As she pulled the old dress over her head, wincing at the pain in her shoulder, she felt a touch of sudden awkwardness, as though she were donning a costume not her own. She had spent so much time living as a boy that the skirt swirling around her legs felt foreign to her--a coarse pretense of femininity. It brought her back to a time before, a version of her completely removed from the person she had grown into. She hated that. Thinking about her childhood was always painful, but at least she had found another person who had shouldered a tiny piece of that burden.
Which brought her back to the one thing she absolutely had to do. She had only so much time left, for who knew when that mutinous wretch would make his next attempt on Vesa’s life? Who was he, and why was he doing this?
No, it didn’t matter. The only important thing was to find Vesa and help him. No matter who threatened him, rebel or traitor, she would protect him with the life she had snatched back from the jaws of death. She would heal, prepare, and plan.
There must be a road nearby, she reasoned, since people use this summerhouse. On the fourth day, once the weather was clear, she layered all the clothing that wasn’t too bloodstained or destroyed and packed a small bag with a few useful tools from the cabin. With that, Kaija ventured once more into the outside world.
The sun shone upon the snow, melting it into a glittering crust that supported her weight. As she walked over the icy hills, enjoying the silence of the winter woods, she favored her injured leg a bit, but felt surprisingly alert and strong. A few birds bantered back and forth above her, and off in the distance, the harsh croaking of a raven; she occasionally heard the heavy thud of a bough relieving itself of its burden. After an hour or so of walking, she crossed a set of bear tracks, and instead of feeling nervous, took their discovery as an auspicious sign.
It was then that she heard the approaching rumble of a diesel engine.
She scrambled down the hill, and sure enough, she saw the logging road through a strand of birches, and a train of flatbed trucks with cargos of lumber. She managed to flag down the last truck, and the driver slowed and cranked down his window.
“Whoa there, miss. What’s the trouble?”
She was once again reminded of how strange it felt to be dressed as a woman.
“You folks going toward Vainola?” she asked, hoping that he wouldn’t be suspicious about her plight. He had kind eyes and a bearded, paternal face.
“Roughly thereabouts. Need a lift?”
Kaija smiled. “Thanks. Got snowed in,” she said, and climbed up into the cab.
**
Her first morning back in the city, Kaija sat waiting for a garbage truck. As she looked up at the looming walls of the Chairman’s residence, she wondered if she should question the feasibility of her plan. To come so close--having survived being captured, shot, and frozen--and yet fail at the last minute was almost too terrible to contemplate.
What the hell, she reassured herself. I’ve made it this far--I’ll add one more stupid risk to the pile. She had awakened on the bank of the river of death and was past being scared. She sat, waiting for an unwitting ride to the end of her journey.
The filthy green truck pulled up to the curb, its engine stuttering in the cold. After the man jumped down to collect the bins on the other side of the street, she snuck around behind him; she swung herself up on the handles attached to the side of the truck, and slipped under the foul tarpaulin they covered the refuse with to keep the crows at bay. As she landed on the slippery truck bed, the tear in her leg complained; she felt the scab crack and begin to ooze into its bandage. She ignored it. Already committed to her mission, there was nothing she could do about it now.
She peered through the gap under the tarp to see what the garbage man was up to, watching him wrangle two industrial bins single-handedly across the pavement. He looked young and brawny and Kaija hoped to avoid any altercation with him, as she would surely fare poorly in her weakened state. She shrank away as he emptied the bins, cringed at the thud of frozen organic matter, and breathed a sigh of relief when the truck lurched forward again. For the first time in months, she was grateful for the cold--it kept the stench down.
A minute later, the truck stopped and she heard the voices of the guards. She tensed at the possibility of an inspection, but this coming and going appeared to be routine, as they did only a cursory review of the driver’s pass before she heard the gate drag open.
She had breached the complex.
Kaija waited until the truck slowed and she heard the rattle of the metal bin lids before peeking out again. They had pulled up alongside the service entrance to the building, which had been propped open for the burly garbage collector to haul the slop pans from the kitchen. The moment the man vanished, she slipped from the back of the truck and darted down the dark corridor.
But once inside the house, she had no idea how to actually find Vesa. She knew a blind search was yet another risk, but if she was caught before she tracked him--well, she’d make sure her message got to him one way or another. She was prepared to make a big enough scene to blow the plot wide open before the guards carted her off to her demise.
But where to begin? To her left, the door to what she assumed was the kitchen released light, steam, and voices.
“The Estonian Minister of Education doesn’t care for Brussels sprouts, see? Written right there...”
“Oh, oh, careful of that butter--you’re going to burn it!”
“Where are my damn egg whites? How many times... Just hurry it up!”
Judging from the snippets of conversation, a state dinner was in the works. She peeked around the corner into a small preparation area, where a long row of aprons hung along the wall. It reminded her of the print shop, the bustle and heat not far removed from what she was accustomed to.
Silver trays of pastries were lined up on the table: cloudberry tarts and iced cakes, cardamom cookies and tiny blancmange. As she looked at the trays, inspiration struck. She hastily removed her ragged coat and stowed it under a table, knowing that she wouldn’t need it again. She was all in--there would be no running this time.
She picked one tray up, causing the intricately arranged deserts to jiggle and shift. Back ramrod straight, eyes forward and head held high, she hoped her black dress wasn’t dirty enough to arouse suspicion. She walked out the kitchen door with her tray full of sweets and began to climb the stairs.
As she opened the door to the main hallway, Kaija had to force herself not to stare. She had heard that this palace was a holdover from when Russian nobility had ruled over Kalevia; even after being confiscated in the civil war by the newly independent Kalevian state, its czarist decadence seemed relatively unchanged. Kalevians no longer built like this, this obscene Rococo opulence with gilt and mirrors draped with rich brocade. The place would never feel like a Communist stronghold, no matter how many hammer-and-sickle crests and portraits of prominent Socialists they peppered across the walls.
There must be a hundred rooms in this place, she thought in despair.
Keep moving, she told herself. Even if you have no idea where to go. The moment you pause, they’ll start to get curious.
There were people everywhere--mostly lower-level staff busily preparing for the day ahead. From what she could glean from nearby conversations, the delegation from the ESSR would be arriving that afternoon to stay as guests in the residence of the Chairman for the Punaiset Day celebrations. A statuesque woman with a clipboard stood in the middle of a group of housekeepers, fielding questions while looking increasingly harried. Seeing her chance, Kaija steeled herself and slipped into the crowd.
“These need to go to Vesa Uusitalo’s room?” she said, voicing it as a timid question.
The administrator rolled her eyes.
“Take them upstairs, then. Blue Room, third floor.” She gestured impatiently with her hands when Kaija didn’t immediately vanish. “Over there. Go.”
Kaija didn’t need to be told again. She continued her journey through th
e golden hallways, her combat boots clunking on the marble floor. A handful of stone-faced guards passed by, surrounding an elderly dignitary. She felt sure she was going to do something to give herself away, but she kept her eyes down and held the tray steady, and they barely even glanced in her direction.
Walk like you belong here. Think like you belong here.
“Wait a minute.”
Kaija stiffened, and turned around slowly. The politician had brought his guard to a halt and was staring right at her, his teeth gritted around a Cuban cigar.
“Me?”
He was already walking toward her, a wicked smile on his face.
Do I run? Is it over?
He leaned in, removed the cigar from his mouth, and took a big sniff, sucking air noisily through his nose.
The garbage, Kaija thought, every muscle in her body clenching. I’m done for.
He selected a petit four from the tray and winked.
“You saw nothing,” he said, baring his nicotine-stained teeth in a horsey grin as he dispatched the thing in one bite. With that, he ambled back to his entourage, licking the crumbs from his fingers.
Kaija slipped into the back stairwell to collect herself. It took a full five minutes for her heartbeat to settle down to a point where it was no longer painful, and then--slowly--she began to climb.
There were a few doors on the third floor in the eastern wing, so all she could do was try them all. Balancing the tray on one hand, she tried the first handle. She was so close, so terribly close to her goal.
Please, let this be...
The room was painted blue, with tiny gilt stars sprinkled across the walls and delicate drawings of the zodiac decorating the wainscot. A young man reclined in the window seat, his back toward the door, one knee drawn up toward his chest in a manner of soulful contemplation.
“Vesa?” Kaija called out softly.
He turned...
“Who the hell are you?” asked a rude voice to her right.
She spun to face the dark-haired man, the shock shooting all the way to her fingertips. His face lit up for a moment in a terrifying lupine grin before fading into consternation.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, a searching look in his eyes. “Then... Wait. Wait a second, you’re...”
Before Kaija could react, she suddenly saw another face over his shoulder--a face graced with soft blond eyebrows, now raised in clear surprise. A face she’d last seen addressing a crowd in a lantern-lit barn.
It was him. The gentle supporter whispering in the dark of a farm truck, the fiery ally of the rebel cause, now traitorously dressed in the gray of the Kalevian guard.
“You’re alive!” Agent Valonen exclaimed, his eyes widening under a military cap.
She did the only thing she could think to do under the circumstances.
She threw the tray at them.
The pastries arced magnificently through the air as they soared at the two men. She barely had time to register their sublime look of surprise and dismay before she was off, the crash of breaking china at her heels.
She bolted back into the service stairwell and leapt down the stairs four at a time, pushing off from the walls as she heard the echoes of their footsteps a few flights above in hot pursuit. Adrenaline muted the pain of her wound. When she hit the ground floor hall, she saw the service entrance was still propped open at the end of the tunnel, the garbage truck just beyond. She had no plan, but she ran for the exit, her mind shutting down in a pure flight reaction. If she could just get out...
Kaija had just passed through a door when an arm shot out and clotheslined her.
In the span of a second, she was expertly spun against a broad body, and found a thick arm flexed around her neck with her own wrenched painfully behind her.
“I thought I saw someone!” exclaimed a new voice. “What do you think you’re doing, ah?” The arm constricted around her neck.
This was it. It was over.
“Gotta...message...” she managed to choke out.
“Don’t fuck with me!” the man hissed. “I used to be in the guard!”
She shoved back against him, freeing her windpipe just enough say the only thing that mattered.
“Vesa’s in danger!”
Kaija felt the man freeze. He went so still that she could feel the pounding of his heart against her back.
“What did you just say?” he asked, his grip on her relaxing.
“The Chairman’s son is in terrible danger.” Kaija held her voice as calm as she could. “Please, God, you have to believe me. Just promise me that you’ll get that message to him.”
She saw the stairwell door at the end of the hall fly open; her pursuers rushed into the hallway. The arm finally released its hold on her.
She spun to her captor, and found that he was none other than the garbage collector. She looked up at his wide eyes in a desperate plea.
“Tell him Kaija told you. He’ll know. He’ll--”
A hand grabbed her arm. She whipped around and swung a fist.
The dark-haired man from Vesa’s room lurched back so her punch met empty air. He scowled and heaved her toward the garbage man, his firm grip on her arm more terse than threatening--as if he were a teacher dealing with a petulant child.
“What,” he said sourly, “the ever-living fuck.”
Agent Valonen was only a few steps behind. “Well done stopping her,” he called, pulling a dollop of buttercream out of his hair. “Good work.”
Kaija’s panic hardened into rage. “Traitor!” she growled at him. “You sold us out! You--”
“No, no! You see, what happened was...”
Kaija tensed to attack, but suddenly the dark agent’s eyes snapped up to the garbage man behind her.
“Shit, I know you. Miska?”
“Mika,” the garbage man corrected him. “And this girl mentioned Vesa.”
Agent Valonen and his companion shared a meaningful look.
“Please, listen to me,” Valonen begged Kaija. “It’s important. You know Vesa Uusitalo?”
He stared at her with his gentle gray eyes, and the hard edges of her panic softened. Kaija’s mind abandoned revenge as it fell back onto her mission. There was something about this man, even wrapped in the dreaded uniform of the enemy, that evaded her defenses.
“Is something...going to happen to him?” Valonen asked.
In her mind, Valonen became the comforting voice in the dark once more, urging her not to despair at the fate of her beloved. She clenched her teeth.
In a desperate plunge, she abandoned her anger and clung to the slight possibility that he spoke truth--that his appearance with the enemy wasn’t due to a betrayal. That he could help her. That they could save Vesa.
Her heart reached out for the glimmer of light in the black.
She nodded. “Yes. You have to...”
The dark agent’s hand squeezed her shoulder--this time in reassurance.
“I think we need to talk.”
Chapter 12
“He said what to you?”
Agent Chernyshev stared at Kaija, his eyes narrowed with disgust.
“Kill the hostage.”
“Well, son of a bitch!” Chernyshev struck one of the bare pipes on the wall, producing a hollow clang. “I knew something was up with that fucker!”
“Why would he--ow!” Kaija flinched away from the disinfectant-soaked gauze in Agent Valonen’s hand.
“Sorry,” he said. He looked up sheepishly, but continued to swab the crusted blood from her thigh.
The hot steam of the industrial laundry down the corridor wafted in through the vents, leaving the storage room in the Chairman’s basement damp and smelling of soap flakes. Kaija sat on a pile of bags full of dirty linens, her skirt hiked up to her haunches, Valonen crouched beside her as he dug through a med kit. If it had been anyone else, she could see herself pulling her baggy dress awkwardly around her legs, concealing her wounded body like an animal--but Valonen had none of t
he predatory qualities she ascribed to other men. She felt no need to hide weakness from him. Besides, something about the steady, benevolent gaze of his eyes made her feel as though deception was futile.
Chernyshev, however, was a different story. He stalked about the room, both flippant and deadly serious in the same breath, his aloof persona belied by a quiet rage that threatened to erupt at every reminder of Kuoppala’s plot. He made Kaija incredibly nervous--a beautiful, unsettling person whose glare made her shrink with inexplicable discomfort.
“Ever since the kidnapping, all anybody can talk about at headquarters is his fucking task force.” Agent Chernyshev gestured impatiently. “Chairman Uusitalo’s just sitting there, letting him do whatever he wants...”
“A consolidation of power.” Agent Valonen finished dressing Kaija’s leg, and snapped the kit shut with a decisive flick of his wrist. “Manipulating the rebels into attacking someone close to the Chairman, then using it as an excuse to expand his own control.”
“‘Desperate times, desperate measures,’ and all that.”
“Precisely.”
“It’s brilliant. The man rivals our own.” Chernyshev saw the affronted expression on Valonen’s face and gave a bitter little laugh. “No, I don’t mean yours. Mine.”
“He’s not like you,” Valonen argued quietly. “Not even.”
Kaija had begun to lose the thread of the conversation. As she watched Valonen place a hand on Chernyshev’s shoulder to reassure him, she was struck by the odd tenderness that passed between them. The unlikely comrades conferred with each other in hushed tones that reminded her of lovers, and she looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“So neither of you knew about this?” asked Kaija, trying to steer them back to the matter at hand.
“We had our suspicions,” Valonen said, shaking his head. “But nothing definite. Until now.”
Chernyshev bristled. “I should have seen it! It’s been staring me in the face the whole goddamn time! And where’s Mika with the uniforms?” he finished, just as a knock came at the door. They all jumped.
“They were right where you said they would be.” Mika stooped to enter the door, head bowed to avoid the ducts that ran across the low ceiling of the basement. Three dress uniforms, fresh from the steam press, hung over his arm. “Too bad some of the boys are gonna miss out on the festivities tonight.”
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