Nicole stood in the doorway taking it in. “This is one of the prettiest places I’ve ever stayed in.”
“With these safe houses, you never know what you’re going to get,” Reinhardt said. “It could be something like this or a dank basement with primitive plumbing and a wood-burning stove.” He took off his coat and tossed it on one of the couches. Nicole did the same. She found a store of new toothbrushes in the bathroom as well as small tubes of toothpaste. After brushing her teeth, she took a quick shower. Lacking pj’s or a robe, she wrapped herself in a towel and got into bed. Reinhardt disappeared into the bathroom, and she dozed off to the sound of the running shower.
She half woke when she felt him get into bed. He put his arms around her. “Are you asleep?”
“Not quite.”
“Are you totally knackered?”
She turned and wrapped herself around him so their arms and legs intertwined. “Maybe not completely.”
§
When Nicole woke up, she was alone in bed. She dressed in the things she’d worn the day before and went into the living room. Reinhardt was sitting on one of the couches, talking on the phone.
She went through an arched doorway and found herself in a huge dining room with a mahogany table and twelve matching chairs. Another turn and she was in a tiny galley kitchen. It appeared to have been recently remodeled with new appliances but minimally equipped—just an oven, cooktop, and small refrigerator. A toaster and microwave were sitting on the counter. She found coffee and strawberry jam in the refrigerator, a loaf of bread and butter in the freezer. She poked around in the cupboards until she located an electric kettle and a French press coffee pot. When the coffee was ready, she brought a cup to Reinhardt, who was still on the phone, speaking in Russian.
She mouthed “toast” to him. But he shook his head and pointed to the phone, indicating he’d be a while. She assumed he was arranging to get them out of the country. On her way back to the kitchen, she looked around more carefully and noticed the place didn’t have a TV. She wondered how they were going to keep themselves informed. Hoping to find a morning paper, she opened the front door and found that two had been delivered. One was in Russian, but the second, to her delight, was a copy of today’s International New York Times. She took it with her back to the kitchen, made herself buttered toast with jam, then carried the coffee, toast, and papers into the dining room, where she settled at the table.
Reinhardt was on the phone a good while. When he finally hung up, he passed through the dining room on his way to the kitchen, stopping to kiss the top of her head before moving on. He returned with the coffee pot and poured her another cup before ducking back into the kitchen to make his toast.
When he sat down at the table, she unfolded the Russian newspaper. It had a banner headline with a several photos of previous years’ military parades, marking the day’s celebration. After glancing at the pictures, Nicole passed the paper to Reinhardt. “Does this have anything about what happened last night?”
He pushed his plate aside to leaf through the paper then shook his head. “No word of it, and I’m not surprised. The Russian government wouldn’t allow a story like that to appear. It would make their security apparatus for today’s celebration look bad—an explosion, fire, and the arrest of the construction supervisor for planting a bomb under Putin’s seat. You can bet Putin will be told, and heads will roll. I’ll bet one of his body doubles will be standing in for him today.”
“Were you able to arrange transportation home?”
“Indeed, I was. I’m afraid it’s fairly roundabout, so it will take us a while to get to our plane. We have to avoid Moscow’s three international terminals. They’ll have people on high alert looking for you.”
“I thought I was going to change my appearance again and get a new fake ID.”
“You are. Even so, it isn’t worth the risk. That’s why we’re waiting until tonight before we leave. We need time to get your new documents, and we’re going to order a few things from Pierre’s store. I’ll take your photo and email it to him so his people can make you a new passport. You’ll need something to wear. That suit—” He shook his head.
She looked down at the suit. After only a day’s wear, it was wrinkled and the fabric had developed tiny fuzzballs. “You mean, you don’t like it? I’ve become rather fond of it. And what about you? Do you get a new identity, too?”
He gave a chuckle. “No need. My attaché case has several fake IDs and passports in a hidden compartment. Here’s what you’ll need for the flight: a fashionable coat, expensive-looking boots, a designer bag, and a wig to complete your disguise. Keep in mind that we’re supposed to look like people who can afford to hire a private jet. I’m ordering a new overcoat. My own has taken quite a beating the last few months.” He didn’t elaborate, and she knew better than to ask.
“Here’s the plan,” he went on. “A car and driver will pick us up in the garage downstairs around 7:30 this evening. He’ll drop us at a small, private dock on the Volga, just north of Moscow. A cabin cruiser will come for us. We’ll follow the river to Yaroslavl. From there we’ll be taken by limo to a small airport. A private jet will be waiting. All customs red tape has been cleared, so our driver can deliver us directly to the plane. We’ll fly to Helsinki. From there, we’ll pick up a commercial flight.”
“But first we’re going to Pierre’s again?”
“I’m afraid it’s not safe for you to leave this building until our driver picks us up tonight. Pierre suggested you look at some online clothing sites, pick examples of what you want, and send him an email with the links.”
“Does this apartment have a computer so I can look for things?” She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially Reinhardt, but online shopping was one of her favorite pastimes. The prospect made her feel newly energized.
“Righto,” he said. “They’ve got one hidden ‘round here somewhere. Be sure to send Pierre several options for each item, along with your size. He’ll have a saleswoman find something similar. As for the wig, pick a different color.”
“Red?” she speculated. “No, that would be too attention grabbing. Maybe auburn.”
He didn’t answer. She could tell he was deeply absorbed in the article he was reading. After a moment, he pushed away his plate with the half-eaten toast.
“Listen to this.” He read the story aloud, translating as he went along:
Seven Ukrainian nationals posing as American tourists were arrested and removed from the river cruise ship Queen of the Volga when it docked in St. Petersburg. They were charged with drug running and the murder of a tourist while the ship was docked in Moscow, the starting point of the cruise.
Another passenger had already been detained as a conspirator in the murder. The seven arrested in St. Petersburg are being sent back to Moscow for trial.”
Reinhardt looked up at her. “And they’ll be shown no mercy from Russia’s justice system.”
“So they didn’t walk away free after all,” Nicole said. “But why would they be charged with drug trafficking?”
“Maybe that was a sideline of theirs. Or Russian authorities found out about their planned attack on Red Square and didn’t want the public to know the plot almost succeeded. By the way, the big military parade begins—” he paused to glance at his watch. “—in fifty-five minutes.”
Nicole was quiet a long moment, considering this before something else occurred to her. “What would their motive have been for killing Swan? Any thoughts?”
“It’s possible he was a covert operative, and they were on to him.”
“But if there was already a spy in the group, why was I recruited to keep an eye on them? I don’t get it.”
“The U.K. isn’t the only country with covert operatives. He might have been from Denmark—or the States, for that matter. Here, let me find the computer. We should get our orders in to Pierre as soon as possible.”
He went over to a large cabinet standing against the wall. After rem
oving several stacks of bowls and platters, he crouched in front of it and peered inside. Finally, he slid a rear panel over and pulled out a laptop computer.
“How did you know where it was? Have you been here before?”
“No, but there’s a pattern to how these places are set up. Generally, you’ll find the electronics in a dining room closet or cabinet. If there’s no dining room, the place to look is in a kitchen cupboard near the refrigerator. He plugged the computer into an outlet near where Nicole was seated and placed it in front of her. Then he typed in a password and went back to reading the paper.
She spent a happy hour choosing an outfit, coat, boots, wig, and underwear. Reinhardt jotted down Pierre’s email address and handed it to her while she was working on her order. When she was done, she wrote Pierre a message that included links to her choices, along with her sizes. After sending off the message, she poured them each more coffee before settling down to finish reading the paper.
She felt completely disconnected from the news back home—congressional infighting, growing protests over grievances she was usually sympathetic to; op-ed columnists’ predictions of inflation, deflation, or a looming depression; fresh alarms about the fate of the earth; reviews of plays, movies, TV shows. It all seemed impossibly distant, as if it were covering life on another planet. She’d scan the beginning of one story and move on to the next.
Reinhardt interrupted her thoughts. “Why don’t you take a nap this afternoon? Last night was exhausting, and we’ll be up ‘til all hours tonight.”
“What about you?”
“It depends on when the clothes we ordered are ready. I have to pick them up.”
“Don’t they deliver?”
“Of course, but I can’t give this address to anyone. I’ll probably go after lunch.”
She moved to the couch, put her feet up, and used the laptop to continue the Margaret Atwood book she’d been reading at Olga’s. Reinhardt spent the rest of the morning on the phone in the bedroom with the door closed.
She figured he was planning the details of their exit or, perhaps, debriefing their exploit in Red Square the previous evening. She was just starting to feel hungry when Reinhardt emerged from the bedroom. “Sorry. Got caught up in logistics.”
“It’s time for lunch. But all we have is bread and jam.”
“We’ll call in an order to a restaurant I noticed down the street,” he said. He gave her the name of the restaurant. She looked it up online. Reading over her shoulder, he translated the menu. She decided on pierogi, which she’d never had, and hot borscht with meat and vegetables. If this was to be her last day here, she might as well have a thoroughly Russian meal.
Reinhardt added his order and left. He was soon back with two bags of food and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. He put everything on the table while Nicole set it. When they were done eating, there were enough leftovers for dinner. While she packed it up and put it in the refrigerator, Reinhardt called Pierre to see if their order was ready. When he hung up, he said, “It’s almost complete. If I leave now, it will be done by the time I get there.” He kissed her goodbye and grabbed his coat on the way out.
Nicole picked up the laptop and returned to her book. About an hour later, she heard a knock at the door. She jumped up and started toward it, thinking Reinhardt must be back. Then she realized he wouldn’t have knocked. He had a key. She tiptoed silently to the peephole and looked out. Her hunch had been right. It wasn’t Reinhardt standing there. It was Colonel Kolkov. She stepped away and stood with her back to the door, afraid to breathe. How could he possibly know she was here? He must have followed them and waited in the garage hoping Reinhardt would leave before he approached the apartment.
Kolkov gave up knocking and started banging on the door. “Open door,” he shouted. “Open or I shoot out lock!”
Nicole went into the bedroom and pulled Reinhardt’s bulky briefcase out of the closet. A rolled-up black polyester garment of some kind filled most of the case. She tossed it aside and located the concealed bottom compartment Reinhardt had mentioned. It contained several passports, some papers, and a gun. She recognized it as a semi-automatic pistol, a Glock 20, which was at least twice the size of the small revolver she owned. She’d never handled a semi-automatic, much less a weapon as big as this, but she didn’t have a choice. She was an excellent shot and figured she’d just have to manage the extra weight and brace herself for the weapon’s recoil.
Nicole rushed back through the apartment, passing into the dining room just as an explosive bang rang out, then another and another as Kolkov made good his threat to shoot out the lock. With a crash, the doorknob fell onto the floor. She flattened herself against the wall by the doorway to the living room. The hinges squeaked as the front door was pushed open. She raised the gun and got ready to fire. She could hear floorboards creaking as Kolkov entered. Otherwise the building was completely silent. Where were the other residents? Hadn’t they heard the shots? Why hadn’t they come out to see what was going on?
Kolkov called her name, then muttered to himself before shouting, “I know you’re here. I saw man friend go. Police department talk demotion, even firing if I don’t bring you in—what you Americans say?—dead or alive. In your case, I say dead. Then you can’t escape.” He was working his way around the living room.
She briefly leaned forward and caught sight of him looking behind one of the couches. He had his gun out, ready to shoot. Before she could take aim, he was on the move again. She pressed herself back against the wall. There was a silence, and she figured he must be searching the bedroom and bathroom. Moments later, the floor creaked again as he moved through the living room.
Only as he started to enter the dining room did he sense her presence. Before he could swing around and shoot, she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit his forehead. Blood spattered out in an arc behind him, as he staggered backward. His gun went off as he fell onto the living room floor. His shot narrowly missed the chandelier, bringing down a shower of plaster.
He lay still in a pool of blood, although it no longer was pouring from his head. Nicole waited a long moment before approaching. She made sure there was no visible rise and fall of his chest to indicate he was still breathing. She kicked his gun out of the way before bending down to check his pulse. There was none.
She closed the front door. Anyone passing by would surely notice that the lock had been shot open, but at least they wouldn’t be able to see Kolkov’s dead body on the floor. She sank onto one of the couches and tried not to look at him. She kept thinking of the terrible moment the bullet hit and blood exploded from his head.
Why did these things keep happening to her? Like the other times, this was self-defense. Kolkov had broken in with the full intention of killing her. But that was little comfort. She’d been forced to take another human life. Over the last few years, she’d accumulated a high enough body count to qualify as a serial killer. What was wrong with her that she kept finding herself in these situations?
It felt like forever before Reinhardt returned. He kicked the door open, his gun drawn. “Nicole,” he called. “Where are—” he went silent when he saw the body and froze for a moment before turning to close the door. Nicole was sitting on the couch with the gun still in her hands. She looked at him. “That’s the police detective who arrested me. Somehow he followed us here and broke in after you left. He had his gun out and was going to kill me. I pulled the trigger first.” She glanced at the body and quickly looked away. “What are we going to do?”
He took the gun from her, wiped it with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, and set it on the coffee table. “Don’t worry. I’ll make a call. We have people who’ll come in, get rid of the body, and clean up. But we’ll have to leave before they arrive.” After going back out to the hall where he’d left the garment bags and packages from Pierre’s, he brought them in, locking the door behind him.
“What about the neighbors?” Nicole said. “Wouldn’t they have heard
the shots? Are they all cowering in their apartments?”
“The building is empty. It was designated a cultural landmark and slated to be restored as a museum, but they’ve never gotten around to it.”
She didn’t bother asking how MI6 was allowed to maintain an apartment here. The agency worked in mysterious ways.
“Don’t worry. Everything will be taken care of,” he said. “You need to change, but first you’d best take a shower. While you’re getting ready, I’ll call and get someone out here.”
He handed her several of the bags he was holding, and she headed for the bathroom to shower. She felt sick. At the same time, she had a weird sensation, as if she were moving in slow motion. She recognized this as shock.
She looked in the mirror. There was blood on her clothes, some spattered on her hands and arms even though she had no recollection of touching Kolkov or the blood pooled around his head. She attributed this to shock. Shuddering with horror, she quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. When she was clean, she bundled the soiled clothes in a towel, which she put in a plastic laundry bag she found under the sink. She tossed it in the tub and hurriedly put on her new outfit—a skirt and blouse of some kind, which she barely looked at.
When she came out of the bathroom, Reinhardt was dressed in slacks and a blue shirt, over which he wore a black polyester vest. She recognized it as the item she’d seen in his briefcase. It had a deep V neckline so it wouldn’t be visible under a jacket.
“What’s that you’re wearing?” she said. “A bulletproof vest?”
“No, but it is waterproof. As I said, part of our trip to the plane is by boat, and you never know what’s going to happen. This way, I don’t have to worry about losing my attaché case. I can leave it behind and carry my weapon and passports in my pockets. Give me your new passport and I’ll stow it with mine.”
He put on the new sports jacket and overcoat from Pierre’s shop. He gestured toward the bed where he’d laid out Nicole’s new coat and high-heeled boots. The coat was stunning, made of a dark green velvety fabric with a black fur collar. When she picked it up and put it on, she was surprised to discover it was lined with the black fur. It felt wonderfully warm and soft.
The Moscow Affair Page 18
