“MI6, then.” Olga nodded her head in a way that said she understood the situation perfectly.
“Truthfully,” Nicole said. “I’ve suspected that myself. Last time we were together, he told me he’d burned out on the stress, constant travel, and loneliness of his work. He said he was going to resign and find work in L.A. so we could be together. That was when he proposed. He said he had to return to his office, formally resign, and hand his work over to someone else. That was eight months ago, and he’s pretty much ghosted me ever since.”
“You see?” Olga said. “That’s because he can’t bring himself to give up the life. These people never can.” She got up from the table and started pacing, her mouth set in a thin, angry line. “I’ve known men like him. In fact, I was married to one. Or thought I was. But he was already married to his work. When I gave him an ultimatum—me or the spy business—he chose spying.”
Olga stopped pacing and settled at the table again, still agitated. “You asked if you could give this man my address, and I’m afraid the answer is no. I’m sorry, but how can you be sure these messages are really from your fiancé? It could be a trick. Have him meet you at a public place so you can see him before he sees you. There’s a café called Shokoladnitsa about a block away. It has a big window, and it’s easy to see who’s inside from the street. Promise me you’ll wait outside until you see him enter. Once you’re sure it’s him, he’s welcome here. With the police looking for you, I wouldn’t advise you to go to a hotel, but he can stay with you in my office.”
Nicole nodded. “You’re right. I was so happy to hear from him that I didn’t think. But I’m certain that was him on the phone. I know his voice.”
She returned to Olga’s office to make the call. Reinhardt picked up right away. When she told him to meet her at the cafe, he said, “Isn’t it risky to show your face in public with the police looking for you? Shouldn’t I come to your place?”
“No. It will be fine. I have a good disguise. In fact, I dare you to recognize me! Don’t be surprised if a strange woman drops by your table and tries to pick you up.”
He laughed. “I’d know you anywhere.”
“Don’t count on it,” Nicole said.
She gave him the location of the Shokoladnitsa café, and they agreed to meet at 2:00, which would give him time to get out of the airport and into the city. As soon as they hung up, Nicole returned her sister’s call.
“For God’s sake, Nicole,” Steph said. “Come home. What phone are you using? It doesn’t have caller ID.”
“It’s a burner phone. I lost my cell.”
“Give me the number so I can get in touch with you. Where are you staying? Are you safe? You aren’t still wanted by the police, are you?”
“Everything’s fine, but this is a borrowed phone, so you can’t call me on it. Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly safe. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Nicole hung up before Stephanie could ask any more questions.
She returned to the kitchen. Since she wasn’t meeting Reinhardt until 2:00 and it was only noon, she killed time helping Olga stuff envelopes with homemade pamphlets. They were written in Russian and turned out on a printer in bad need of a new ink cartridge.
“They aren’t supposed to look professional,” Olga explained when she noticed Nicole taking a close look at them. “They’re for my neighbors here in the building.”
“What do they say?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing important. I send these out every few weeks. They’re part of my crazy act. This one complains about cockroaches in my apartment.” Olga gave a little laugh. “As if everyone living in these old, government-built apartments doesn’t have them. In my pamphlet I blame people in the building who leave food lying around. I insist that everyone contribute 1000 rubles to hire an exterminator. These people would never spend a kopek on their apartments, even if an exterminator could do anything about cockroaches. Next month I’ll complain about something else, rats, strangers roaming the halls. Maybe I’ll say I was mugged in the entry hall during broad daylight. Or I’ll claim my apartment was burglarized, that it was someone in the building, and I know who it was.” Olga laughed again. “Yes, I like that. This is the one part of my assumed identity I actually enjoy. It makes others in this building avoid me. They’re afraid I’ll harangue them with my complaints.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She handed Nicole a keyring with three keys on it. “In case you get locked out again. By the way, your makeup needs a touch-up. If there’s anything you don’t have, you’ll find a cigar box full of cosmetics in the top drawer of my dressing table. And you can’t possibly meet your fiancé wearing that horrid dress.” As she spoke, she went to the closet that served as a passageway and brought back a couple of clothing bags. One of them held a classic beige sheath dress. The style dated back to the 1950s, but it was in mint condition. From the other bag, Olga pulled out a fur jacket of a slightly darker tone. The dress and jacket made a stunning outfit.
As Nicole thanked her, Olga was putting on her shapeless coat to distribute her flyers around the building. She draped scarves over her shoulders, leaving one to wrap around her head.
After Olga left, Nicole put on the dress. It was a bit long and slightly big but a distinct improvement over the one Abby had given her. Next she started working on her face at Olga’s dressing table, which was equipped with a mirror. She took out the small supply of makeup she kept in her purse then located Olga’s box, which contained a collection of surprisingly pricy cosmetics. They looked as if they’d been recently used. This made Nicole wonder if Olga sometimes went out made up as someone other than an eccentric old woman.
She spent the next half hour prettying up her disguise. She felt almost giddy at the prospect of seeing Reinhardt again. She dipped into Olga’s cosmetics for a fresh stick of kohl to line her eyes, then added a pair of fake eyelashes she found in an unopened packet. When she was done, she slipped on the fur jacket. She’d just put on the hairband with the black bangs and the baseball cap, when Olga walked in.
“Ach! Don’t spoil your looks with that hideous cap and fake hair,” Olga chided. “You want to look beautiful. I have just the thing.” She reached the closet and pulled out a black beret.
“But my hair! I can’t go out with my blond hair showing.”
Olga was silent as she tossed the fake bangs and baseball cap onto her dressing table and put the beret on Nicole. She tucked Nicole’s hair into it and angled it slightly toward one side. “Tres chic,” she said, smiling at the effect. Nicole checked her appearance in the mirror. She did look rather glamorous. Excellent, she thought. She truly didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror.
Nicole stood in a doorway across the street from the café and scanned the diners through the window. Reinhardt wasn’t there. She fretted until she spotted him heading up the street from the direction of the Metro. He was wearing a tan trench coat and carrying an attaché case. He was walking briskly—he was in fact three minutes late—and had a smile of anticipation on his face. As soon as he was seated in the café, Nicole crossed the street and entered. He immediately spotted her and hurried over.
“Darling!” he said, pulling her into an embrace that lifted her momentarily off her feet—a restrained greeting in deference to Russian disapproval of public displays of affection. Then he put his arm around her and led her to a corner booth that offered some privacy from the other customers.
Reinhardt said, “See? I knew it was you right away. That is an excellent disguise, and you still manage to look beautiful. Well done.”
She studied his face. She could tell by his expression that he was unrepentant for his long absence and failure to return her calls and messages.
“Tell me this,” he said. “Why in the hell did you come to Moscow of all places? Both your sister and your boss said you hadn’t mentioned vacation plans until a few days before—”
She’d expected some kind of apology, an explanation, but he didn’t seem to realize he’d done anything wro
ng. Despite all the love she felt for him, she was suddenly filled with anger. “No. First I want you to explain,” she said. “Why have you ghosted me all these months when you solemnly promised you’d join me in a week? Where in the hell have you been?”
He opened his mouth as if to reply then closed it again. She could see her question had caught him by surprise. How could he be so clueless? All this time, he hadn’t given her a thought.
By now she was steaming. “I’m waiting for an explanation,” she said
“Well, you see—I, I mean—,” he spluttered. “There was a case I’d spent months working on. When I went back to hand in my resignation, they told me my last effort had produced a breakthrough. Since I knew the case better than anyone, they wanted me to go back, put the pieces together, and supervise rounding up the suspects. These were terrorists conspiring to hit the U.K. with a cataclysmic attack. At first, we were only able to catch the lowest level operatives. We had the others on the run, but we were certain they hadn’t given up their plan for a massive attack. It took time to round all of them up.”
“You told me you were going to hand your cases over to someone else.”
“But this was different. It was the biggest case of my career. Even so, you were on my mind the whole time. All I thought about was the day it would be over and I would be with you again.”
“I still don’t get it,” she said. “Why didn’t you pick up a phone or pen and paper and let me know?” She was almost shouting now, and she noticed people at other tables turning in their direction. She lowered her voice. “I’d have been disappointed and probably angry—but not as angry as I am right now. And at least I’d have known you were still alive and cared about me.” Only when her eyes filled with tears did she realize how incensed she was and, at the same time, how heartbroken. He wasn’t going to change. He was incapable of it. Olga was right.
She got up and headed for the door. Reinhardt got up to follow her, but the waiter was close on his heels demanding payment.
She could hear Reinhardt arguing with the waiter as she left the restaurant. He pointed out they hadn’t ordered anything, but the waiter insisted they owed the minimum charge since they’d occupied a table during the midday rush. Nicole walked quickly in the direction of Olga’s place. Only a few minutes passed before Reinhardt was beside her, breathing hard from running.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “That’s a strict policy when someone is on assignment. No communications home. I thought you knew that and would understand. And I did go against the rules to send you a note on your birthday.”
She turned to face him, ready to continue berating him. But when she saw how stricken he looked, she burst into tears and let herself be folded into his arms.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair.
She looked up at him. “What happens now? If the agency has an assignment of world-shattering importance, you’ll drop everything and disappear again, won’t you? You’ll never be rid of them. This is a life sentence.”
“No,” he said. “I’ve officially resigned. We’ve severed all ties. They won’t call me. I promise.”
She looked at him. “The last time I saw you, you promised the same thing. You were resigning and that would be the end of it.”
“And now I have officially resigned. I’m done. I know it may not sound different to you. But it is. I just didn’t realize—” He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. “I’m so terribly sorry to have hurt you. Will you give me another chance, or are you finished with me?”
She rested her head against his chest. “Forgiven, but not forgotten. This has to be the last time you disappear on me. I mean it. The very last.”
He let out a sigh. “You have my word. Shall we go back to the restaurant and have lunch?”
She pulled a tissue out of her purse to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “Not after I made a scene there. I’d rather go somewhere else.”
They walked for a bit, silent but holding hands. When they came to a little café that looked clean, if not grand, they went in. After they were seated, they consulted the menu and ordered pickled herring and syrniki, which was described as cottage cheese pastries with sour cream and jam.
Once the waiter took their order, Reinhardt said, “Do you want to tell me why you’re here, or am I forbidden to ask?”
“Now you’re afraid of me,” Nicole laughed. “I think I like it. But I do want to tell you what happened because I desperately need help.” She went over the whole sequence of events since she’d met Ian Davies at the La Brea Tar Pits. When she was done, she added, “At first I thought it was you who’d suggested me for the assignment because I’d be good at observing these people. And I was hoping you’d be here. But there was no sign of you, and things started to go wrong. That’s when I realized you’d never have put me in that position.”
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. In fact, I told them not to do it, but those bastards went ahead and recruited you anyway.”
“You mean they asked your permission?”
“Not exactly. I’d managed to keep our relationship quiet until the human trafficking case in London last year. They looked into your background and discovered we’d been seeing each other off and on for a long time. They were impressed with your work and asked me if I thought you’d make a good operative. I said definitely not, that you were too emotionally fragile.”
“Wait a minute!” Nicole felt her anger rising again.
“Sorry, I know that isn’t true, but I didn’t want you mixed up with them. When a case goes bad, they think a very long while before coming to an operative’s aid, if they do it at all. Like that chap Antonovich in the hospital. Do you think the Brits are going to dispatch a Blackhawk to airlift him out of harm’s way? They’ll wait for him to figure his own way out, if he can. They’ll never admit he’s one of ours or that we have covert operatives in their country. But Chet appears to be an especially valuable operative. If all else fails, they’ll probably work out a trade, giving Russia a couple of spies we’re holding in an exchange. While the diplomats are working this out, he’ll probably be locked up a good, long while. What makes me especially angry is that they brought you here without proper training or a realistic understanding of the risks. They’re going to hear about this.”
“Pardon me for asking, but why would they care what you think? You don’t even work for them anymore. Right?”
“Why would they care?” He chuckled and shook his head. “True, I’m no longer with intelligence. I’m a civilian again, sent off with a handshake and certificate of merit. But they do want me to go away happy. Nothing more dangerous than a disgruntled former employee.”
“Doesn’t that put you in danger? I mean, don’t they kill people to keep their secrets safe?”
“They’re not going to kill anybody for complaining about overreach and demanding an apology. Enough of that. We’ve got work to do, and we don’t have much time.”
They both glanced at their watches. It was 4:00 p.m. “Eighteen hours until the Victory Day parade begins,” he said. “I have to make a couple of phone calls, and I don’t want strangers overhearing me.”
“I’ll take you to the apartment where I’m staying, and you can call from there. As they walked, she told him what she knew about Olga.
Olga didn’t answer her door, so Nicole used her keys to let them in. She called out, but there was no answer. That’s when she saw the note on the kitchen table:
“I’m sure you and your fiancé will appreciate a little privacy. I’ll be staying with a friend for a few nights, but I’ll drop by during the day. By the way, I changed the sheets on the big feather bed. Enjoy!”
Nicole showed Reinhardt into Olga’s office and left him to make his calls. She returned to the studio’s tiny kitchen and made a cup of tea. She could hear Reinhardt’s voice in the other room. It sounded as if he was giving someone a piece of his mind. Soon his voice dropped to a b
are murmur. Hearing him on the phone—his tone all business—she wondered if she was a fool to believe he’d give up his old profession when he’d already failed to keep that promise once.
At last he came out of the office with his attaché case under his arm. “Put your jacket on. I didn’t want to give out your friend’s address, so I’m having a cab pick us up at the café where we ate. We have to stop and pick up a few things before we head over to Red Square.”
As they started for the café, Reinhardt was silent, deep in thought.
“Well,” she said, “When are you going to tell me where we’re headed and what we’re going to do?”
He looked at her, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“You agreed to take over Chet’s mission?” she went on. “Is that it? And I’m supposed to show you where the explosives are, right?”
“You’re right, of course. I should have told you. Sorry for being such a tosser—”
“Tosser?”
He gave a little laugh. “Sometimes I forget that we don’t really speak the same language. A tosser is the worst kind of asshole. Of course you need to know our plans. It’s just that I’m so used to working alone. But you’re right. I am taking over for Chet. They were scrambling to find a replacement, but since I turned up and the deadline is imminent, they asked if I’d do them one last favor.”
He stopped talking as a couple, arm in arm, passed them going in the opposite direction. Nicole was mulling over what he’d just said. How many last favors would his old bosses request as time went on? Was this really the last? The thought of it chilled her until she reminded herself that she herself had asked for his help.
“Our first stop,” he said, “is an establishment where they produce fake IDs and credentials. We’re going to be posing as safety inspectors from the Russian Ministry of Civil Defense. Aside from the fake documents, they sell just about everything from weapons and illegal and hard-to-get goods to designer knockoffs and even tourist souvenirs.
The Moscow Affair Page 15
