Rift Zone

by Raelynn Hillhouse

  “Need help?” Summer said.

  “Take point.”

  Within a few seconds, Summer reached the door at the bottom of the stairs. He pushed the latch down. From the expression on his face, Faith understood someone was opening it from the other side. In a single movement, Summer stepped back, kicked the door open and fired into the surprised sentry’s forehead. He crumpled to the floor, his weapon falling from his limp fingers.

  Summer scooped up the gun and stepped over the body. Faith hesitated until Zara nudged her. She hugged the doorframe to scoot around him. They raced through the lobby. No sign of backups was visible through the double glass doors, so they ran from the building toward the car. Zara veered toward the guard shack.

  “Pick me up on the way. I have to get his security log,” Zara said.

  Summer hopped into the car and drove to the gate.

  Zara slumped against the guard shack, logbook in hand. Faith jumped from the car and helped her inside, where she collapsed into the seat. Tires screeched as Summer pulled through the gate. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “I need fluids and something to eat. It’s bleeding again.”

  “Here. I lifted a Snickers from a desk drawer.” Faith handed her the candy.

  “Which way?” Summer said as the car roared down the empty street.

  “Get off the main road. Turn left into this alley.” Zara ripped open the bar and threw the wrapper onto the cluttered floorboard.

  “Let’s go back to the orphanage to regroup. I need to see my mother.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  NADEZHDA ORPHANAGE, MOSCOW

  1:30 A.M.

  “Lordy, lordy.” Margaret shook her head when she saw the three of them; it wouldn’t have surprised her if they had been in Hades, wrestling the devil himself for the Keys to the Kingdom. Faith and Summer were a fright, and the Russian girl was pressing bloody rags against her arm. Faith took a step toward her and then stopped herself. She tensed up. Margaret examined her face. She recognized the look in her little girl when her eyes were begging to express something she didn’t know how to say. “Sweet pea, is there something you want to tell me?”

  Faith nodded, tears filling her eyes. She took a deep breath and held it. “Forgive me,” she said as she burst into tears and grabbed her mother in a desperate hug.

  “Thank You, Jesus,” Margaret whispered over and over again as she held her daughter for the first time in more than fifteen years.

  “Mama, I understand now why you always acted the way you did toward me. I was a constant reminder of how you’d strayed—a curse from God.” Faith stopped crying and stepped away from her. “I know about Daddy.”

  “Honey, I was young. I didn’t understand like I do now that you’re God’s greatest gift to me. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s happened, happened.”

  “You should know we were engaged, or I thought we were. I was on my first mission abroad in Berlin—that was before the Wall went up. Yurij was a communist zealot, and he pretended to let me lead him to the Lord. He was so suave, so cosmopolitan; I fell for him like a lovestruck schoolgirl. When he found out you were on the way, he confessed he was married and working undercover for the Stasi. He broke my heart and I know I did his, too. Yurij’s not the kind of man who would blow his cover even if his life depended on it, but he did for me. The hardest thing was that we had to play it out for several more weeks so the Stasi didn’t find out he had up and told me. It would’ve ruined his career.”

  “Why did you ever do that?” Zara interrupted.

  “I was afraid of him for both myself and my baby. Nothing comes between that man and his climb to the top. I woke up one morning and he was gone and a little note was on the pillow: ’We never had a chance, but we made ourselves one.’ That man had the heart of a poet. I kept that note in my Bible for years until one day it disappeared.”

  “I took it, Mama, years ago. I’m sorry. I’d watched you read it and finger it and I knew it was from Daddy. I wanted something from him, some connection to him.”

  “I know you did, honey. I found it with your favorite maps and let you keep it.”

  “He tried to kill me, but I . . .” Faith choked on the words. “I killed Daddy.”

  “You’re talking nonsense, child.” Margaret turned her head toward Summer. He shrugged and glanced away. Margaret paused for a moment while she blinked back tears. “Then I’m sure he deserved it. He always did.”

  They showered, cleaned and dressed Zara’s wound, then met Mama Whitney in the basement with her famous biscuits and redeye gravy. They slurped them down while highlighting the events that led up to Faith’s action.

  “We still have to figure out how we’re going to get close to GUM in the morning to stop the assassination,” Zara said.

  “You can’t get through because of the May Day parade. By now they’ve thrown up control points around the Kremlin, allowing only people with special invites to get by,” Mama Whitney said.

  “I could get through in uniform, but you two wouldn’t.”

  “I know people here who’ll sell me KGB uniforms,” Faith said, her mouth still full.

  “Your old contacts have been burned by now.”

  “I can get what you need, but I doubt I could rustle them up in time,” Mama Whitney said.

  “And even if we all made it past the checkpoints, we still have to break into GUM in front of thousands waiting for the parade.” Zara studied Summer as he sopped up the last drops of gravy with a biscuit.

  “Let’s approach this like a smuggler.” Faith wiped gravy from the corner of her mouth. “When all entrances are being watched—”

  “You take goods in something so commonplace, no one would ever think twice or if they did, they wouldn’t get what it really is,” Mama Whitney said.

  “Nice in theory, but they’re closed tomorrow. No deliveries.” Zara yawned.

  “GUM has hot water, doesn’t it?” Faith said.

  “I’d assume.” Zara set her plate on a stack of old shoes.

  “Well, then,” Faith said. “Maybe we need to think more from the rat’s point of view.”

  4:49 A.M.

  A miserable walk through a sweltering, damp tunnel of the Moscow hot-water system was almost a relief after the two hours of restless anxiety on the hard brick floor under the orphanage. The sweat and grime from the sultry tunnel hid all hints of their brief showers. The biscuits and redeye gravy were a dull memory; Faith could only taste dust. She shined the flashlight ahead of them, searching for the fittings and valves that served as landmarks on the crude map her mother had provided them. The main pipes were large enough Faith could easily have walked upright inside, but the dark tunnels had only enough room for them to go single-file beside the hot pipes. Her sides ached. At least she didn’t have a chunk of lead lodged in her bicep or a gash in her forearm. She admired Zara and Summer for their silent endurance, but she secretly wished they would say something so she didn’t have to keep her own complaints to herself, bottled up along with her fears. A cat-sized rat scurried in front of them and then lurked under the raised pipe.

  “So, how are we doing, comrade navigator? I just hit fifteen hundred paces since the last turn.” Summer stopped.

  Zara held a flashlight above the drawing. “We should be coming up on some stairs anytime. When we find them, four hundred meters to go until we cross over.”

  They walked onward. Within a few minutes, Faith shined the light on a metal ladder. “Guess that’s our stairway. Reset your count.”

  “We should notice two fittings close together where the smaller pipes branch out. Something called a flange,” Zara said without referring to her map.

  “A flange is just a collar at the end of a pipe where two mate,” Summer said.

  “As if we haven’t seen a billion of those junctures already,” Faith said.

  “The ladder’s at fifteen hundred fifty-three paces,” Summer said with a rhythm that betrayed he was count
ing as he spoke. “We’ve been pretty consistent at running around ten percent over the specs. I say we’ll find the juncture around four hundred forty paces from here.”

  They followed one another in silence until Faith’s light hit another set of flanges. “Where’s your count?”

  “Just under four hundred.”

  “Then we’re there.” Faith shined the light on the joints.

  “I don’t think so,” Summer said. “I’d put money on it the one we’re looking for is a hundred meters up ahead. I’d really hate to pop up in Lenin’s tomb or something.”

  “Actually, the mausoleum is pretty cool inside,” Faith said. “They have the lights arranged so that Lenin lets off this bizarre glow. They’ve used too much wax and made him kind of shiny. I’ll take you there if we get a chance after all this is over.”

  “I’ll pass. I’ve had enough of you two taking me sightseeing in Moscow. I can tell you this: If you’re thinking about going into the tourist industry, you’d better not quit your day jobs. No, sir.” He laughed to himself. They filed along until they reached another junction in the pipes. “I’m at four thirty-six and we’re a few steps away. I’d say we’d better get in the turn lane.”

  Patterns in the dirt, loose cement and handprints marked where maintenance workers had crawled under the pipe.

  “It’s definitely had more traffic than the other ones,” Faith said.

  “After you.” Zara put her hand on Faith’s back.

  Faith squatted down and leaned over to get a peek at the other side. “You know, there’s something that looks like rat crap down here.” Faith flattened herself against the ground and squirmed underneath the scalding-hot surface, forcing herself to become one with the muck to minimize her risk of contact with the pipe. Pain stabbed her sides as she wiggled under it. She stood up, dusting herself off. “We’ve got another passage. Smaller, though. We’ll have to hunch down to walk through it.”

  Zara let out an involuntary moan as she squeezed under the pipe. Faith helped her to her feet. “Shoulder okay?”

  “About as well as can be expected when you rake a fresh wound over a rock. I’ll be fine.” Zara unfolded the crumpled map and took point, stooping to clear the low ceiling. “About twenty meters ahead, there should be a ladder and a thirty-centimeter pipe that feeds into the GUM complex. Hey, there’s something else ahead.” A half-dozen boxes blocked the path. Zara turned her light to the dark spot on the roof of the tunnel and found the shaft. “We have definitely found the right place. It appears someone is stealing from GUM and leaving the goods here to be picked up. Anyone interested in a new toilet seat?” Rusting metal rungs led straight up beside a pipe. Zara shined the light up the hole. “I can see about ten meters; then it looks like there’s something blocking it.”

  Summer squeezed past Faith. He paused for a moment when they were face-to-face.

  “I’ll go first. Let me get it open and then you two can come up. No sense in making Zara hang on to the rungs any longer than necessary. We also don’t know if they can hold weight for long,” Summer said.

  “I won’t argue.” Zara stepped aside for Summer.

  Summer pulled himself up like a gymnast mounting a set of rings. Zara shined the light up the shaft as he climbed. A scraping noise echoed and loose pebbles tumbled down. Zara jerked her head to the side, but continued to hold the light.

  “One side of a rung pulled out. You’re going to have to be real careful.”

  Summer reached the top and pushed open a manhole cover. He climbed into the room, leaned back over the shaft and motioned for them.

  “Let me help you up to the first rung. You shouldn’t try to pull yourself up with your arm like that,” Faith said.

  “I’ve done worse. I’ll be okay.” Zara reached up for the rung with her left arm.

  Faith wrapped her arms around Zara’s upper thighs and boosted her up. She supported her until she could feel her weight transfer to the ladder. Faith borrowed boxes from the black marketeer and stacked them under the shaft. She climbed them until she could easily get on the ladder. She scrambled up, spreading her weight across three rungs at a time to minimize the risk of another pulling out. She made it to the top and sat on the floor of the boiler room to catch her breath. A tangle of pipes led off in different directions from a large tank, and the room was cluttered with buckets and mops. “How are we doing on time?”

  “It’s zero-five-fourteen. A couple of minutes later than we wanted, but within the margins. We should have plenty of time to set up a stakeout and wait for our sniper. Now, you’re sure we’re not going to set off any burglar alarms?”

  “This is GUM, not Nordstrom’s,” Zara said. “I doubt if they even have alarms wired to the doors. No way will they have motion detectors.”

  They filed out into the hall. A foul stench assaulted them. Faith gagged. Russian toilets.

  The first light of morning filtered down the stairs directly ahead of them. They climbed them to the top floor. Rays of sun now glistened on the arched skylights of the main arcade. Shops lined each side of the gallery, with a wide promenade separating them. The center was open to the ground floor with bridges linking the two sides.

  “Any idea which gallery we’re in?” Faith said.

  “We’re in the right place. The stores on that side should have back rooms overlooking Red Square. Gorbachev will be on the viewing stand atop Lenin’s mausoleum—that way.” Zara pointed to her right. “The sniper has to go through one of those stores to take his shot. We should set up our observation post in one of the shops across the gallery from them.”

  “Let’s take the corner one. We can see everything from there and there’s a bridge to the other side right beside it,” Summer said.

  They went over to their new observation post. Heavy red velvet drapes covered the shop window. The glass door was blocked off with similar curtains and no markings hinted at what was sold inside. Zara used the Leatherman to jimmy the lock quicker than most people could have opened it with the proper key.

  Faith was totally unprepared for what she saw: stylish dresses adorning the mannequins. They could have been in Paris or London, but not Moscow, home of unisex underpants. She fingered a shawl—cashmere.

  “I didn’t think Russia had stores like this,” Summer said. “What happened to lining up for a loaf of bread?”

  “This must be a special shop only for the nomenklatura. We have a special shop at Lubyanka for KGB workers that stocks hard-to-get items, but I’ve never seen anything like this.” Zara flipped through a rack. “And for rubles!”

  “Okay, let’s get organized. It’s zero-five-thirty. The parade starts in two and a half hours. Now, I doubt our marksman arrives anytime within the next two hours, but you never know. He may be the obsessive-compulsive type that needs to come do his wacko rituals on-site before he can do the job, or he may be the one who likes to come in just in time for the mark, do the job and not hang around. Whatever the case, we have to be ready. We’ll do thirty-minute shifts peeping through the curtains. I’ll go first, then Zara, then Faith. Any questions?”

  “Yeah. What are we going to do when he gets here?” Faith wrapped a cashmere shawl around her shoulders to keep warm.

  “When it’s time, I’ll go over and take care of him. Zara will come along and cover me. Sorry, honey, but you’d be in the way and I don’t want to put you at risk any more than I have to. You’ll wait here.”

  Faith nodded as she spread out another shawl and lay down on the floor to rest.

  Summer nudged Faith awake. “Okay, sleeping beauty. Time for your watch.”

  Faith opened her eyes wide and checked the time. “Hey, it’s already eight thirty. What’s going on?”

  “We couldn’t bring ourselves to wake you earlier. We pulled double duty for you,” Summer whispered. “The parade began half an hour ago and no one’s shown yet. We’re starting to think we have bad intel and this is the wrong building.”

  “Psst.” Zara motioned them over
to the crack in the curtains. She held up two fingers.

  A burly man with a crewcut slipped a key in the door of the shop directly across from them. He carried a brown case. A second sniper opened another shop two doors down. She carried the same style case.

  “Looks like we’ll have to split up after all. You take the lady marksman and I’ll take the guy. I’m not being sexist here, but remember, women are always the worst. A lot of antiterrorist squads have standing orders to shoot the women first.” Summer drew his gun from its holster and pushed up the safety. “Faith, you might have to cover us. Stay low and don’t shoot us.”

  “That’s some vote of confidence,” Faith said.

  “You have the Czech gun. Don’t forget the safety and remember to cock the trigger before the first shot like I showed you,” Summer said. He kissed Faith on the cheek. “Luck, everyone.”

  Faith clutched the clunky wood butt of the gun as she watched them dart across the bridge. Zara stopped with Summer at the first door. He placed his hand over the handle and shook his head. He pulled out the Leatherman, stuck a blade between the door and the frame and opened it. He handed the tool to Zara. Faith couldn’t read lips, but knew he again wished her luck. Faith wished them both luck—good luck.

  Summer crept into the shop, gun drawn. He swept the gun back and forth, although he was confident the sniper was in the back room, assembling his weapon. Praying he didn’t step on a creaky board, he inched across the floor toward the long counter. A curtain hung in the doorway between the storefront and the back room. He pushed it aside with the barrel of the gun just enough to get a peek. Six tall windows covered the wall. For the first time he saw the domes of St. Basil’s, the red bricks of the Kremlin fortress and the latest Scalpel missiles parading across Red Square, but his focus was on the man opening one of the windows. The assembled sniper rifle sat beside him. Summer didn’t want to take him out now because a gunshot might compromise Zara before she was in place. She needed a couple extra minutes to get to the other store and open the lock. He watched as the man picked up the rifle. Summer pointed the Makarov at the sniper’s head and waited for the resound of Zara’s shot.