by Alex Archer
She had him wait outside while she bought a change of clothes in one store and a small bottle of Betadine and a first-aid kit in another. She then used the restroom to clean herself up. The cut on the side of her head wasn’t all that bad; like any head wound, it had bled a lot but it wasn’t that deep, and she felt considerably better once it had been coated with antibacterial ointment and covered with a wide bandage.
The calf wound was another story. The bullet had gone clean through, which saved her the trouble of trying to dig out a slug Rambo-style, but left her with a half-inch hole in her leg that was going to get rapidly worse if she didn’t do something about it.
She had cleaned the area around the wound, so all that was left to do was deal with the wound itself. Gritting her teeth, she put her leg up in the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it wash directly through the wound.
It hurt.
A lot.
After a few minutes she patted it gently with a cloth, then poured some of the Betadine directly into the wound. The iodine solution would help stop an infection until she could get the wound looked at by a doctor. She packed both sides with dry gauze, then wrapped the entire wound with tape.
When she emerged from the bathroom her hands were shaking but she looked considerably better, the cut on her head hidden beneath a bandanna, which in turn was covered with a loose-fitting baseball cap.
She’d noticed an internet café down the street upon arrival, so she paid the cabbie for his time and walked to it, slipping inside just as it opened for the morning. She got herself a hot chocolate and a pastry to provide some immediate energy, then paid for a half hour of computer time and the use of a headset/microphone combination. She took her food and gear to a station near the back of the room where she would still have some privacy once the café started to fill up. Then she logged in.
After checking that she had a decent connection, she downloaded Skype and used it to place a direct call to Sir Charles Davies’s home telephone. He must have been waiting by the phone despite the late hour in the U.S. He answered it on the first ring.
“Are you all right?” was the first question he asked once he’d confirmed it was her who was calling.
He didn’t ask about the library; he asked about her.
Annja realized she not only liked but respected Charles Davies. It made confessing her failure to him that much easier.
“No, I’m not all right. Neither are Gianni or Vladimir.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Annja did. She told him everything, including some of the things she’d left out the last time they’d talked. She told him about Gianni’s treachery and of how he’d reported their whereabouts and discoveries to the FSS colonel, Goshenko. She described how Vladimir had died trying to give her time to escape when at last they’d been taken captive and how she’d had no choice but to leave his body down in the tunnels. She told him of the cleverness of Fioravanti’s design for the library and how she discovered the final entrance to the sanctum of sanctums. How she’d seen the books that Ivan the Terrible had hidden away from the world and how, in the end, she’d been forced to bury it under a ton of earth and rock to keep it out of Goshenko’s hands…and to stay alive.
It was a long conversation.
By the time she was finished, Annja felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Whatever happened now, she was ready to deal with it.
“I’d say it’s time we got you out of there.”
Annja agreed.
“I’ll make some calls to someone I know over at the embassy. Give me half an hour and then head directly there. Ask for James Wiley when you arrive. He’ll be able to get you a new passport. In the meantime, I’ll book you a ticket on a flight back to New York. All you’ll have to do is pick it up at the airport once you have your passport dealt with, understood?”
It sounded like a plan to Annja.
She finished her cocoa, then returned to the street and hailed another cab. This one didn’t give her any grief when she asked him to take her to the U.S. Embassy.
During the drive, her thoughts turned to the FSS colonel, Goshenko. She wondered how long he’d been in cahoots with Gianni, the two of them driven by their need to share in the millions they would get by selling the library on the black market. And what had originally brought them together.
She guessed that Goshenko had been working through unofficial channels, using the resources and manpower of his agency for his personal business. She’d begun to suspect that was the case long before she could even give the FSS colonel a name, when he’d just been a shadowy force chasing them for unknown reasons. Someone working the system properly would have issued arrest warrants and had the entire law enforcement community in Moscow looking for them. When that didn’t happen, especially after she’d been forced to kill a man in self-defense inside the Marriott, she’d known something wasn’t right.
At least now she understood how the FSS had tracked them down so many times. With Gianni to feed their position to Danislov and Goshenko, all they’d had to do was sit back and wait for Annja and Vlad to locate the library, then take it for themselves.
Her heart ached when she thought of Vlad’s death. He’d been a good man, one who was as passionate about his work as she was about hers, and that was something she could understand at a deep level. She wondered who would take care of Mrs. Vikofsky now that Vlad was gone and made a mental note to see if Charles Davies could do something for her. If he couldn’t, she’d find a way to get Roux or Garin to help her out. That old woman wouldn’t be left alone, wondering what had happened to her son for the rest of her days.
Annja felt the car slowing and heard the cabbie muttering to himself in Russian. She looked up to see that they were just down the street from the embassy, the nine-story gold-and-white building looming over those on either side of it. But there appeared to be some kind of commotion. Several cars were parked haphazardly in front of the main entrance, their doors open, while men in dark suits were shouting and arguing with the marine guards standing there.
There were nearly a dozen cars in front of them, but traffic was at a standstill because of the commotion. Annja’s driver put the car in Park and got halfway out, trying to hear what was being said. After a moment he got back inside, disgust on his face.
“What’s going on?” Annja asked as a chill began to work through her bones.
“Security Service,” he said, pointing at the men arguing ahead of them. “Looking for someone.”
Annja rolled down her own window and looked out, trying to get a better view. One of the men looked familiar… .
The Russians suddenly stopped arguing and turned away. As they did so, Annja got a good look at their leader and froze, not believing what her eyes were seeing.
Despite the bruises that mottled his face, Sergeant Arkady Danislov was easy to recognize from the scar on his cheek. He was holding himself very stiffly, a result, no doubt, of the wound she had given him, a wound that probably would have killed nine out of ten men.
Apparently Danislov was made of sterner stuff.
He looked up then, his dark eyes taking in the cars stopped in the street, and for a moment Annja thought he had seen her. Bile rose in her throat and she trembled as she realized what this development was going to do to her chances of getting out of Russia without difficulty.
There was no way for her to get into the embassy now, not with Danislov and his men watching the front gates. She thought furiously for a moment, then turned to the driver.
“Forget the embassy. Please take me to the airport instead.”
It took them nearly a half hour to get to the airport and by that time the cab fare had eaten up almost all of what little money Annja had. After paying him, she barely had enough to buy a decent meal; hopefully she wouldn’t be here long enough to need any more.
She entered the terminal, frantically trying to figure out what to do and constantly looking over her shoulder for the arrival o
f Danislov and his FSS goons. If they were even real FSS agents—for all she knew they were just mercenaries that Goshenko had recruited to help him with his dirty work.
Sir Charles Davies had sent her the ticket information by email and she’d printed it out before signing off in the internet café. She pulled the paper out of her pocket, found the proper airline and then printed out her boarding pass with the help of her record locator number.
Now she had a physical ticket, but the truth was that it was of little use to her since she didn’t have any way to get past the security screen and over to the departure gate. One needed a passport for that.
She found an empty seat and sat down, taking the weight off her leg for a few minutes while she tried to work out a solution. She was having trouble concentrating, though; the longer she sat there the more she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her. She looked as if she’d been hit by a train, no doubt; she was obviously injured, and had no luggage, never mind what she was sure was a worried, possibly even frantic look on her face. She was a spectacle and she knew it. All she needed now was for some international Chasing History’s Monsters fan to recognize her and throw her picture up on Facebook and her day would be complete.
International fan…
Annja lurched to her feet, the tiniest hope flickering in her heart. She began searching her pockets. “He gave me his card. All I have to do is find his card…” And then she remembered. She didn’t have Yuri’s card; it was back at Vlad’s with her backpack and the rest of her belongings. These weren’t even her clothes, for heaven’s sake.
But that didn’t mean the idea wasn’t a good one. And there was more than one way to skin a cat.
She got up from her seat and began to move through the airport in the direction of the security screening area. She slowed as she drew closer, looking for one of those soft blue uniforms she’d seen that first night, the night she’d met Yuri after waiting around for what felt like hours in a windowless interrogation room.
Spotting one, she worked her way through the moving crowd until she reached the officer in question. It was a woman, tall and severe, with a pinched face and straw-colored hair that had been secured in a tight bun atop her head. She did not look happy at Annja’s approach.
“Excuse me?” Annja said, trying to look as harmless as possible.
She must have succeeded because the immigration officer barely glanced at her. “Yes,” the woman said, looking beyond Annja.
“I need to get a message to my friend, Yuri Basilovich,” Annja began, trying to weave a story together out of thin air that might seem even quasi-believable. “I’ve lost my phone, my purse, even my ID. I know Yuri will help me if I can just talk to him. Please?”
She stared at the officer, begging her silently with her eyes.
“He’s busy. You’ll need to make a appointment,” the officer said without looking at her.
That wasn’t good enough. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, “but I really need to talk with Yuri. Can you just call him, please? Tell him Annja needs his help. Please?”
She didn’t know if it was the begging, the tears in her eyes or her hand on the women’s arm. But finally the officer saw her, really saw her, and that changed the picture entirely.
“Stay here,” the officer said, and disappeared behind the secure area to, hopefully, hunt down Yuri.
She was gone a long time and Annja began to grow more and more nervous as she thought about what Danislov would do. He clearly thought she had survived; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been looking for her at the embassy.
Annja had a good view of the entrance from where she was standing and right at that moment a group of sedans roared to a stop out front. Car doors were flung open, members of the public were pushed out of the way and Danislov and his men entered the airport.
Oh, no. Not now.
Danislov and his men spread out, began moving through all the passengers, checking faces.
She turned, preparing to run, heaven knew where—
“Miss Creed?”
Annja nearly screamed as a hand touched her shoulder from behind. She spun around, her own hand over her mouth so she didn’t give herself away, and discovered Yuri standing on the other side of the caution tape.
His expression fell when he saw her. The black eye from her fight in the cavern, the bandage on her head, the stiff way she walked in an effort to avoid putting too much weight on her leg.
“Holy Mary,” Yuri exclaimed. “What happened?”
At a shout from behind her, Annja cast a frantic glance over her shoulder. Danislov and his men were converging on a dark-haired girl about the same age as her.
She turned back to Yuri. “I can’t explain right now, but I’m in trouble and I need your help. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent.”
He took a look over her shoulder and his expression hardened.
“Is that man looking for you?” Yuri asked.
Annja didn’t hesitate. She had one chance at this and it had to work.
“Yes.”
She had no idea what was between the two men, but her answer galvanized Yuri into action.
“This way,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her through the security area as her personal escort. Once on the other side, he unlocked a small office and ushered her inside, closing the blinds while she stood nervously watching.
Yuri faced her, his expression serious.
“Have you done something to harm my country?”
Knowing that everything hinged on her answers, Annja shook her head. “No.”
“Does that—” he struggled to find the right word “—jackass out there have a legitimate reason to be chasing you?”
She shook her head, more confident now. “No.”
Yuri nodded to himself several times. He said something in Russian too low for her to hear. “Do you have your passport?” he asked.
Annja shook her head.
“Ah! Now I understand. You want me to escort you onto your flight so that ublyudok out there does not find you.”
Annja was stunned. She had hoped but… “Yes. Would you do that for me?”
Yuri beamed. “Annja. I am your number-one fan! Of course I will do that.”
In the end, it wound up being rather anticlimactic. Yuri monitored the boarding process from the computer in the office and just before the plane was scheduled to depart he commandeered a hospitality cart and drove her directly to the aircraft. He had a word or two with the flight crew and pilot, then led her aboard the plane and put her in the only empty seat in first class.
“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” she told him.
He just laughed and patted her hand. “Someday you come back to Russia and tell me what happened. In the meantime it will be our secret and I will laugh every time I see that fool from FSS, da?”
She nodded. “Da.”
The flight crew began preparing the cabin for takeoff and Yuri gave her a big hug before slipping off the plane. Annja spent an anxious half hour after that, expecting the aircraft to be called back at the last minute, praying there wasn’t a mechanical or weather delay that would keep them on the ground.
It was only when they finally got into the air and the airplane effectively became U.S. soil for diplomatic purposes that she breathed a sigh of relief.
She must have fallen asleep for the duration of the flight, because the next thing she knew the flight attendant was gently shaking her awake.
“Welcome back to New York,” she said.
Annja smiled.
She couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781459233850
Copyright © 2012 by Worldwide Library
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