The Moscow Affair

by Nancy Boyarsky

  “Right now,” he went on, “I’m going to make a call to find out the status of our plane. If it’s left, I’ll ask for it to return tomorrow afternoon. We’ll need time in the morning to get new gear and make ourselves presentable. You’ll need to work on your disguise again since the Volga washed it away.” While he made his call, the doctor proceeded to give Nicole her shot and hand her the bottle of pills. He sat on the couch to wait for the driver to return. Reinhardt joined him, and the two men chatted companionably in Russian over glasses of brandy while Nicole half dozed on the hearth.

  It was about an hour before Liam returned, carrying a large bucket marked KFC accompanied by a jumbo-size bag of fries, which the Russian franchise offered instead of the traditional biscuits, mashed potatoes, and gravy served back home. After the delivery, Liam left again to take the doctor home, promising to be back in the morning with the things they needed. Reinhardt had already given him Nicole’s passport so it could be copied to give her yet another new identity, one that would give her better cover.

  When they were gone, Reinhardt placed the food on the small, wobbly table in the kitchenette corner of the house, and the two of them settled in to eat. It had been fourteen hours since their last meal. Reinhardt seemed to be hungry, but Nicole felt nauseous from all the dirty water she’d swallowed. The thought of the raw sewage and industrial waste in the Volga was enough to make her feel sick.

  Nevertheless, she decided to give the food a try. If nothing else, it might get rid of the bad taste in her mouth. She picked up a drumstick, but the Colonel’s secret recipe triggered another coughing fit, and she put it down. Reinhardt got up and poured her a tumbler of brandy. She nursed it while she watched him eat, grateful she wasn’t hungry.

  When they retired, Reinhardt lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, while she spent several miserable hours on the couch coughing. She finally sat up, which eased her chest. She spent the rest of the night in a sitting position, half dozing and wondering if—after so many delays—she was really going home. It hardly seemed possible.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Reinhardt’s phone woke them. He answered and muttered a few words before going silent as the other party spoke. When he hung up, he said, “The police have intensified their search for you. They’re going door to door in areas surrounding airports within driving distance of Moscow. That includes our airport, Yaroslavl, which isn’t far away. Liam is on his way back. He managed to get us some presentable clothes. He also has a new passport, ID, and disguise for you. This time you’ll be posing as an old woman.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “These weeks in Russia have aged me at least fifty years. And, after watching Olga, I know just how to play the part.”

  Reinhardt had put the leftover fried chicken outside for the night to keep it cold. Their tiny refrigerator turned out to be an old-fashioned ice box, which was useless to them since they didn’t have the requisite chunk of ice to keep it cold.

  He brought the chicken in and offered some to Nicole, but her stomach still felt queasy. She settled for a cup of coffee, while Reinhardt went at the leftovers like a starving man.

  Afterward they sat on the couch in front of the fire, Nicole’s head resting on Reinhardt’s shoulder while she half dozed. They had no idea when Liam would show up. The day ahead was filled with too many worrisome unknowns.

  “I’ll bet the police’s renewed efforts to find you have to do with Kolkov,” Reinhardt said. “By now, they’d have noticed he’s missing, and they knew he was searching for you. Didn’t he say he’d been ordered to find you and bring you in or he’d lose his job?”

  She nodded. “His superiors regarded my escape as a dereliction of duty on his part. He’d been humiliated, and he blamed me. He said he was going to kill me to be sure I wouldn’t escape this time. You know, I’ve been thinking about Abby, the reporter who found me sanctuary with Olga. She saved my life. I promised her an exclusive interview about how I’d become a fugitive. I said I’d get in touch with her after I got out of Russia.”

  “Um-hm,” Reinhardt sounded drowsy.

  “Are you listening?”

  He turned to look at her. “Of course.”

  “Here’s my question. What should I tell her? I certainly can’t mention my role as an observer for MI6.”

  “That’s easy,” he said. “Just make yourself an innocent bystander, someone persecuted by the Russian police because you were at the scene and made a convenient scapegoat. Obviously, you have to leave out the facts that you actually witnessed the murder and were put on the ship to observe the dissidents. And you’ll have to invent a story about how you got out of Russia. Maybe you can tell her you hired the Russian equivalent of a mule, who snuck you out by boat. If she wants more details, explain that you can’t be too specific without getting someone in trouble. What you can tell her will make a cautionary tale about traveling abroad, particularly to totalitarian countries. Things like this happen every day to ordinary Russian citizens, although tourists are usually spared because the government wants to encourage them to bring money into the country.”

  “You’re right. That makes a good enough story. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get in touch with her. Her card was in my purse, which I left at Olga’s.”

  He nodded. “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  At that point the conversation turned to their plans for the future once they finally got out of Russia. “First, we’ll need to stop in London so I can pack,” Reinhardt said. “And I have to make arrangements for storing my furniture and leasing out my flat.”

  “Oh, Reinhardt,” Nicole said. “I’m so worn out! I just want to go home.” Her cough was a little better, although she had to stop talking once in a while to catch her breath. “It will take weeks to make those arrangements. You could easily take care of it online once we’re back in L.A.”

  “I don’t blame you for wanting to go home,” he said. “That’s the best place for you to recover after all you’ve been through. What about this? After we land in Helsinki, you catch a flight home. I’ll go to London. Then, once I get things sorted out—”

  She pulled out of his arms and stared at him. “Are you kidding? Last time we had that arrangement, I didn’t see you again for all those months. If you really have to stop in London, I’m coming with you. In fact, I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re in L.A.”

  “But you said you were too tired to stop in London.”

  “I’d feel a lot worse worrying about what had become of you if you disappeared again.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Nicole. I’ve given you my word.” He was silent a while before going on. “But I do understand why you might worry, even though it’s unnecessary. What about this? We’ll stop at my digs for a couple of days while I pack what I need and make some basic arrangements for my flat. That way you’ll have time to rest between flights.”

  Torn between her desire to go home and her fear of letting Reinhardt wander off on his own, she agreed.

  By noon, there was still no sign of Liam, and they were growing anxious. What if the police arrived before he did? They sat down to lunch with a greatly depleted bottle of brandy and the KFC bucket between them. Only a half dozen pieces were left. Nicole took one. After removing the now-soggy crust with the spicy seasoning, she was able to get some chicken down, following each bite with a sip of brandy to ease her cough.

  They were just finishing up when a knock at the door brought them to their feet. Reinhardt went over to the window and moved the shade slightly so he could peek out. He immediately opened the door. It took Nicole a moment to recognize the man who walked in. Liam had changed from the pea coat and khakis he’d been wearing earlier to a black padded jacket with black pants and heavy workman’s boots. Topping it off was an odd hat with a narrow brim in front that ended with earflaps long enough to reach his collar. Following close behind him was an enormous tan dog with a black muzzle and sad eyes. Liam passed several pack
ages to Reinhardt before turning to usher in the dog—which had been hovering uncertainly in the doorway—and lock the door.

  “In the packages are new coats and clothes for you both and the kit you requested to turn Nicole into an old woman. I saw a patrol car in front of a house about ten kilometers down the road. There are about three or four places they’ll probably search before they get here.” He paused to look down at his boots and pat the front of his jacket. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m dressed as a laborer. I’ll tell the police I’m staying here temporarily. The dog is Borya. He’s a Mastiff, one of Russians’ favorite breeds. I borrowed him, reckoning he’d make me look more authentic. Here’s my story: This house belonged to my dear old granny, who passed a month ago. I’m here to sort the place out so I can sell it. Now let’s get you into hiding.” He handed them the packages he’d brought before leading them to a corner of the house and pulling aside one of the rugs.

  Beneath it was a worn wooden floor marked with many blemishes, knot holes, and, in one spot, a large burn mark. “Stand back,” he said, before giving the burn mark a thump with his fist. A trap door, undetectable until that moment, silently sprung upward. It worked like a kitchen cupboard set to open with a push instead of a pull. Nicole and Reinhardt walked over to look down. A ladder led into darkness. Liam reached under a floorboard and clicked a button that lit up a good-sized room below.

  “Best go down now. We don’t know how soon the police will get here. The room has a vent to the outside, so you don’t have to worry about running out of air. But remember not to talk or make any noise once the police get here. You’ll hear them arrive, and they’ll be able to hear you.”

  “What about my cough?”

  “Brandy!” Both Reinhardt and Liam replied in unison. Liam went on. “You’ll find a bottle down there. Don’t stint on it. Get blotto if that’s what it takes.”

  Reinhardt went down first, followed by Nicole. The basement room was much nicer than the one above, clean and bright with a small, modern kitchen. It had a real refrigerator, a microwave, and a toaster oven. The cupboard was stocked with food: several varieties of crackers; shelf-stable milk; cereal; jars of peanut butter, marmite, and processed cheese spread; as well as cans of soup and tuna. A bottle of vodka and another of Reinhardt’s beloved brandy sat on the counter. He opened the brandy, poured two glasses, and handed one to Nicole. “Remember what Liam said. Small sips to soothe your throat. Best start in.”

  He sat down at a desk equipped with a computer and turned it on. Apparently, the basement had Wi-Fi because he was able to find a Russian paper and was soon engrossed in it.

  She looked around the room. It was well fitted out. They could survive down here for days, maybe even weeks. Aside from the food, computer, and Wi-Fi, there was a tiled bathroom with a real shower. Nicole was dying to use it, but she had to wait until the cops came, searched the place, and left.

  Before too long, there was a knock at the door above and murmurs of conversation. Nicole couldn’t make out the words, but she could tell they were speaking Russian. From what she could hear, their tone seemed low-key enough to assure her they bought Liam’s story about his grandmother’s death.

  After five minutes or so, the footsteps stopped, and Nicole realized they all must have sat down. She could picture Liam, playing host by offering them some vodka, which they’d be unable to resist. Meanwhile, she silently began to empty the contents of the bags Liam had brought. She took out the overcoats and hung them on a hook. Both were black and made of heavy wool, practically identical except for size. The second bag contained shoes, socks, slacks, boxer shorts, a shirt, and a jacket for Reinhardt.

  The last bag held a black dress that looked as if it would be too big and too long, thermal underwear, thick, opaque flesh-colored tights, and a pair of black, low-heeled, lace-up shoes like old women used to wear in her great grandmother’s day. At the bottom of the bag was a box containing makeup, a packet of tissues, several eyeliner pencils, a palette of eye shadow, a bottle of rubber cement, another of nail polish remover, and a short white wig. Whoever packed it had included a hand mirror and several pages of instructions explaining how to apply the makeup. Only when Nicole picked it up and saw herself in the mirror did she realize how awful she looked. Her hair was stiff and sticking out on one side. Her face had a brownish cast from the dirty river, which her soapless wash in cold water had failed to remove. She’d have to take a shower before working on her makeup.

  At last they heard footsteps heading toward the door and an exchange that sounded like a friendly parting. The place was silent for only a few minutes before the knocking resumed. A brief conversation ensued with more of an edge to it than before, then the sound of boots walking through the house. The dog started barking. Liam shouted at him, and he stopped.

  Nicole could tell they’d rolled back the rugs by the clatter of their boots on the bare floor. Apparently, they’d been so taken in by Liam’s hospitality that they’d neglected to look for a basement or other possible hiding places. As they walked around, they tapped on the floor, apparently looking for a sign there might be empty space under the house. Whoever had fitted out the basement room had provided some way of disguising the echo from the hollow space below. After a while, the rugs were put back, softening the sound of them walking back to the door. They left, and everything was quiet. But Reinhardt and Nicole decided to stay where they were for a while in case the men returned yet again. Nicole lay down on the couch. Still exhausted from her bad night, she fell asleep for a few minutes, only to wake when the trap door opened.

  “It’s safe to come up now,” Liam said. “They’re really gone this time.”

  “Can I stay down here and use the shower?” Nicole said.

  “Of course. I’ll be driving you to the airport as soon as I confirm your plane is ready for boarding. You can wait down there if you want. It might be more comfortable. We were limited in what we could do upstairs. It had to look authentic. But our engineers did more with the basement in case someone had to stay longer than a day or two.

  Nicole took her time in the shower, adjusting the temperature to the hottest she could stand, enjoying the luxury of having not just soap but also shampoo and conditioner. When she was done, she put on the clothes Liam had brought. As expected, the black dress was long and baggy, a perfect combination with the lace-up, orthopedic shoes for the role she’d be playing.

  She felt refreshed by the shower, even though she was still coughing and a little sluggish from the brandy. She sat down at a small table in the corner and read the instructions from the makeup box. It explained how to apply the products to add decades to her appearance. The sheet had been downloaded from the web. It appeared to be written for actors or makeup artists.

  Applying rubber cement to her face seemed to be the key, followed up by gently pinching her skin until the cement dried, creating creases and wrinkles. She needed another pair of hands to help with this, so she enlisted Reinhardt. He pretended to be repelled by what was happening to her face but gave himself away by laughing. “You don’t look that bad, really. Just a lot older. I do hope the rubber cement doesn’t pull out your eyebrows when you take it off.”

  Nicole hadn’t thought of that. But after rereading the instructions, she was reassured. The adhesive was supposed to come off easily with soap and water. For more stubborn areas, nail polish remover had been included in the kit. Whoever packed it had been thorough. She used an eyeliner pencil to add lines and crow’s feet to her wrinkled face, then applied blue eye shadow under her eyes to create bags. Next came the white wig. In some areas, fake scalp showed through, making it look like the thinning hair of the very old.

  When Nicole saw herself in the mirror, she was startled by the person looking back at her. The wig and makeup kit had done a good job. She looked ancient. She carried their new coats upstairs, where Reinhardt and Liam were waiting.

  “I’m ready to leave,” she said.

  Both men stared at her. “Moth
er of God!” Liam murmured, while Reinhardt just smiled and shook his head at her transformation. Liam handed Nicole a passport with a photo of an old woman and a Russian ID card with the same picture. Studying it, Nicole could see that it really did look like her, only much, much older. Graphic software must have been used to age her image on her fake passport. The app’s tools had dramatically changed her appearance in much the same way the makeup kit had.

  As they left the house, Liam said, “I have baggage for both of you in the boot. They’re packed with clothes consistent with your disguises. I also have a written directive that should allow me to drive you directly to the plane. If all goes according to plan, you won’t be subjected to a search or even asked to present ID.”

  At long last they were heading for the airport. Several patrol cars, sirens blaring, passed them on the road, forcing them to pull over while they went by. Nicole wondered where they were going and why. But this wasn’t her worry. She’d soon be in the air, on her way out of Russia.

  They turned onto the airport access road and immediately had to stop. A major traffic jam was up ahead. The police appeared to be stopping and searching every car before admitting it to the airport’s main approach.

  “Shouldn’t we turn around and try again later?” Nicole said.

  “No,” both Reinhardt and Liam said at the same time. Reinhardt finished the thought. “A U-turn will only make them suspicious and trigger a chase. We’d hoped we wouldn’t run into something like this, but we’re well prepared. You’re going to lie down and pretend you’re a very sick woman. That’s our cover. You have a serious illness, and we’re going to Helsinki, where they have advanced treatments for it.”

  By the time they reached the head of the line, Reinhardt was in the front seat with Liam. Nicole was lying in back pretending to be asleep.

  A policeman came over and opened the driver’s door. He gave an abrupt command, ordering them out of the car. Liam and Reinhardt climbed out and, at the cop’s request, showed their IDs. Meanwhile, two other uniformed officers pulled open the trunk, took out the suitcases, and began to search them.