“Are you all right?” Reinhardt said. She nodded, and he put his arms around her. “You’re still shaking, but everything is going to be fine. You did the right thing.”
When she nodded, he released her and headed for the door. “Well then, let’s go down to the garage and wait for our car and driver. Unfortunately, he isn’t due for another three hours. Is there anything else you want to bring?”
“This is all I need,” she said, lifting the bag from Pierre’s. The cosmetics and wig for her makeover were inside. “I can tend to my makeup and the rest in the car. How on earth did he find us?”
“I have no idea, but we have to be extremely careful that no one follows us this time. Come on. We need to get out of here.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nicole and Reinhardt went down to the garage to wait for their ride that would take them on the first leg of their journey. Reinhardt unlocked the car they’d arrived in so they could sit while they waited. She emptied the contents of the bag she was carrying into her lap and turned the sun visor to the other side, where a vanity mirror was mounted. The mirror was small and the lighting poor. She could only hope her efforts would make her look convincingly different than herself.
Just then, a paneled truck entered the garage. Both of them turned to watch as it parked and four men got out. Their jumpsuits identified them as workmen. They opened the back doors of the van and unloaded janitorial tools—mops, a broom, and several buckets filled with brushes, rags, and cleaning products. The last item they pulled out of the truck was a rolled-up tarp. Nicole was pretty sure it would be used to wrap Kolkov’s body so they could take it away. They were here to get rid of all traces of his death. Loaded down with equipment, they headed for the door to the lobby.
“Is that our cleanup crew?” Nicole said, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Right. They were quick getting here. Sorry we’re stuck so long waiting for our ride.”
They talked a bit, then cuddled up to listen to lively Russian music on some CDs she found in the glove compartment. When they grew tired of sitting, they got out and walked around. Nicole had a feeling their ride wasn’t going to show up at all, and they’d be left to their own devices.
Three and a half hours passed before a car entered the garage. It was a black Mercedes sedan with darkened back windows. The driver was wearing a black suit and a chauffeur’s cap. Nicole and Reinhardt climbed into the back seat. No greetings were exchanged, no introductions made. Reinhardt didn’t appear to find this odd, although Nicole did. But she supposed this was how coverts operated. The less known, the better.
The car exited the garage and negotiated the adjacent streets until it merged onto a major highway. It was obvious the driver knew exactly where he was taking them. Reinhardt and Nicole spoke in low voices, while the driver maintained his silence. After about a half hour, the turn light indicator started clicking. The car sped down an offramp and turned left to go through an underpass. Within a few minutes, they entered the grounds of a large, castle-like house built of stone. The car drove up to it then, without slowing, continued around to the rear. The long driveway led down to the river, where a speedboat was waiting at the dock.
It was getting dark. Nicole checked her watch. It was 8:30 p.m. She waited while Reinhardt shook hands with the driver and handed him an envelope. She could only guess what was in it—a tip perhaps or some kind of report.
She looked up at the big house. All the drapes were pulled closed, and it looked deserted. The boat waiting for them, a cabin cruiser, wasn’t as big as she’d expected. The cabin was small. Behind it, a deck was just big enough for four seats. The pilot got out to greet them. Once again, no names were exchanged. The man looked at Nicole and said, “Is this the critical asset we’re delivering to the airfield?” Reinhardt nodded, while Nicole, who disliked being talked about as if she weren’t there, flashed the man a dimpled smile and bobbed an ironic curtsy. Reinhardt chuckled, while the pilot just looked puzzled.
He suggested they sit behind him on the small bench in the cabin instead of taking the roomier chairs on the back deck. “The wind is powerful cold right now.” He spoke with an Irish accent. After handing them each an inflated life vest, he untied the boat from the dock, pulled the rope on board, and neatly wound it up before looping it over a hook. His movements appeared relaxed and unhurried, but he was finished quickly, back behind the wheel, and they were soon on their way.
Nicole held up the vest to see how to put it on. It was a minimal design that reached only to the waist. It had two inflated straps in front meant to keep her afloat and her head out of the water. These straps attached to a belt to be worn around the midsection. At the shoulder they were joined to a rectangular piece, about ten inches long, that reached around her neck and partway down her back. From there, a narrow strap was attached to the rear center of the belt. The vest looked like a men’s size extra-large. When she tried it on, the fit was so loose that the front straps kept slipping off her shoulders. She tried to adjust the belt, but it wouldn’t fasten any tighter. She thought of asking for a smaller size, but the hook where the life jackets had been hanging was empty. This would have to do.
“How long ‘til we reach Yaroslavl?” Reinhardt said.
“An hour, maybe more in this bloody wind,” the man said.
Despite the wind, the water was only slightly choppy. After the anxiety of their wait in the garage, the ride seemed peaceful. They were feeling relaxed when the pilot said, “Some bloke is approaching our stern.”
Nicole and Reinhardt looked through the plexiglass window behind them. There was a white speck in the distance, growing larger as they watched.
“Let’s get rid of them,” Reinhardt said. “Can you go faster?”
The boat jerked forward as the pilot put his foot on the gas. “I can speed up,” he said, “but that boat is twice our size. It will have a load more horsepower.”
“I don’t understand,” Nicole said. “It can’t be the police. How could they have followed us?”
“You’re right. It’s probably something else,” Reinhardt said. “This route is sometimes used by drug smugglers. Or it might be one of the federation’s drug-control boats. They wouldn’t be looking for you. Still, with an alert out for your arrest, we can’t let them find you.”
The larger boat was gaining on them. When it was closer, they could hear its loudspeaker booming something in Russian. Reinhardt translated for Nicole. “They’re demanding we stop and let them board. They want to search the boat for drugs. Keep going,” he told the pilot.
“They’re gaining fast,” the pilot said. “No way I can outrun them.”
“Well, captain, what would you advise?” Reinhardt said.
“I’ve got a maneuver I’ve used before.” By now, the pilot had to shout to be heard. “When they get a wee bit closer, I’ll make a sudden U-turn. They’ll follow, but they have to make a wider arc because they’re at least twice our size. They might even need two tries. While they’re breaking their hearts over that, I’ll make another U-turn, so they’ll have to turn around a second time. When we’re a distance away, I’ll steer as close to shore as I can so you two can jump out and swim for land. You both have flotation devices. Take off your coats so they don’t weigh you down, and you should be all right. He looked at Nicole in the rearview mirror. “I reckon you can swim. Yeah?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Wait,” Reinhardt said. “How strong a swimmer are you, Nicole?”
“I can do a dozen laps in a swimming pool. I guess you’d say I’m a strong swimmer under ideal conditions.”
“I’m worried about the current,” he said. “We’d best swim in tandem. I’ll jump first, grab the ladder, and wait to catch you. You’ll ride on my back with your arms around my neck. If you can kick, it will help propel us toward shore. If that’s too hard, just wrap your legs around me. Got it?”
She nodded, taking off the vest, then the warm, fur-lined co
at, which she was sorry to leave behind. She put the vest back on, still a little worried about its loose fit.
“Brace yourselves,” the pilot said. “The water is wicked cold. And don’t try to swim against the current. Put your effort into edging toward shore. After you leave, I’ll keep going. It’s too dark for them to see you jump, so they’ll stay on my tail. When I’m a ways on, I’ll stop and tell them I couldn’t hear their loudspeaker over the roar of my engine. They can search the boat. They won’t find any drugs. But I’ll have to slip them a bribe to avoid being charged with disobeying police orders. A bit of the green usually works with these Russians.”
Meanwhile, the drug enforcement craft, manned by three figures, had stopped and was making its turn. As predicted, it couldn’t complete the maneuver in a single rotation. It was starting to back up to complete the turn when the speedboat passed and continued on a bit before turning to resume its original direction. They passed drug enforcement for a second time just as it completed its first turn. Now it would have to turn again.
The speedboat continued on until it passed a bend in the river. Here the boat slowed and pulled closer to the shore. Reinhardt got up and moved to the deck’s edge. Nicole was right behind him. He put an arm around her and pulled her close. “It looks frightening, but it’s going to be all right,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ll be there to catch you.”
Abruptly, he let go and turned to dive into the water. A moment later, he reappeared, holding onto the ladder on the boat’s side, waiting for her. Looking at the dark water, Nicole was overcome with a sudden terror, a certainty that—despite Reinhardt’s reassurances—this was not going to be all right. Ignoring her instincts, she closed her eyes and forced herself to jump.
When she hit the water, the cold was an overwhelming shock. But what she hadn’t anticipated was the force of the current that immediately started pulling her away from Reinhardt and the side of the boat. He managed to grab her flotation vest, but the water was stronger. The vest, loose to begin with, completely slipped off and remained in Reinhardt’s hands while Nicole was swept away. She tried to swim, but the current was too swift, and she started to sink. She held her breath as long as she could, hoping Reinhardt would be able to grab her and bring her to the surface. But in the dark, opaque water it was impossible to see. How would he ever find her?
When her breath gave out, she gasped, swallowing water and taking in more through her nose. She choked and gagged, fighting desperately to swim to the surface. From somewhere came a question, Is this how it ends? She felt no emotion about it one way or the other. She was too busy fighting the river and the growing need to take a breath.
All at once, Reinhardt grabbed her arm and pulled her to the surface. For a long moment, she fought him, too overcome with coughing and choking to realize she’d been rescued. “It’s me,” he said. “You’re OK. I’ve got you. Try to calm down so I can get you to shore.”
Against every instinct, she managed to stop struggling. He had one arm around her, treading water. “It isn’t far to the river’s edge,” he said. “But I need two arms to get there. Grab me around the neck, and I’ll let go of you.”
When they reached the shore, he half lifted, half pushed her onto the muddy river bank before climbing out himself. Still choking, struggling to catch her breath, she felt as if she’d swallowed half the Volga. Reinhardt picked her up and carried her away from the river into the shelter of some trees before putting her down. He pulled her head to one side so she could cough up some of the water she’d swallowed. When her choking stopped, she was left with paroxysms of coughing, which made her chest hurt. A wheezing sound accompanied each labored breath. Her arms and legs were numb with cold, and she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Reinhardt lifted her again and carried her uphill to a road devoid of traffic. He lowered her to the ground next to a tree and propped her against it. “I think it will be easier for you to breathe sitting up,” he said.
He pulled out his phone to make a call, then looked at it. “Bloody hell,” he said. “The mobile is out of range. I’m going to walk around a bit to get a signal. You’re starting to catch your breath, yeah?” He looked at her with concern. “Can you talk?”
She answered with a croaking “Yes,” which sent her into another coughing spasm.
“God, I’m sorry,” he said. “We should have made that jump together. And the safety vest—I wish I’d checked it out. Right now I’m going to call for help so we can get you somewhere warm and dry.”
Nicole was shaking with cold. From her resting place, she watched him walk first in one direction then the other, clearly without any luck. When he stopped back to check on her, he said, “Now the mobile’s bloody battery is giving out.”
All at once, headlights appeared in the distance. Reinhardt helped Nicole up, and they retreated into the shadow of the trees. The car pulled over to the side, and the driver flashed the headlights off and on.
“That signal’s for us.” Reinhardt took Nicole’s hand and started toward the car.
She pulled away. “How do you know?” she croaked, pausing between words to catch her breath. “Flashing headlights could mean anything.”
“No,” he said. “It’s a signal we use. The chap in the boat said he was going to call in our approximate location. Whoever’s in the car probably used thermal imaging to locate us.” He grabbed her hand again and pulled her along. “We’ve got to get you out of the cold.”
As they got in, the driver said, “You’ll find some blankets back there. Take off your wet things and wrap yourselves in the blankets.”
“We can’t go to the airport without dry clothes,” Reinhardt said. “And my friend here needs to see a doctor first. She almost drowned. You know how polluted the Volga is. At the least, she needs an antibiotic. We’ll have to delay the flight until tomorrow.”
Nicole undressed under the blanket, leaving her things on the car floor. Reinhardt did the same. Even when she was free of the wet clothes and wrapped in two blankets, she continued to shake with cold. She leaned against Reinhardt, who was also bundled up, but he was just as cold as she was.
They stopped at a tiny, deserted-looking house along a desolate stretch of the road. Inside, it was cold and musty. The driver pulled down the shades and turned on a lamp before using crumpled newspapers to light a log in the fireplace. For the first time, Nicole got a good look at him. He was in his mid-twenties, tall and fit, with curly dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and dark brown eyes. He had regular features, but his strong jawline, prominent forehead, and two-day stubble made him look tough, like someone you wouldn’t want to tangle with.
When he caught her looking at him, he held out his hand to shake hers. “The name’s Liam. And you are?”
“Nicole,” she said. Introductions made, he and Reinhardt started talking. Meanwhile, Nicole took in their surroundings.
The house, a single room, resembled Olga’s apartment with rugs on the floor and walls. Liam went to a closet and found them each dry clothes to wear. He also produced a cable to charge Reinhardt’s phone. When he was busy connecting it, Nicole went into the bathroom to change. First, she sat in the tub and did her best to wash off the filth from the river. But the tub’s spray attachment only emitted a dribble of cold water, and she had no soap. She dried herself on a thin, woven towel before putting on the clothes she’d been given: mustard-color woolen leggings, a well-worn Irish fisherman’s sweater, a limp jersey miniskirt, and a faded green cardigan. The leggings fit snuggly, and the fisherman’s sweater looked as if it had been shrunk. The sleeves were short, and it didn’t completely cover her midriff. Both the tights and sweater were a bit itchy, but at least they were clean and dry. She viewed herself in the mirror and felt ridiculous, unable to decide if she looked sillier with the miniskirt or without it.
When she came out, Reinhardt gave a little laugh and whistled at her. “Cut it out,” she said, quickly buttoning up the cardigan to cover her bare middle. She
sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her to enjoy the fire, while Reinhardt went in to change. He came out dressed in a workman’s tan jumpsuit, a radical departure from his usual style. This time it was Nicole’s turn to laugh, even though it set off another coughing fit.
Liam left to get a doctor. Reinhardt was busy in the corner that served as a kitchenette. He located a jar of instant coffee and an electric kettle, then pulled a bottle of brandy out of the cupboard. When the coffee was ready, he spiked it with brandy and brought it to Nicole, who was sitting as close to the fire as she dared. Sipping the hot beverage with the mug warming her hands, she began to feel a bit better.
After a while, Liam was back with a doctor, a gray-haired, bearded little man carrying a black satchel. The doctor and Reinhardt carried on a conversation in Russian, presumably about Nicole’s near drowning. Liam turned to Nicole and said he was leaving again to pick up something for them to eat. “Do you have any preference?”
“Soup,” she gasped. “Hot soup.” Each word came out with a wheeze.
“I’ll try, but no promises,” he said. “It depends on what’s open at this hour.”
The doctor examined Nicole, listening closely to her chest, then used an instrument to look up her nose and in her ears. Once he was done, he spoke to Reinhardt in Russian, apparently explaining what he’d found. While the doctor was digging in his bag, Reinhardt translated for Nicole. “He says you don’t look too bad. You may have aspirated a little water in your lungs but not enough to be alarmed about. He’s going to give you a shot of penicillin and a bottle of pills you’re to take for a week, mainly because of the polluted water. He says you shouldn’t fly for forty-eight hours. But given that you’re the object of a manhunt, we need to leave as soon as possible.
The Moscow Affair Page 19
