? Let’s go.”
“I need some time to clean up. Can’t really go anywhere looking like this. I have my pride, you know.”
“I’m not a patient man, Alex.”
“Just a few more hours. The place we’ll be visiting doesn’t open until after dark, and I see by your shave that the sun’s still shining. Besides, I’ve got to say good-bye to all my new friends.”
Karpov kept a serious look on his face but smiled inside. After dark would be just perfect.
Chapter 64
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
Alex liked riding in Karpov’s jeep much more than under it. He told him as much. Provocation was part of the plan. Fortunately, a weak ego was not one of Karpov’s shortcomings. Unfortunately, Alex was fading fast. Feigning cheerful indifference under these circumstances was draining a tank already on empty. Just a few minutes more . . .
Alex had been watching the jeep’s mirrors as best he could and was relatively sure that Karpov’s goons were not behind them. He had taken a few extra turns to help make sure, and to time his arrival just right. Twice Alex thought he heard a distant helicopter, but if Karpov was being that cautious, there wasn’t a thing Alex could do about it, so he put that concern out of his mind.
Alex knew that Karpov had no intention of living up to their agreement to set him free. He would have been mad to think otherwise, but that was one co
nclusion he wanted Karpov to make. Anything that encouraged Karpov to drop his guard would help. Truth be told, Alex suspected that if this did not work, madness would descend. For all his tricks and mind games, this week had piled on more than a mind should ever have to bear.
Alex spotted the path he and Anna had used walking home from church. “Turn left here.”
He was gambling big that Karpov wasn’t a churchgoer. It was a comfortable wager. Alex had Karpov pegged as a man full of confidence but devoid of faith.
“Park in front of the church.”
Karpov circled the building once and then parked on the side. After looking around to convince himself that this wasn’t a setup, he said, “Let’s go.”
Alex held up his cuffed hands for Karpov to unlock them.
“Not a chance,” Karpov said, draping a coat over them.
“How will I cross myself?”
“If you’ve come here for last rites, Alex, you’re a bit early.”
“Actually, I was hoping to convert you.”
“You’re getting closer to meeting your god with each minute you keep me from my list. If it isn’t here, Alex, I will take you straight to the radiation chamber.”
“Never fear, Vasily, salvation lies within.”
Their footfalls echoed prophetically off the stone walls as the two made their way through the dark church toward the warm glow of beeswax candles. Golden icons reflected their flickering light back from the altar, giving Alex the feeling that he was walking into a Rembrandt. Which would it be, The Raising of Lazarus, or The Sacrifice of Isaac?
As he walked, Alex fought back the pain with the determination of a wounded soldier in a battle not yet ended. Unfortunately, he knew that mere endurance would not be enough. He had to remain witty and flippant. How do you—His eye caught the icon of Christ, nailed hand and foot and bleeding from the side, and Alex knew that he would find a way.
As they reached the base of the pulpit, Alex stopped in his tracks. He forced himself to don an admiring expression and then turned to face Karpov. “You know, Vasily, all jokes aside, before we part company, I really should congratulate you. You’re the only man who was ever able to catch me. Back in my CIA days, I could dance around KGB agents all night long, and they would never detect a beat. But you, you’re different. I can see why nobody ever caught you. You’re always two moves ahead, aren’t you?”
“Two moves is for schoolgirls, Alex. I work decades ahead.”
“Decades! Decades . . . wow. Yes, I can see that. Faking that radiation leak was a brilliant move. But tell me, doesn’t it keep you up late at night? Sending those twenty-five villagers to a horrible death has to be hard to live with.”
“You Americans are so weak. History’s great leaders have always been willing to sacrifice the proletariat when there was need. Generals all the more so. Stalin made his share of mistakes, but he got one thing right: the peasants are expendable.”
Alex wanted to vomit and collapse, but instead he maintained a look of astonished admiration on his face. “I suppose you’re right. Now that I think about it, it’s practically part of the job description.”
“Damn right it is. I took the worthless men of this village and turned them into something great. So what if they suffered a little from radiation? Their pain was short-lived, but their sacrifice will service generations to come. They will go down in history as martyrs, as founders of the great new nation of Russia. Without me, they would have died anonymously, having lived flaccid lives devoid of meaning or purpose.”
“Yes, but—”
“Can’t you see that what I’m doing here is so much more important than anything they could have ever hoped to accomplish?”
“Yes, but—”
“No more buts, Alex. My papers, if you please.”
“Of course.” Alex turned deliberately, mounted the pulpit, and stood before the Bible. Looking down on the general, Alex smiled and said, “Tell me about your relationship with Elena Popova.”
“Elena Popova? I don’t know an Elena Popova.”
“It’s been a while. Think back to your time in Geneva.” Alex felt his stomach shrink as he saw recognition dawn.
“Okay. I remember her now. I knew her thirty years ago and haven’t seen her since. I know she defected, but that was after our relationship ended. I was back in Siberia before she even met the American.”
“It was thirty-three years, to be exact. And I’m not accusing you of defecting, Vasily. I’m accusing you of something altogether different. You see, thirty-three years ago, Elena Popova became my mother.”
Karpov stared blankly for a moment, and then his jaw dropped.
“I’d love to discuss the chapters of your life at length, Vasily. Would also like to explain the acoustics of this ancient church, but I fear we won’t have the chance. Looks like they’re going to demand the first and last word.” Alex threw a glance over Karpov’s shoulder.
Karpov turned to find himself flanked by a fiery-eyed congregation and its ashen-faced priest.
“They heard every word you said. Every sick, arrogant, radioactive word.”
Karpov did not turn back to face Alex. The surging crowd demanded his full and unwavering attention. They were armed only with the candles in their hands and the fire in their hearts, but that was clearly going to be enough.
Alex watched as Karpov’s mind tried to catch up to the remarkable reversal of circumstance, but before he could get there, they were on him.
He did not fight. He hardly moved at all. He just surrendered to their blows like a haystack to a hurricane.
His eyes locked with Alex’s for a moment as he looked up from the ground. Then the crowd enveloped him.
That flicker in time was all it took for Alex to see that his father recognized the truth. The truth about what he had done. The truth about who he had become. The truth about their relationship.
As the ancient icon of Christ looked down from above, the villagers picked at Karpov’s body like a pack of vulturous demons sent from hell to twist and torment his flesh. They burned him with beeswax candles, pummeled him with wrinkled fists, and kicked him until they could kick no more.
It was biblical.
It was animal.
It was his father.
Chapter 65
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
Anna felt miserable. Not only had they caught Alex because of her, but he had endured days of torture before finally giving her up. She, on the other hand, had betrayed him to Victor in a matter of minutes with nothing but the threat of violence. Anna was disgusted with herself, and it was only going to get worse.
Victor’s driver was taking them directly from the helipad to the church to retrieve the list she had hidden there. Once the list was in his hand, Victor would be assured his victory. Then he would deliver her to Karpov, and Anna would be conscripted to defeat. Anna did not know what Karpov had planned for her, but her best guess was—
Anna threw her face between her legs and vomited on the floor of the car. Some sloshed back onto Victor’s shoe, and she braced herself for the tooth-jarring slap she expected in reprisal. None came. Instead, Victor just handed her his handkerchief and turned to look out the window. He seemed preoccupied.
It was then that Anna realized that Victor had not actually done anything to harm her. He had burned the dacha, and so thereafter she had taken him at his word, but words were all that had come, words and images. Was he just a brilliant actor, a professional who had mastered his craft, or did he really have a heart of stone?
Anna stole a glance at her watch. It was almost eight thirty. The weekly memorial service would be over now, and soon everyone would leave. Anna did not expect any help from the parishioners, but she was desperate for the sight of a friendly face. She also wanted someone to catch sight of her so that she wouldn’t vanish without a trace. Her poor mother would b
e going out of her mind by now, having returned from the market to find the dacha burned down and her daughter missing. Anna knew her mother would get through it—life in Stalin’s shadow had taught her to be tough—but news that her daughter was alive would be balm for her soul.
As she stared out at the snowy landscape whizzing by, a terrible thought struck her. What if something had happened to the list? What if a janitor or priest had discovered it and thrown it away? Would Victor believe her when she told him, “I left it here,” or would he need convincing? She shuddered at the thought of what that might entail. He had left little to her imagination.
At last, the car stopped before the church. Anna closed her eyes. Please . . .
“Let’s go,” Victor said, pulling her out his side of the car. When she stood up, he grabbed her by the hair on the back of her neck and pulled her face to within an inch of his. “If you try to run, if you speak to anyone, I’ll use the pliers to rip your nose right off your face. Understood?”
Whether Victor was acting or not, Anna was too frightened to speak. She nodded her head feebly.
“Good. Now, take me to the list.”
As they approached the portal, Anna understood that something unusual was going on. There was enough commotion within the ever-silent nave to penetrate the massive oak doors. Victor did not seem to notice. He pulled the big brass handle as if he were starting a mower and pushed her inside.
Anna had trouble making sense of the sight that confronted her eyes. The parishioners were mauling around in front of the altar like angry ants on a contested mound. It was like someone had emptied a sack of gold dust on the floor, and everyone was struggling to get his share . . . except for the anguished screaming.
Victor pulled Anna off to the side of the nave so he could safely appraise the situation while their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. It appeared as though some poor wretch was at the center of the row, and Anna could not help thinking of the stonings that played a part in the history of her religion. Then she and Victor saw it at once, and the sight induced a palpable shock. While the face was unrecognizable beneath the blood and swelling, the shredded uniform was still unmistakable. The poor wretch was Vasily Karpov.
