She wanted him to come back, she just wanted to know that he was there.
Erin turned off the water, stepped from the tub, dried herself thoroughly with a rough shaggy towel, and then wound the towel around her body. She sidestepped her torn gown as she returned to the bedroom and sat listlessly at the foot of the bed. The apartment was silent. Thankfully, Mary and Ted seemed to have slept through the slamming doors.
Tears started to sting behind her lids again and Erin stood, impatient with herself. She had to stop crying. It was stupid, it got her nowhere, and it drained her of the strength she needed.
She ripped open the closet door and stared numbly at the contents. Then she exchanged the towel for one of Jarod’s velour robes. She decided to make herself a cup of tea, and try to separate her thoughts and feelings and the facts of the situation.
As the water in the kettle heated to a boil, Erin glanced at the kitchen clock, amazed to see that it was still shy of midnight. They had gone up to bed at almost eleven thirty.
The kettle whistled. As Erin reached for it, she felt again the burning pain behind her eyelids. She wanted to go home to the busy streets of New York, to the spring beauty of the park, to the towering buildings, the people like cattle streaming through the streets. She laughed dryly despite the fear that the laugh would cause her to cry; she wanted to see the Statue of Liberty rising high on her pedestal, welcoming the weary home.
Home. Oh, God, how she wanted to go home …
She began humming “America” as she fixed her tea, a little startled to discover how patriotic she could find herself on the shores of another land.
Then her humming ceased. She wanted to go home, but she wanted to go home with Jarod. But in a way, Jarod was home. A part of him belonged to these people. He was Russian, he was American….
But none of that really mattered, because he was also anxious to no longer be her husband.
The shrill ringing of the phone startled her so badly that she sloshed her freshly poured tea all over the counter. Dabbing fruitlessly at the mess she had made while also reaching for the receiver, she simultaneously hoped that the ringing had not awakened her guests and that the caller would be Jarod. It would be so like him, she thought, shivers of prayerful anticipation making her weak. He was quick to anger, but just as quick to apologize.
“Erin?”
Her bubble of hope burst. The caller was Gil. What the hell is he doing calling at this hour, she wondered, her annoyance increased by irritation.
“Sorry to call you so late, but I have to talk to Jarod. It’s important.”
Erin frowned, her fingers tightening around the receiver. “At this hour?”
“I am sorry, Erin, but if he’s sleeping, please wake him.”
Erin bit her lip. “Gil, I’m sorry, but he isn’t here.”
She was met by a moment’s silence, in which she could almost feel the agitation of the man on the other end.
“Where is he?”
“I—I’m not sure. He just went out.”
“Damn!” Gil muttered.
“Gil, what is it?”
“Ah—nothing. I’ll find him. Good night, Erin.”
He hung up before she could say any more. For a second she stared at the receiver, her frown furrowing more deeply between her eyes. Then she slowly replaced the receiver and picked up her tea cup, only to put it back down.
“I’ll find him,” Gil had said.
A wash of cold bolted through her as if she had been subjected to an instant freeze. She closed her eyes, remembering Jarod’s anger with her the morning after he had gone to the square, how he had demanded to know who she had spoken to, how she had denied speaking to anyone, how Sergei had told her someone had been shooting at Jarod because he had come too close.
Then she remembered how it had been Gil who had made the arrangements when she had tried to leave the country and then had found herself held in her hotel room instead of Paris.
“Oh, dear God!” she gasped aloud.
Jarod was out walking the streets; Gil would be out looking for him. Her eyes moved to the clock. It was just minutes before midnight. Jarod was always looking for something on Red Square at midnight.
She knew that, and Gil knew that. But Jarod didn’t know that Gil had known where Jarod was on that particular night when the shots had been taken at him. Because she had lied.
Her cup clattered and spilled across the counter. With her hands shaking so badly she could barely control them, Erin rummaged through the counter drawer below the phone, searching out Jarod’s phone book. She found Sergei’s number, but had to dial it twice.
She was answered by the gentle voice of his wife. Every Russian word she had learned fled her mind. “Sergei, please, I know I’ve wakened you, but please, this is Erin Mc—Steele. Erin Steele. Please, this is Jarod’s wife, I need to speak with Sergei …”
Mrs. Alexandrovich’s English was not plentiful, but her tone was soothing. Erin slowly ascertained that her call had been a waste of time—Sergei was not home either.
“You call back tomorrow, Sergei happy to talk to you then.”
The phone went dead in Erin’s hands.
Erin stared at the receiver only a brief moment before bolting into action. She had to reach him, she had to warn him that he was right, that Gil was not to be trusted, that Gil was looking for him.
She raced upstairs only long enough to pull on a sweater and jeans, then she tore out the door and into the night. The wind was cold, but she didn’t feel it. Even as she tried to reassure herself that her feeling of panic was absurd, it increased. She was desperate. If he were only with her now, she would tell him that she would be there any time he wanted her, even if she understood that he couldn’t love her.
His car was parked on the curb, but it only served to frustrate her further. The door was locked. As far as she knew, Jarod kept only one set of keys, and those keys would still be in his pocket.
She began to run. The streets were empty at that hour, her feet clattered against the sidewalk loudly, each sound seeming to pierce her heart. Her labored breathing swirled around her like the gasping wail of a dying windstorm. The thudding of her heart against her ribs was so thunderous she feared it would explode but she kept running because if anything happened to him, she didn’t think she could bear it. And it was all the more terrible because her pride had kept her from telling him that she loved him, that with or without him she wanted his child, and she wanted to cherish the child because it was his.
How far had she gone, she wondered, pain streaking through the legs she forced to keep going. A patch of snow melted to an ice slick sent her spinning to the ground, but she rose again with a small sob, dusting herself off and running again. Then, out of the moon-streaked night, she saw the globed spires of St. Basil’s rising high against the night. She was almost there … she had made it.
The memory of a long kiss on Red Square at midnight raced through her mind, the memory of lips that burned, the memory that she had known, somehow, somewhere deep inside, that his kiss had been dangerous because it had so compelled her, dangerous because she was destined to fall in love with the man who was a part of the blazing red splendor.
The square was dazzlingly lit against the darkness of night. Erin reached the gates of St. Basil’s and paused, doubling over with the effort to breathe as she strained her eyes to see across the square. At Lenin’s tomb the guards stood stolidly, and then the clock began to chime.
The guards began their awesome, terrifyingly strict goose step. Then, as Erin stared at the square, dark forms began to move across the red glow. There were three figures, three men. A shot rang out, a figure fell.
Erin’s scream tore out across the square, but it was followed by a flurry of action. The regiment of the guards halted. As chillingly choreographed as their walk, they knelt in formation, rifles ready. Whistles shrieked, more men, appearing from nowhere, raced on to the square, and without realizing it, she was racing through them—becau
se one of the figures still standing was Jarod.
And the one lurking behind him was Gil.
And he held a gun.
She screamed Jarod’s name, screamed it over and over again until she reached him, hurtling herself into his arms, shrieking and babbling and trying to draw his attention to the man behind him. He caught her in his arms and she closed her eyes, waiting with fear rippling through her, waiting with tears in her eyes, with prayers forming unspoken on her lips. But nothing happened. He was whispering soothing things to her, setting her away from him, and it was then, only then, that she realized they were surrounded by men in uniforms, Soviet guards and police, alert and ready.
Jarod bent down next to the man on the ground. Then Erin watched stupidly as Gil Sayer strode quietly up and knelt beside her husband. “I believe I only winged him,” Gil said.
Erin stared at Gil’s face for a moment. Then to the ground. The man lying with the ashen face and closed eyes was Joe Mahoney. It didn’t make sense.
Sergei came through the crowd of men. He shouted something. The guards returned to their vigil at the tomb; the others disappeared as they had come, melting into nowhere.
“He’s alive,” she heard Jarod say.
“I’ll handle it,” Gil said crisply.
“I don’t think so,” Sergei interspersed, coming between the two men. “This is Russian soil.”
“But he is an American,” Jarod spat out. “He should be tried in our courts.”
Erin kept looking from one face to another. It finally filtered through to her dazed emotions that Gil Sayer had no intention of shooting Jarod. Gil was a good guy. The bad guy was the kindly old gentleman with the graying hair who now lay on the ground, the friendly man with the sparkling blue eyes who had been so very kind to her at that first dinner at Sergei’s. He was a traitor. He had betrayed Jarod, and worse, he had betrayed Gil. The pain of that betrayal now streaked through the eyes of the handsome young man who had come through the night not to harm her husband but to help him.
It was too much. The legs which had earlier carried her the mile to the square suddenly gave. The red glow became a mist of black.
She hit the pavement.
It was the disappearance of the sound of the ambulance siren that brought her back to consciousness rather than its arrival to collect Joe Mahoney.
She was warm, Erin noted vaguely, and she was warm because she was wrapped in a blanket. She opened her eyes to see that she was stretched in the rear seat of a car. A woman in a uniform was hovering over her, waving a vile-smelling pellet beneath her nose.
Erin waved her hand away and struggled to sit up, not sure whether she should smile or not to assure the strict-looking matron that she was all right. It didn’t matter; the steel-eyed lady in the rigid dress with brass stars upon her shoulders moved instantly, crisply announcing something in her own language.
It was Sergei’s face she saw next, and she did try a tremulous smile.
“Little fool,” he chastised, “what are you doing out here?”
“I tried to call you,” Erin offered weakly.
“Didn’t I tell you your husband was a man determined to watch out for himself? And that I would be watching out for him?”
Erin nodded blankly. “I thought it was Gil,” she said tonelessly.
Sergei sighed. “So did Jarod. And so now he suffers like a fool, a man plagued by guilt because he let his heart rule his mind. It is going to sit hard with him, he is a proud man. But look—he is also an honest man—ready to admit his faults.”
Sergei helped her sit up in the car. She followed his pointed finger and saw that Jarod and Gil were in deep conversation. She smiled slightly, then turned to Sergei.
“What will happen to Joe Mahoney?”
“Your voice tremors, little cousin. But do not look at me like that, as if I were a beast. I will allow Mr. Mahoney to be tried in an American court. Betrayal against one’s own people is more severe, don’t you think? Yes, this one I will let the Americans handle.”
Erin started shivering despite the blanket. “I still don’t understand—”
“For some men, service to one’s country is enough. To others, it is not. Joe saw some easy rewards, he grabbed for them.”
“But how? He was with all of us the night I came to the square. And Gil was the one who tried to help me—”
“You forget—Gil was to be replacing Joe. What Gil knew—Joe knew. While your husband was suspecting Gil, Gil was suspecting your husband. Joe was playing the two of them off each other.”
“I still don’t—”
“It was all taking place here, on Red Square, at midnight. Two of the guards at Lenin’s tomb were involved. Such a fine show, don’t you think? Easy to drop a tiny capsule of information. A capsule dropped just outside the wall. And so easy to pick up. Even in a crowd, a man could pretend to drop a glove or coin and not be noticed bending to retrieve it. Sometimes microfilm was dropped, sometimes merely numbers to tie into information already in a computer. A lot of the information was distorted—some totally fictitious. But when two giants are wary of one another, they grab at straws.”
“But Sergei—how could I have been involved? Or used so? I would have had to know what I was doing to pick up information—”
“On Red Square, Erin, you were a cover. Joe had intended originally to plant some of his information upon your belongings when you returned to the States. But we were too close. Still, Erin—and I will apologize now—I couldn’t allow you to leave. I had to hold you until I knew what was going on. I was also afraid you might become a handy instrument in some other way. And at first, I didn’t know if you were guilty or innocent. I could only let you go to Jarod because I trusted his honor, and because—if you were innocent—he could offer you the protection I could not. Joe might have been able to make you appear too guilty to be cleared…. You must understand this.”
Erin nodded weakly. She did understand, she had become accidentally involved in something that allowed no quarter for individuals. And more than that, she knew that Jarod’s decision to marry her had saved her from possibly becoming even more involved, caught in the quicksand of the deadly game of espionage.
“But he was selling to your government too—” she began in a daze.
“We don’t always know the source of the information we are sold. It was a long time before either country realized she was being duped. Joe had access to a number of secrets. He had only to twist them to make them both believable and highly salable. Most of the contacts he used were like yourself—innocent of the fact they carried information to be picked up by those who would not ask questions but accept money.”
It struck Erin again with a terrible stab of pain as she stared at the square—and the guards before Lenin’s tomb who stood so strictly they appeared as mannequins—that she wanted to go home. Now she could go sooner than Jarod had promised. It was over.
She heard a crunching against the ground and tilted her chin. Jarod and Gil were both approaching the car.
“How’re you doing, gorgeous?” Gil inquired first.
Erin smiled with a weak attempt at cheer. Her eyes left Gil’s to focus tentatively on her husband’s.
Jarod stretched out a hand and stroked his fingers lightly over her cheek. His eyes were thoughtful and brooding, but she couldn’t fathom the emotion that burned beyond their guard.
“You could have gotten yourself … hurt,” he said admonishingly.
She didn’t seem to be able to say much. She merely nodded.
He stepped back from the car; Sergei joined him, and the uniformed matron slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Anna will take you home,” Sergei said.
At her look of confusion, Jarod added softly, “We have forms to fill out and business to finish. I’ll be home soon.”
Her door slammed. The car revved into action and moved from the curb.
It was amazing how short the distance to the apartment was. She had felt when running
that it had been miles and miles.
“Thank you, spa seeba,” she told the rigid Anna as the car came to a halt. But apparently Anna had her orders. She accompanied Erin to the door, bullying her way in when Erin tried to thank her again for the ride. Anna walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. She returned to Erin and forced the water and a pair of small white pills into her hands.
“Oh—ah—no thank you,” Erin began to murmur.
The pills were more firmly pressed into her hand. “Sergei say that you take. That you must sleep. Pills will not hurt the baby—no sleep will.”
Erin colored slightly and began to protest again, but then gave up. If she ever wanted this watchdog out of the apartment, she would have to take the pills. She swallowed them and handed back the glass of water, then opened her mouth wide like a child. “See,” she garbled with a sarcasm that was not lost on the other woman. “All gone.”
Anna muttered something about Americans that Erin didn’t think was complimentary, but she did, at long last, leave.
But I don’t want to sleep, Erin thought. I want to wait up for Jarod. I need to talk to him.
She attempted to sit in the living room to wait, but the little white tablets quickly had an effect. Her head drooped, and the urge to close her eyes was so strong that she convinced herself she could wait for him just as well upstairs in bed.
It seemed a terribly difficult task to make her way up the staircase—more difficult than reaching the square. But finally she passed the door to the den—and paused with a smile to think how ridiculous it was that so much had happened while Mary and Ted slept peacefully and blissfully unaware.
She made it into the bedroom and decided to lie down and rest just a minute before finding a nightgown.
She didn’t get up. The little white tablets Sergei’s guard dog had forced her to take were granting her the blissful oblivion she had just envied Mary and Ted.
It was close to dawn when Jarod finally returned home. He had no intention of going to sleep, because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to wake himself up in the few hours before the time came to take Mary and Ted to the airport. Remembering he had guests in the apartment as well as his sleeping wife, he walked quietly up the staircase. He left the bedroom door open to allow the downstairs lights to flicker dimly into the bedroom. Then he paused in the doorway, watching her as she slept.
Red Midnight Page 27