To Catch a Traitor

by Shuster, D. B. ;

  “Wait!” Lilya cried. She cut in front of Artur and chased after Edik. “What about these?”

  She held up a pack of cigarettes with English script on them. Marlboro.

  Edik patted the breast pocket of his suit and frowned. “Those are mine.”

  Lilya smiled triumphantly. In a husky voice, she said, “Maybe they’re mine now.”

  “Give them back,” Edik insisted, sounding much like Artur’s four-year-old son.

  “Come back. Sit with me,” she invited.

  Shoulders hunched, Edik skulked after her. He tossed his hat onto the bar and reclaimed the seat he’d prematurely vacated, draping his heavy coat over the back.

  “They’re not yours.” He sulked over the cigarettes.

  “You can get more. Can’t you?”

  “A whole carton,” he confirmed.

  Artur had made an excellent choice in Lilya. She was as good at this work as everyone had said. Already, she’d tricked Edik into admitting he was involved in black market trade. With his revelation that he had access to American cigarettes, Edik had just unwittingly handed them something to use against him if they needed to coerce rather than seduce him to their side.

  “Are you interested?” Edik asked.

  “Oh, I’m very interested,” Lilya said, voice low and full of innuendo. She shimmied for him. As Artur’s own attention diverted to her round, jiggling breasts, he thought no coercion would be necessary.

  But Edik kept his attention riveted to the pack of Marlboros.

  With a sigh, Lilya laid the cigarettes on the bar. Edik seemed immediately to relax once she abandoned her claim to the pack.

  Lilya fluttered her lashes and flashed him her most flirtatious smile. This time when she leaned toward him, she managed to draw his gaze to her lovely body.

  She touched his arm, leaned closer, and lowered her voice so that Artur had to strain to hear. “We could bargain. Couldn’t we?”

  “Sure. We can bargain.” Edik sat up straighter and finally, finally exuded the confidence of a man who understood a woman was interested in him. He took command of their interchange for the first time and asked, “How much?”

  “I’m not a prostitute,” she said as if affronted. Artur snorted softly under his breath. Lilya might have an agent’s title, but in reality, she was little better than a whore—a useful whore who used her services toward a worthy cause, but still a whore.

  “I didn’t say you were.” Edik scratched his nose with his finger. “What would you say to forty rubles?”

  “Forty? That’s offensive!” She drew away, but Artur knew that no matter how offensive Edik might become, Lilya wouldn’t walk away. “I could get at least a hundred.”

  “A hundred? Are you out of your mind?” Edik protested her price. “That’s almost as much as my father gets every month in his pension. Even Sofia can’t get a hundred.”

  Sofia? Who was Sofia? Did Edik have another prostitute that he visited?

  “One hundred,” Lilya insisted. She stuck out her chin in a display of stubborn pride.

  “If you say so, then one hundred it is,” Edik agreed, a little too quickly after his previous outrage. Artur caught himself leaning toward the couple and pulled himself back, but he suffered a strong misgiving that something had just gone wrong. Edik had seemed eager to haggle before, confident even, and outraged at Lilya’s stated price. So why had he suddenly caved in to her demand with no additional fuss?

  “I’m glad you’re so agreeable,” Lilya purred. “I can be agreeable, too.”

  She put her hand on his knee and slid it up his thigh. “Maybe we’ll have to rethink that hundred rubles.”

  Edik jerked away and nearly fell off of his stool. He pushed her hand off of him.

  “Hey! That won’t work on me.”

  “Why not? You feel like a strong, healthy fellow to me,” Lilya simpered.

  Edik frowned at her. “I won’t renegotiate with you now that we’ve got an agreement. Sofia says that’s not good business. One hundred rubles. Or no deal.”

  Again Edik mentioned Sofia. Who was she? Artur didn’t recall her name from the file, and Edik’s briefing hadn’t mentioned a wife or girlfriend.

  Edik eyed Lilya suspiciously. “Do you have the money or not? I don’t do this on credit.”

  “What?” she sputtered. “You want me to pay you?”

  “Why would I pay you?” Edik asked, confused or else doing a good job of pretending to be. “You said you’re not a prostitute. And you offered me a hundred rubles for a carton of cigarettes.”

  A misunderstanding! Artur held in a frustrated sigh as he realized what had happened, why Edik had agreed to Lilya’s price without further haggling. Edik had been asking how much she would pay for the cigarettes, not how much she charged for her services.

  Either their target was a social idiot, or he was brilliantly adroit at dodging snares, the admission of selling items notwithstanding.

  “You’re an idiot!” Lilya shrilled and marched on her tall stilettos to the exit. She wasn’t supposed to leave. Artur wanted to shout at her that she couldn’t give up. She had to try again. But he couldn’t give himself away.

  He also couldn’t give up. He would lose any respect his fellow agents had for him if he did. And Victor would never view him as an equal.

  Artur slid onto the stool beside Edik. “What happened with the woman?”

  “A misunderstanding.” Edik sounded depressed.

  “I could help clear it up. Get her to come back if you want,” Artur offered, trying to get the plan back on track and put Lilya back in position.

  “No,” Edik said adamantly.

  “Why not? She’s very pretty,” Artur wheedled.

  “She’s a prostitute.”

  “Are you sure? What if she isn’t a prostitute? Would you be interested?”

  “No,” Edik said.

  Maybe they needed a different dangle, someone more Edik’s type. Artur fished for information. “What’s the matter? She not your type?”

  “She’s not as pretty as Sofia,” Edik grumbled under his breath.

  “Who’s Sofia?” Artur asked.

  “You ask a lot of questions,” Edik observed and shut down the conversation.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.

  “Same as him,” Artur said. The drink was almost instantly placed before him. “Zdarovya.”

  He raised his glass to Edik, who grunted to acknowledge the toast and then looked away. Artur swallowed the shot of vodka in one burning gulp.

  He contemplated his empty shot glass. He still couldn’t get a read on Edik. Had the man evaded their trap or been too awkward to get himself ensnared?

  Artur thumbed the listening device in his pocket and considered his options. He usually excelled in social situations, but with Edik, his natural charm seemed to be failing him. He had done covert operations, but he had never done undercover work, never been face to face with his target. And he doubted Edik was typical, or else Lilya would already have him upstairs in her hotel room.

  He groped for a way to kindle conversation between them. He couldn’t come up with anything better than a bad pickup line. Finally, he was reduced to asking, “Do you come here often?”

  “Every Wednesday,” Edik said.

  “What’s special about Wednesdays?”

  “Nothing,” Edik said. “That’s just when I come here.” The bartender poured Edik another drink, and Artur lost Edik’s attention to the clear liquid in the man’s glass.

  Edik didn’t seem drunk, but Artur had watched him toss back quite a large quantity of alcohol. Maybe he merely needed to wait for the man to become inebriated, and then he could question him.

  It wasn’t the worst strategy as a last resort, but it was hardly the shining success he needed.

  Once th
e bartender moved off, Artur asked, “Then why here? There are other bars in Moscow.”

  “Like I said, you ask a lot of questions.”

  Blyad! He couldn’t afford to alienate Edik. If only he weren’t so green.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Artur dropped his voice as if imparting a confession. “It’s just that I’m new in town, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to.” He matched Edik’s sullen tone and slouched posture. Sympathy flickered in Edik’s eyes, and Artur sensed he had found a promising avenue. “I moved here for my girlfriend,” he improvised. He mimicked the high voice of his pretend woman. “’I’m so in love with you,’ she said. ‘Come with me to Moscow,’ she said. ‘Move in with me,’ she said. ‘We’ll be so happy.’ And then as soon as I show up—pow!—she takes up with some other guy.”

  “She cheated on you? But you’re so, so…” Edik waved his hand as if he couldn’t find the right words. He leaned against the bar and propped his head in his hand, as if having trouble holding it upright.

  “So Jewish?” Artur supplied, suddenly inspired.

  “You’re Jewish?” Edik blinked at him several times, openly trying to study his face. For what, Artur couldn’t say. He expected the inspection would find him lacking.

  He wasn’t Jewish. He didn’t even know anyone Jewish.

  His closest Jewish connection was that his father once-upon-a-time had a Jewish friend in the army.

  “Says so on my passport,” he lied. “That’s why she broke up with me.”

  “That’s awful,” Edik said and waved to the bartender. “Another drink for the new guy,” he called out. “Whaz your name?”

  Artur was gratified to hear the growing slur in Edik’s consonants. He’d get him drunk, wring whatever information he could from him, and then drag him up to the hotel room and doctor his shoes while he was passed out. Not long now.

  “Koslovsky.” Artur reached for the first and only Jewish name to pop into his head, the name of his father’s friend from his Army days. “Yosef Koslovsky. And you?”

  “Edouard Soifer. They call me Edik.”

  “Nice to meet you, Edik.”

  The bartender delivered them both fresh drinks. They clinked their glasses together. “To new friends,” Artur said, and Edik echoed him.

  Edik drank his shot in one swallow and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “Okay, pal. You’ve had enough for tonight.” The bartender handed Edik a tab.

  Edik bobbed his head in agreement. “Six shots. 170.48 milliliters.”

  What an odd statement, Artur thought.

  “Whatever you say,” the bartender said with patronizing tolerance. Artur wasn’t sure what to make of his target, except that Edik was a little strange.

  “You’re leaving already?” Artur asked, his newest plans crashing to a halt.

  “Reached my limit,” Edik said.

  Edik flipped the bill over and squinted at some handwriting on the back. It looked like a shopping list, cigarettes being one of the items. Edik stuffed the note in his pocket before Artur could glean more.

  “All set?” the bartender asked.

  “All set,” Edik confirmed, and Artur intuited that they weren’t talking about the bar tab.

  Edik pulled out his wallet, revealing a fat stack of rubles. For someone with no job, he was flush with money.

  Artur made note of the money. Finding out where it came from, how the Jewish community continued to be so well funded despite chronic underemployment and the crackdown on Customs, was part of the mystery he’d been charged with solving. He expected to uncover a lot more than a carton or two of black market cigarettes.

  As Edik counted out the bills, Artur palmed the listening device in his pocket. Adept at sleight of hand, he slipped the bug into the cuff of Edik’s fur-lined cap.

  Although better than a coat pocket, the hat cuff wasn’t an ideal hiding place, not nearly as good as the shoe that had been their original plan. In the hat, the device could easily fall out and be discovered.

  “I’ll be back next Wednesday,” Edik called to the bartender as he buttoned up his coat.

  “Molodetz,” the bartender said.

  “Good night.” Edik started to walk away, leaving his hat on the bar counter, once again sidestepping Artur’s snare. Had he seen Artur plant the bug?

  “Hey, wait!” Artur called. “You forgot your hat.” Artur carefully handed the hat to Edik and held his breath, hoping the listening device wouldn’t fall out.

  “Thanks, friend. Sofia would’ve been angry with me if I lost another one.”

  Sofia again. Who was she?

  Edik pulled the hat down low over his fat head. When Artur saw that the device remained safely hidden, he slowly exhaled.

  Artur wasn’t close to getting what he needed out of Edik. He consoled himself that all wasn’t lost. The listening device was planted, if precariously, and he’d gained some new leads.

  Even though he hadn’t been able to wring Edik for information tonight, he could easily find him next week without any trouble and try again, perhaps with another dangle.

  “You want me to show you around Moscow? Introduce you to people?” Edik offered.

  “You mean that?” Artur asked, surprised by his own sudden success. Obviously there was more than one way to seduce a target.

  Chapter THREE

  SOFIA

  DESPITE THE PADDING from her bulky winter coat, Sofia could feel the stranger’s fingers dig into her shoulders. He asked, “Sofia, don’t you recognize me?”

  Painfully thin, shrouded in a tattered coat, his face hidden beneath an unkempt gray beard that hung past his chin, this man was no one she knew. But he also didn’t look like the KGB agents behind her. His bony fingers dug painfully into her shoulders.

  The wind picked up in the station as a subway train approached, offering a new set of avenues for escape and evasion. She wouldn’t get far if she lost herself to panic. She calmed her mind and began to assess her options.

  She studied him, noticing details she had initially missed. He wore no hat, only a slim black skullcap. She’d seen such things before on some of her uncle’s American visitors, the ones whose wives wore long skirts and wigs that reminded her of fake straw. The ones who were religious Jews. But he didn’t have the smugly secure, assured air of the Americans or their butchered, toothy accents. His Russian was perfect.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He cleared his throat as if embarrassed, and his voice had a different quality when he next spoke. “Kolya didn’t recognize me, either.”

  Kolya. Her son. And that voice saying his name. She had waited long years to hear that voice again. “Mendel?”

  It couldn’t be. Her husband was a young man, and there were six months still left in his prison sentence.

  “I’ve come home,” he said loudly, over the sound of the approaching train.

  She gave a cry and threw her arms around him. He was alive—for almost five years she hadn’t been sure of even that much—and home. At last!

  “How is this possible? We weren’t expecting you. Why didn’t anyone tell us?”

  Mendel awkwardly folded his long scarecrow arms around her, as if he didn’t really want to touch her. His mouth pressed close to her ear as the train screeched to a noisy halt. “We’ll talk at home,” he whispered. “It isn’t safe here.”

  She nodded once to show she understood, and he immediately released her.

  He took her by the arm, and they walked together through the train doors. The KGB agents followed.

  Mendel nudged her into an empty seat. Although there was another beside her, he didn’t sit. Instead, he stood in front of her, as if to shield her. He cut his gaze to the KGB agents, and she immediately understood they were there for him.

  For him. Not for her.

  He’d had a
contingent of watchers before he’d been arrested, too.

  Like her father’s detail, they added a layer of complication and danger, but she had experience evading them.

  Surreptitiously, she checked the tote bag tucked firmly against her side, assuring herself that the work pants were still there, undisturbed, neatly folded. She would have liked to pat the pocket to make sure the Tropel was still hidden there, but she couldn’t risk inadvertently drawing the agents’ attention where she least wanted it.

  She wasn’t in the clear yet. She still needed to hide the Tropel until she could get it to her contact, but she breathed a little easier.

  Her worst fear hadn’t come to pass. They hadn’t somehow learned of her espionage and set a trap for her. They hadn’t suddenly turned their sights to her. She hadn’t attracted any new attention or suspicion.

  And now Mendel was home.

  She stared up at him in wonder, scarcely believing he was here. How many nights had she prayed for his safe return?

  She cataloged the changes in him, trying to reconcile his appearance with that of the dashingly handsome man who’d swept her off her feet.

  She could still see the hints of him, but she had to look hard. There were deep crags around his eyes, a sallow tinge to his now baggy skin, and a stoop to a frame that used to stand almost arrogantly straight and tall. But his eyes still shone with the same bright intelligence, and his lips still held the same darkly sensuous curve. He still had a head full of hair, although it was thinner now and streaked through with gray.

  The physical changes didn’t matter, not really. They made her wonder what he had suffered, but they didn’t trouble her overmuch. They didn’t change the intensity of her love for him, a love that had burned brightly through the long years of their separation.

  The important thing was that he was home now. At last. Maybe different. But alive and safe!

  She was impatient to hold him, to talk to him, to restart the life they’d both had to put on hold when he was taken.

  She stood at the next stop, but he signaled for her to sit back down. “Kolya’s spending the night with your parents. They thought we could use the privacy.”