by Tom Hron
“Dobriy dyen, thank you for speaking English. I only know a few words of your language. I’m looking for my room.”
The woman smiled and grabbed her bags. “You are smaller than I, so let me help you because we have a long way to go.” She flew down the hall, swinging the bags and her rear end in willowy rhythm, despite her size.
Molly smiled also and stretched her legs to keep up. “Do many Americans visit this city? I saw several familiar billboards on my way here.”
“Yes, yes, always. We are a much nicer place than Moscow, which is why your country has invested so much money here. We are called the Chicago of Siberia because our city is so important. Do you not know?”
Molly remembered reading that Russians often asked questions negatively, making it easier for strangers to answer without feeling any guilt. Most important, now she saw her opening.
“No, I’m visiting for the first time. Your country is so interesting and this city’s so busy, I had wondered. Isn’t there a place nearby called the Academic City? I’ve read it’s beautiful there, and the home of some of the best scientists in the world.”
The woman’s backside swayed even more, then she stopped by a numbered door. “Akademgorodok. Yes, it’s world famous and we are very proud. Would you like to see it? My daughter could take you there tomorrow.”
Smiling, Molly nodded and opened the door with her key. You are so . . . so smooth, Faircloth, the CIA would even be pleased with your performance. She stepped inside and saw the room didn’t look bad at all.
The next morning she breakfasted, met the floor matron’s daughter, and paid her a hundred dollars for a morning drive around Novosibirsk and an afternoon tour of Akademgorodok. The Hotel Sibir had been happy to make arrangements with the university . . . especially for an American lady who said she was interested in investing in mining. They had said someone very special would meet her, adding that the Institute of Geology and Geophysics had an impressive exhibit of alluvial diamonds and mineral bearing rock. Sasha, here I come, she thought.
She saw that Novosibirsk was indeed a Chicago of sorts, with its Trans-Siberian and Turkestan-Siberian railways meeting in a giant switching yard that sent long freights south to Central Asia with grain and timber, then receiving even longer ones from those same places loaded with raw cotton. Also, she learned that 70,000 passengers boarded 60 different trains every day, destined for the various cities of Siberia, or Alma Ata, where they could cross into China and journey southeast to Tibet or south to Kashgar and the Karakorum Highway. She trembled with fear and excitement. Here she was, a foreign spy in the middle of all the mysterious lands of the world, a beautiful, alluring, temptress, hell bent on her secret mission. Would the bad guys ever catch her? Then she felt the embarrassment of her wild imagination burn her face. Wake up, Faircloth, or you will get caught.
The rest of Novosibirsk stood as a shrine to its Stalinist days—long factories shrouded in flying clouds of smoke, rows of gloomy apartment buildings, bloodstained by acid rain, neighborhoods of simple wooden homes, trimmed with ornamental blue and white window frames. The place wasn’t one bit pretty, and late winter had worsened its dismal look. She started to miss Texas, because it would be warm there.
The driver’s voice woke her from her muse. “Excuse, please, we could drive to Akademgorodok for lunch, and afterward you could begin your tour. Do you not know there’s a famous reestahrahn there? It’s called the Toadstool.”
Molly felt her heart jump. Sasha had said she always ate her meals there, and that it had been her father’s favorite place as well. The thought of seeing a familiar face and hugging someone who also knew the sorrow of loneliness suddenly seemed critical. Thrilled, she tried thanking the woman in Russian.
“Spasiba, ya bi payel.”
“Do you not know how awful you sound?”
“Yes.”
Both laughed. Her silliness in trying to speak the mother tongue had sealed their new friendship. Moments later, on the way out of Novosibirsk, the driver told about the huge Ob River hydroelectric dam and the long reservoir it had backed up alongside the city. So far, Molly thought, her simple ruse had worked perfectly.
When they walked into the Toadstool, she saw Sasha at once, looking woebegone, eating with a circle of people. How could she attract her attention and yet warn her? The answer seemed simple—speak loudly in English to the woman driver and ask where she’d like to sit. Everyone in the room would look up, and even if Sasha did react, no one would notice. “Where should we sit? I’m so hungry,” she said.
Every head in the place raised and stared at her. Jeez, this spy stuff wasn’t so hard. Sasha, tears in her eyes, was staring as well. In an hour or two they would meet and pretend to be two strangers . . . but soon they’d become friends, planning on spending the summer together. She walked across the restaurant and sat. Everyone had started eating their food again. She would blow Sasha a kiss if she saw the chance. Oh, why couldn’t she have given birth to a daughter just like her?
A few minutes later she saw Sasha walk toward her. Stay cool, she told herself, and listen carefully. Her new friend was up to something.
“Excuse me, please, but I heard you speak English,” said Sasha. “Are you the lady from America who asked to see me this afternoon? My administrator said you were interested in precious minerals. I would like to introduce myself if you are?” Smiling, she held out her hand.
Standing, Molly returned the smile and shook hands. Act a little pompous but friendly, for the driver’s sake and all the curious people around them. “Why, yes, how good of you to come over,” she answered. “Please join us.”
Sasha smiled again and sat in a nearby chair. “My administrator gave me your name. I’m Sasha Pavlov, director of the Institute of Geology and Geophysics here at Akademgorodok. We are recognized around the world for our research and knowledge, and we think Siberia is the richest place on earth. Wait until you see the things we have learned about our wonderful land.”
The time had come for getting rid of the driver, but how? Sasha had cleverly smoothed the way, but what was the right thing to say? Finally, she said, “I’m so excited about Siberia and its opportunities I wish there was more time to spend, but I mustn’t keep this lady from home too long. She has family and should get back. Could you show me your work right away?”
“Let her go home.” Sasha stood, acting anxious to leave. “I need to drive to Novosibirsk tonight, so let me take you back, and I’d be pleased to buy you dinner.” The driver looked eager to leave as well, since she could get off early with the same pay.
Standing, Molly pulled on her coat, thinking Sasha and she had already become a formidable duo. “Why that would be wonderful.” Facing the driver, she added, “Thank you so much. I’ll see your mother tomorrow and thank her as well. She was so nice.”
They walked away, leaving the driver behind, and marched onto Prospect Lavrentyeva, behaving like two strangers. After a minute, they were alone.
“I’ve missed you so much. Have you heard from Jake and Simon?” asked Molly. “Are they all right?”
“I don’t know. Jake sent an e-mail message that said Simon and he were leaving Anchorage, but I haven’t heard from them since. But it would be impossible for them to communicate with me because they’re crossing the last unexplored place in the world.”
“I wish we could go to Lake Baikal right away and find them,” said Molly. “You look so thin. Haven’t you been well?”
“There’s this man, how do you say in your country, who’s stalking me, and I live in fear every day. My friends tell me he’s the Mafiya godfather of Siberia, and they’re very afraid of him. He sits in his limousine, watches me, yells out the window that I must not ignore him, and says my father is still alive. I’ve prayed months for you to come.”
Cold fear snaked inside Molly’s stomach, and she wondered what she’d gotten herself into with her reckless behavior. What now, Faircloth, she asked herself. Then she had an answer, as insane as it s
eemed.
“Can you get me a pistol, a semiautomatic with an extra clip of ammunition?”
“Yes, on the black market. But what are you going to do?”
Seeing they were alone and feeling like a lonely mother, she wrapped her arms around Sasha and held her. “Kill him if I must, because I’m not going to let you live like this any longer.” Afterward, they cried, sharing their emotions.
Later, they spent the afternoon touring the institute that Sasha directed, studying mineral resource maps, ore samples, rough diamonds, and nuggets of gold, silver, and platinum that the huge facility kept on display. Siberia was rich, but the distances the precious minerals were from civilization were staggering, sometimes thousands of miles. No wonder the District Guard had given up looking for Sasha’s father so fast, Molly told herself. His helicopter had gone down in an area the size of Texas, and that vastness only represented a small part of the wilderness that lay before her. She suddenly felt every fiber in her body screaming for help. Jake and Simon, where are you?
That evening they drove to Sasha’s apartment in her father’s old Volga, each lost in her own thoughts. Molly felt like she’d found the daughter whom she’d never had in real life, and hoped Sasha would grow to love her as much. Emotional compensation, making up for the death of her son, she supposed. The joy of having someone to hold on to, especially in the middle of a foreign country, was wonderful. It didn’t erase her doubts about what to do, but, God willing, by morning she’d have a plan. They would get her bags out of the Hotel Sibir and live together from now on, protecting each other from the trouble around them. She didn’t feel like a temptress now, because this spy stuff had gotten really scary. What did she think she’d do with a pistol once she got one? Are you getting in way over your head, Faircloth?
She gasped when they reached Sasha’s apartment. The poor girl began to unlock four different deadbolts set along a steel door. My God, what a way to live, and no wonder she looked as skinny as a rail. She had lived in fear for weeks. A plan began forming in Molly’s head. “How long before you can buy me a gun?”
Sasha opened her door, and they walked inside. “Maybe the day after tomorrow,” she said. “If you have American dollars to spend everything becomes easy in Russia. But you should know that we will be buying the pistol from the very man I fear so much. He controls the black markets.”
“How often do you see him?”
“He parks outside my building twice a month. His driver tries stopping me, but I stay with my friends and we walk away.”
“Doesn’t Akademgorodok have police officers?”
Sasha huffed in exasperation. “They always seem to be missing when he comes around. He pays them to stay away.”
“Then it’s just his driver and him, no bodyguards?”
“No. Who should he fear?”
“Me.”
Sasha quickly inhaled and stood silent. “What are you going to do?”
“Is there a place where I can hide that’s close to him when he’s waiting in his car?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a building where I can run to for safety?”
“The building I work in.”
“Do you still have your father’s clothing?”
Sasha nodded her head . . . and now her face started brightening. She walked across the apartment and unlocked another door. “This is my father’s bedroom,” she said. “Please take what you need. But we must alter things to fit because you are so much smaller.”
The next morning Molly and Sasha drove to Novosibirsk and picked up her things at the hotel, walked to the consulate and changed her visa, listing Sasha as the sponsor and official guide, then drove back to Akademgorodok, feeling much happier. Afterward, Sasha talked to a friend, who in turn talked to a friend who talked to another friend, and all three said a pistol would not be a problem. In fact, what kind and how many did they want? Heartened, Molly ordered two Glock 19s with laser sights, known worldwide for their reliability and deadly aim.
They rehearsed the ambush for several days, first by locating a thick evergreen next to the curb where the crime boss usually parked, then surreptitiously tramping a footpath through the snow on the far side of the tree to the furnace room on the basement floor of the Geology and Geophysics building. They stayed late one night and built a blind under the same tree, so Molly could hide herself. Finally, on the morning of the planned attack, they unlocked the doors she would need for her escape and bolted the others, spoiling the chance of anyone chasing her. They were all set, presuming the black marketer showed up and waited for Sasha like he had in the past. This time he’d be in for a big surprise.
Just before noon, Molly left Sasha’s upstairs offices and walked down to the furnace room, checked the two men who worked there had left for their midday meal, forced a toothpick into the hall door’s keyhole, and broke off the protruding end. Now no one could enter from the corridor. Next, she stepped inside the furnace room and dug out the men’s coveralls and fur hat that Sasha and she had hidden under a workbench. Glancing at her watch, she pulled her disguise over her clothing and jammed the keyhole on the door that led outside with another toothpick. The spruce tree where Sasha and she’d built the blind stood fifty feet away.
Looking around, she saw only a few people in the distance, and no one seemed to notice her, standing there like a worker. The weight of the pistol and extra clip inside her pocket felt reassuring, and she wondered why she sensed such a deep purpose inside. She walked to her hiding place, again saw no one watching her, and crawled out of sight.
A few minutes passed. Then a long Mercedes drove up and stopped, thirty feet away. A dimwit could hit a dime at this distance, she thought. Her firearm’s instructor had been surprised by her marksmanship with a pistol and laser sight. Problem was . . . paper targets were one thing and humans were another. She had read enough crime stories to understand there was a big difference, though she still felt confident. Maybe because she hated the black-market boss so much.
After a few minutes she saw Sasha walk out the building’s doorway with her friends, then along Prospect Lavrentyeva, heading for the Toadstool, as usual. They came toward her. The rear window of the limousine rolled down, humming its electric sound. Tobacco smoke rolled out and she caught the scent. The driver opened his door and stepped out. God, he looked big. Her hands started trembling. She took a deep breath and held it, sensing her training coming back. Her instructor’s words sounded in her ears—grip the gun with both hands and straighten your arms, activate the laser by pushing the little switch, move the red beam to your target, squeeze the trigger. She fixed the tiny dot on the godfather’s nose and tightened her index finger.
Pow! She felt the pistol kick back and saw the red dot disappear for an instant, flying up with the recoil. The man screamed, his hands clutched his face, and he sank out of sight.
Give the car two more for good measure. She watched the red beam reflect off the opposite side window and tightened her finger twice more. Pow—pow! Holy cow, bulletproof glass. The two rounds had only cracked the far window into spider webs.
Then she saw trouble. The driver had pulled his own pistol and was looking left and right, searching for the shooter.
Hit him in the shoulder and make him drop the gun. She focused the red laser on his chest, swung it over, and pulled the trigger once more. The man spun sideways and his left hand flew up to his collar bone. He screamed. She heard people running and screaming all around the Geology building. Sasha was running, too, pretending to escape with the people who had been startled while walking by. Run like hell yourself, Faircloth, because no one is looking. She raced for the furnace room door, her feet flying.
Ducking inside, she slammed the door and bolted the lock. Nobody could get in unless they broke down the door. She took off her coveralls and hat, opened the furnace, and pitched her pistol and disguise into the fire. She shut the furnace, ran to the hallway door, and peeked out. Several people were down at the far end, hid
ing and peeking out the windows. She set the doorknob so it would lock behind her, closed the door, and crept down the corridor to the women’s toilet. Once inside, she hitched up her skirt, pulled down her panties, and waited. The remaining rounds and extra clip would soon explode, and the rest would be easy because now she really was shivering with fear. Pow . . . pow-pow . . . bang! The ammunition exhausted itself in the furnace. She tore out the bathroom door and up the hallway, screaming, pulling up her panties and lowering her skirt all at once. The people at the end of the hall stared at her, and she saw they felt embarrassed for her and didn’t have the slightest clue. Move over, Jake and Simon, because here I come, ready or not. I know how to pull dangerous stunts as well.
CHAPTER NINE
BRATSK, SIBERIA
The instant Feliks Zorkin read the news about the attempted murder of the godfather of Siberia he knew he’d be blamed. He couldn’t believe his luck—if his luck wasn’t bad, then he didn’t have any at all. Already, the whole Mafiya was searching high and low for him, but now they’d really get serious. Costing the top boss a million rubles might have been worked out, assuming he could have produced the pink diamonds in the end, despite the disaster on the Marcha River, but being suspected of shooting off the godfather’s nose was an entirely different matter. He couldn’t imagine the bounty that would be placed on his head . . . ten million rubles, fifty million rubles. Cut it off, carry it back, and collect—that would be the word passed around Russia, the whole world for that matter. The Mafiya was even strong in America.
His past work with the defunct KGB had saved him so far, and the training he’d received as a young man was now paying off big dividends. He knew where to hide, how to travel, and when to sneak around, even inside the Mafiya, though, ultimately, money would matter the most. Half of the old KGB spies left out in the cold by the failure of communism had gone over to the worldwide mob. Why not? The best money was there, good American dollars, spendable anywhere on earth. He could escape to South America if only he had some . . . Chile, perhaps. He had heard it was beautiful there, except now every previous KGB agent in the world would be hot on his trail. Big bucks were at stake.