The Forbidden Zone

by Michael Hetzer

It took a moment, but the boy finally saw her and pointed. The trawler churned a slow arc in her direction, its bow crashing against the waves, the staccatoputt-putt of its engine growing steadily louder in Katherine’s ears. Katherine was weakening now, and it was all she could do to keep her head above water. At last, the boy threw a life preserver into the water. It bobbed with the waves, impossibly small, impossibly far away in the cold confusion of the sea. With the last of her strength, she swam toward it and slipped her arms through. The boy reeled her in like a fish.

  The boy pulled her over the side of the trawler, and she collapsed onto the deck like a mackerel. She lay on her stomach, spitting sea water onto the deck. She gasped desperately for air. She had never been so tired in all her life.

  She lay like that a long time, until her breathing grew steady and her strength returned. Then she rolled over and looked up into the astounded faces of the two Finns.

  The old man looked to be about sixty, while the boy was no more than twelve.

  “You almost drowned,” said the boy in English.

  English!

  Katherine didn’t answer. She rested another minute and then lifted herself up enough to peer over the bow. TheEstonia was about a quarter-mile away and fading. She fell back onto the deck.

  “My name is Katherine Sears,” she said in English. “I am an American citizen.”

  The boy and the old man stared at her, their mouths agape.

  “Take me to shore,” she said.

  “That’s where we are going,” said the boy.

  40

  The Aeroflot jet reached the gate at Helsinki’s airport, and the pitch of the engines’ whine began to fall.

  Cameron Abbott unfastened his seat belt and jumped to his feet. An Embassy limousine was waiting on the “Arrivals” curb, and if he hurried, he could still beat theEstonia to the port. He had just bent over to retrieve his briefcase from the floor when someone plowed into him so hard that he was thrown forward into the narrow space between the seats.

  A stewardess appeared over him. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously. “That pig — he just bowled you over!”

  Cameron struggled back to his feet and looked up the aisle in time to see an enormous Russian turn out the cabin door.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  The stewardess looked both ways conspiratorily and then raised her index finger to her lips.

  Cameron understood.

  KGB.

  Outside the airport, General Yuri Belov jumped into the passenger seat of a Russian Zhiguli sedan with diplomatic plates. His enormous stomach pressed against the front of the dashboard, and he shifted a moment trying vainly to get comfortable. Two other men were in the car — both KGB agents employed as diplomats at the Embassy.

  “To the port. Fast!” Belov barked.

  “There’s been a change, comrade general,” said the man behind the wheel. “The American is no longer aboard theEstonia.”

  Belov’s face flushed red. He tried to speak, but his throat had tightened into a knot. All that came out was a hiss like air leaking out of a tire.

  41

  Katherine was on the deck of the trawler shivering beneath three blankets when the speedboat appeared. She clutched a thermos cup of tea and watched fatalistically as the boat closed with the speed of a bloodhound pursuing an escaped convict. As it neared, a loudspeaker called out in Finnish.

  “What’s he saying?” Katherine asked the boy, her voice trembling from the cold.

  “They want to board us.”

  Katherine knew that by coming aboard the trawler, she had legally passed into Finnish territory. All that remained was to convince Finnish authorities of her true citizenship.

  “Tell your grandfather to do exactly what they say.”

  The trawler slowed. The police boat, with two men in uniform aboard, came alongside. A tall Finnish policeman leaped into the trawler and went directly to Katherine.

  “You are under arrest by the authority of the republic of Finland,” he said in Russian. He spun her around and cuffed her hands behind her back.

  “My name is Katherine Sears. I’m an American citizen.”

  He didn’t reply. He led her to the side of the boat and the second policeman steadied her as she climbed out of the trawler. She sat down on a cushioned bench in the bow of the speedboat. Katherine looked up at the boy and the old man.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, and then she was off again, racing toward shore.

  After ten minutes, they drew up to the end of a long pier. A half-dozen Finnish policemen and three men in poorly fitting suits were waiting for them. One of the policemen tied the boat’s bow line to a cleat. The other helped Katherine out of the boat onto the wooden pier.

  She was in Finland.

  A husky man in a police uniform stepped forward. He had a blond beard and the air of command.

  “I am Lieutenant Pose of the Finnish police,” he said in passable Russian. “Yekatarina Yurgina, you are under arrest.”

  “My name is Katherine Sears. I am an Amer — ”

  “You are charged with attempting an illegal entry into Finland.”

  To her left, Katherine heard someone speaking Russian. She turned to face the men in suits. The man in front looked familiar. He was the man she had seen smoking on Baba Krista’s porch, the day before.

  Katherine addressed him in Russian, “Good evening, General Belov. Have a nice flight?”

  “How did you know my name?” he demanded in Russian.

  Lieutenant Pose observed the exchange and turned to Belov. “What’s going on? What are you saying to her?”

  “I’m an American citizen,” said Katherine in English.

  “She’s lying,” said one of the Russian diplomats in English. “She’s Latvian. Check her papers.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll handle this matter without Soviet interference.”

  “This woman is wanted by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics in connection with a murder,” said the diplomat. “I will not leave her side until she is turned over to Soviet authorities.”

  “The passport is counterfeit,” said Katherine. “I’m not Soviet. I’m American.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said the Russian diplomat.

  “Call the consulate. Check it out. My name is Katherine — ”

  “Shut up!” hissed Belov in Russian.

  Lieutenant Pose said something in Finnish to his men. A policeman took her shoulder, and they all started up the pier.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Katherine protested, but they weren’t listening.

  Belov came in behind her and whispered, “You came a long way for nothing.”

  His sour breath warmed her neck, but it inspired no action. Wounded and exhausted, Katherine was beaten. If the Finns were determined to hand her over to the Russians, then there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  At that moment, a black limousine screeched to a stop at the end of the pier. A man in a blue suit leaped out and ran toward them. He was short with wire-framed glasses.

  “Hold it!” he cried in English, his tie flying. “Stop right there!”

  Katherine’s heart leaped. She knew that voice. “Cameron!”

  He held a diplomatic passport in front of him and said, “I am from the American Embassy! This woman is an American citizen!”

  “She’s Soviet. I have her passport.”

  “It’s a fake.”

  “She is under arrest!” said Belov. “She is going back to Moscow.”

  “Shut up!” barked Lieutenant Pose.

  “I was just saying that — ”

  “I know what you were ‘just saying.’ This is a Finnish matter. This woman is in Finnish custody.” He turned to Cameron. “What were you saying?”

  “She’s American. I insist that you release her into my custody.”

  “He’s lying!” cried Belov.

  Lieutenant Pose’s eyes bulged. “I told you to shut your mouth!” He shook his h
ead, exasperated, and took a deep breath. “As far as the lady’s nationality is concerned, she could be bloody Martian for all I care. She attempted an illegal entry into Finland. It’s really not at issue.”

  “But it is!” said Cameron. “If she’s American then no crime has been committed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Belov was yelling at the diplomat in Russian. All the diplomat could get out was a feeble, “Don’t listen to him.”

  Lieutenant Pose glared at the three Russians. “One more word out of you and I’ll take the cuffs off of her right now.” He turned back to Cameron. “You were saying?”

  “American citizens have the right to apply for an entry visa upon arrival in Finland. Is that not correct?”

  “It is.”

  “I would like to apply for a visa now,” said Katherine.

  Lieutenant Pose nodded slowly. “He’s right. Her nationality is an issue. But first, we must establish — ”

  “This is insane,” said the diplomat, throwing his hands in the air. “We have international treaties that require you to hand her over to the Soviet Union! This woman is an American spy and I am not leaving Finland without her!”

  Lieutenant Pose gaped at the diplomat. “Youacknowledge that she is American?”

  The diplomat seemed to realize his mistake. “I acknowledge nothing. As I said, I have orders to bring her — ”

  Lieutenant Pose turned to Belov and said in English, “Finland is a nation of laws, comrade. I am releasing this woman into the custody of the Americans until her identity has been sorted out.”

  “You can’t just let her go!” the diplomat cried.

  “I’m not letting her go,” said Lieutenant Pose, irritated. “She will be free under a restraining order that forbids her — ”

  “Restraining order!” the diplomat groaned.

  Lieutenant Pose went on. “ — from leaving Finland until it has been determined whether or not she is guilty of a crime. If she is, she will be taken back into custody.”

  “This is nonsense!” the diplomat shouted. “I order you to arrest her.”

  Lieutenant Pose ignored him and motioned to one of his men to remove the cuffs. The man pulled a small key out of his pocket. He went around behind Katherine.

  Belov cried out in Russian, “Get her!”

  The two Russians leaped at Katherine. Before anyone could react, one man had hold of Katherine’s legs while the other had her shoulders. They started to drag her away.

  “Are you crazy!” cried Lieutenant Pose. “Put her down!”

  But the men were already moving away with Katherine in their arms. She was still handcuffed, so she could only wriggle her body in her own defense. The pain in her ribs was like a knife. If the Russians could get her to their car. . . . God, it was the courtyard in Moscow all over again.

  “Stop them!” Cameron cried. “They’re kidnapping her!”

  Lieutenant Pose gave a signal and the policemen charged at the Russians. Pose raised his baton and brought it down with a crack on the head of the man who held Katherine’s feet. He collapsed to the ground. Belov rushed at Pose. The big Finn raised his baton again. Belov froze.

  “Soviet arrogance!” Lieutenant Pose spat.

  The Russians were outnumbered three to six, and in seconds the Finns had them pinned to the ground. Cameron stood off to the side, watching with wide eyes. Katherine got back to her feet and went around behind Pose, hiding like a child behind her mother.

  “Oy!” cried the Russian diplomat. His back was being stabbed by the knees of the Finnish policeman atop him. “That hurts! Let me go, you idiot! I have diplomatic immunity.”

  Lieutenant Pose nodded, and the policemen got off the men. The Russians scrambled to their feet and faced the six Finnish policemen, who now formed a line between the Russians and Katherine. The Russian who had been struck by Pose’s baton massaged his head behind the ear.

  Belov glared at Lieutenant Pose. The general’s hair was tousled, and his face was as red as a ripe tomato. “You’re making a big mistake,” he said in Russian. The diplomat translated and together they all stormed away. They piled into a Zhiguli sedan and sped off.

  A policeman uncuffed Katherine. She massaged her wrists.

  “Are you all right?” asked Lieutenant Pose.

  “I think I may have broken some ribs,” she said.

  “We’ll get that checked out,” said Cameron.

  “You may go with him,” said Pose, motioning to Cameron. “I won’t hold you. But you are forbidden to leave Finland until this is sorted out. Understand?”

  Katherine nodded.

  “Come on,” said Cameron. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He led her to the black limousine parked at the end of the pier. She got in first and slid over. He sat down beside her.

  He closed the door, and the chauffeur pulled away.

  “Well, that was exciting,” said Cameron.

  “You got my message,” said Katherine.

  “Yes,” he said. “Apparently, your Russian friends did, too.” He chuckled. “I sat beside that man you called General Belov all the way from Moscow.”

  “They almost got me,” said Katherine.

  Cameron nodded gravely. “I was at the port when we heard you had jumped ship. I came here as fast as I could.”

  Katherine couldn’t think of what to say.

  Cameron said, “By the way, it may interest you to know that this car is considered American soil.”

  “Really?”

  He put out his hand. “So permit me to be the first one to say, ‘Welcome to the U.S.A., Katherine Sears.’”

  42

  It was midnight in Moscow, and the mighty bells of the Kremlin tower clanked out their signature melody. Then, solemnly, the clock counted the hour.

  In her office, Yevgenia Perova listened as the twelfth gong tolled and fell silent. She sighed. At any minute, General Belov and Anatoly Podolok would step through her door to discuss the execution of her son Anton.

  The unthinkable had happened — the American had escaped. It didn’t matter that Belov’s incompetence was at fault. Katherine’s secret was now in the West, and sooner or later, it would make its way back east to KGB Director Oleg Shatalin. Then he would find Anton in Little Rock, and the truth about the man with the stub nose would come to light. They would all be ruined.

  Yevgenia was beyond caring about her own career, but Podolok and Belov would never allow Anton to jeopardize their secret. Katherine’s escape was the signature on Anton’s death warrant.

  How had it come to this?

  She found herself thinking about her husband. Boris would have known. He had been a flawed man, a drunk, but he had a gentle common sense she missed. And needed. She remembered something Victor had said a few months back — he had called herkrestyanochka, “the little peasant girl.” Boris had coined the secret endearment back when they were still teenagers. Later, she thought he did it to get under her skin, something he could do better than anyone. Now Yevgenia saw that there was more to it than that — he was reminding her of her roots: her parents who fled the famines of the 1930s to settle in Leningrad; the squalor of their proletarian ghetto; the wretched life of a Soviet textile worker.

  Then came the war . . . and the siege. Something happened to Yevgenia as she watched her neighbors, her friends, her teachers starve, while she secretly collected rats in the sewers. She supposed it was there, down in the sewers, that she invented the Iron Perova.

  Where had thekrestyanochka gone? Yevgenia looked into herself, and she could find nothing of the little peasant girl. All that was left was the Iron Perova.

  When had fiction become fact?

  All these years she had told herself she needed no one, just the Communist party, the socialist cause, but now she feared she was wrong. She longed to talk to Victor about it. Only a year ago, they had lived together under the same roof. Now, she could never talk to him again. He would find out what she had done, and he
would never forgive her.

  It was time to face the truth — she had made a mistake that night when General Belov called from Leningrad about Anton. And now she was doomed to pay for it with the loss of both of her sons.

  She reached into her desk and pulled out a framed picture of her family standing beside a canoe on Lake Sini, the same picture Victor had kept on his desk at SAPO. She rubbed her thumb over the faces — Boris . . . Victor . . . Anton. How happy they all looked. She had always secretly sympathized with Anton’s campaign to rescue that lake, a passion almost certainly connected to his romantic memories of that summer. Of course, even then, there had been problems: fights with headstrong Anton and arguments with Boris about his drunkenness. But somehow the summer in that picture had been different. For a few weeks they had been a family like other families — no demanding ideologies, no meddling Marxist theory — just blood ties binding together four very different people. The writings of Lenin were Yevgenia’s bible, yet it occurred to her with a start that, in all forty-four volumes, not a single word celebrated the simple wonder of the family.

  Her hands began to tremble, and she felt as though she were about to cry. It had been ages since she wept, and she was terrified. She stared at the picture waiting for the tears. She waited, but they didn’t come.

  After a while, her hand grew steady again, and she put down the picture. Her thoughts went to that evening ten months ago when she first encountered the man with the stub nose.

  It had begun with a phone call.

  I’ll get it,” said Yevgenia, and she put down her book. Victor was at his desk writing a note to Katherine Sears about his survey.

  Yevgenia put the phone to her ear. “Allo?”

  “Comrade Perova. Sorry to bother you at home. My name is General Belov.”

  “Who?”

  “Belov. I’m calling from Leningrad. I’m with the security organs, you understand?”

  He was KGB. “Go on.”

  “We have a bit of a problem up here. It involves your son.”

  “Which one?”

  “Anton. Naturally, I called you the second I realized who he was. I’m afraid the situation is rather . . . delicate.”