by David Wind
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here now if they did. Brannigan, I need a favor.” Her eyes searched his face; she remained silent. “I need your passport and press identification.”
“You can’t change yourself into a woman,” she told him with a nervous smile.
“There’s a woman, a doctor, whose husband died to get me the information about Sokova. I want to get her out of Russia.”
“When?”
“As soon as Blacky finds me a flight back to the States.”
“What happens to me?” she asked.
“Nothing. You wait until I’m gone, and then report your identification stolen. I’ll let Abby know what I’m doing. She’ll smooth things over with the State Department.”
“Does this mean I’ll have an exclusive story to tell?”
He looked at her, wondering if she was being serious. “If you want and when the time is right.”
Her laugh was light yet sad. “I don’t think the time will ever be right for this story. What the hell, Chapin, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. As soon as I know when we leave, I’ll let you know.”
Brannigan nodded. “Will I see you again, after this?” Chapin shrugged and looked around. “Sure,” he said, and added, almost nonchalantly, “if I can stop Sokova.”
Twenty minutes, Chapin, Brannigan, and a half dozen other journalists were recruited to help at the hospital.
Released three and a half hours later, Chapin returned to the building, where he found Abby waiting in her room. She’d kept a meal warm on the portable hot plate.
Just as they started to eat, there was a knock on the door. Abby answered it, and when she opened the door, Chapin found Blacky on the other side.
He went into the hall with Blacky. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned close to Chapin’s ear. “I found a flight. Tomorrow morning. It is a Red Cross supply plane. It will be going to Anchorage, Alaska, reloading, and returning. I told them you and one of your people needed a ride. They said the plane will leave by ten.”
Chapin clapped Blacky solidly on the back. “Thank you, my friend. Will you tell Titania to be ready tomorrow? I don’t think it would be wise for me to do that. Tell her she is to take nothing except for herself. She is to act as if she is going out for a short walk. Also, go to Brannigan. Get her passport and show it to Titania. Tell Titania to make herself up like the photo. And, Blacky, tell Brannigan to pick me up at five. You, too, if you are clear.”
“Of course,” Blacky replied.
Inside, sitting across from Abby, he said, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Her face changed. A deep sadness entered her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low, barely above a whisper. “You found the answer, didn’t you?”
Chapin stood, went to the dresser, and selected a tape. He put it in and, when the music came on, turned up the volume to a comfortable level.
Sitting down again, and speaking in a very low voice, he said, “I went to the Pamirs. I found answers. Robert Mathews’ brother didn’t die in France. They raised him to take his brother’s place in America. He’s been raised to become the president of the United States.”
Abby’s eyes widened. The blood drained from her face. “And you’re going back, tomorrow, to stop him.”
He didn’t have to reply. He knew she saw it on his face as the tears formed in her eyes. He wanted to say something, but was unable.
She stared at him, tears sliding down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away. “I know that if you go back, I’ll never see you again.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“No, Kevin, I—”
He leaned across the table and took her hand in his. “Abby, too many people have already died because of Sokova. If I don’t stop him, a lot more will die.”
Abby turned away from him. “Why you?”
“The luck of the draw.” He left the table and went to her. He drew her from the chair and took her into his arms. “I love you, and I’ll be back for you, I promise.”
She pulled away from him. “How can you make a promise you can’t keep?”
“As far as I’m concerned, I’ll keep it.”
“Or die trying?” she asked, her voice suddenly hard.
“Abby...”
Blinking back her tears, Abby shook her head. “No more,” she pleaded and went back into his arms. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll stay with me until then?”
He looked deep into her eyes, and nodded.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapin woke slowly with Abby beside him. The heat from her body was comforting. His arm was around her; his hand trailed along the skin on her back, tracing the ridge of her spine. He was in the gentle netherworld that came after lovemaking, somewhere in between wakefulness and sleep.
They had made love last night, and fallen into an exhausted sleep. Then they’d woken before the dawn, and made love again. Abby had been passionate and sad, but had not spoken further about her fear that she would never see him again.
“I have to get up,” he whispered.
She lifted her head and kissed him gently. “I’ll put on some water. Just give me a few more minutes, please.”
She left the bed without waiting for an answer, turned on a lamp, and walked across the room. He watched her in the low light, taking in the perfection of her body before she covered it with a robe.
His sadness deepened, knowing he had to leave her behind. But it was better than exposing her to more danger. When it was over and he could walk free, he would come for her, wherever she was.
He shook away his thoughts and, while she filled the kettle from a bottle of water and turned on the hot plate, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his underwear.
After putting on his pants, he looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five. He slipped on his shirt, buttoning it as he went to the window and looked out at the remnants of Tashkent.
The barest hint of the coming dawn was on the horizon, and he knew if everything went well, he would be on his way back to the States with Titania Basilova in just a few hours.
He heard Abby walk up behind him. “I want to have a future with you,” he said to her without turning. “But I can’t, if I don’t stop him.”
“I know,” he heard her say in a funny, faraway voice. “That’s what is so sad. We could have had a good life together, Kevin. We could have.”
He turned. The muscles in his stomach knotted. Bile flooded his mouth at the sight of Abby holding a nine-millimeter H-K automatic pointed at his heart.
He looked from the pistol to her eyes, and read the truth in them. He shook his head slowly, the full impact of Sokova’s mastery revealed.
He fought the churning sickness, railing against the disgust twisting his mind with abhorrence and self-loathing.
“It was a setup from the very beginning. That night at the apartment building, the mugging was a double setup, wasn’t it?”
Abby nodded.
“Why? How did they recruit you? My God, Abby, how can you forsake your own country for…this?” He waved his hand toward the window.
She laughed. The sound was bitter, acrid. “Damn you, Kevin, I love you. I begged you to give it up. I was willing to run away with you, to turn my back on everything I believed in. But no, you were too much the patriot, too much the unwanted hero. Too much the American. You had to stop Sokova. And now, instead of spending my life with you, I have to end yours.”
“You owe me the truth,” Chapin said as a storm of dark swept through him. “You owe me at least that.”
She shook her head. “Whose truth? Yours or mine?” Abby took a deep breath. “Damn you, Kevin, I—” She broke off, stepped back, and exhaled sharply. “My real name is Evonna Komanina. And if you had looked closely, behind the hairline,” she added, motioning with her free hand to the base of her scalp, “you would have seen the scars from the surgery. Abby Sloan, the w
oman I replaced, died three years ago. She was undergoing elective surgery. No one knew she died. But she did, and I took her place.”
“Impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible, Kevin. You should know that by now. Look at what Sokova has already accomplished. And substituting me in the real Abby Sloan’s place was simple in comparison to what he is doing now.”
“Are you KGB?”
The woman who called herself Abby Sloan nodded. “A special division,” she said. “You do not know of it. It was established as a backup for personnel on covert operations in the West.”
“You speak English very well,” Chapin said, stalling as he sought a way out of the trap that his emotions had led him into.
“I was trained for five years in the Pamir installation, and prepared for just what I am doing.”
Taking the opening, he sneered at her. “Oh, I see. Sokova knew that one day I would appear and he would need someone for me to fall in love with so she could kill me?”
“Don’t be an ass! Sokova prepared for all eventualities. He did not know who might discover his plan, or if anyone would. But Sokova planned for everything so that there would be no fatal errors.”
“But there was a very ‘fatal’ error. And in the Soviet Union, not in America. That was the one thing he had not planned for.”
“But he has recovered from Davidov’s snooping.”
“Has he? Maybe. Who is he?”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. A code name. No one has ever seen him.”
The simplicity of her answer, the straightforwardness of it, told Chapin she spoke the truth. More importantly, he heard another truth in his own mind. It was the truth about how Sokova had manipulated him.
“The Soviets knew I was in Paris, and even where I was going that night, because you told them. You set me up in the hotel room in Austria. When I was in Chicago, you told him as well. That’s why they to plant the sniper across from the hotel.”
Her eyes flicked to his shoulder.
He sneered in disgust. “I was a good dupe, wasn’t I? You reported every move I made, each piece of knowledge I gained, to Sokova. Why wasn’t the old nurse killed before I got to her?” Before she could reply, Chapin said, “Because you didn’t have the time to report her before we left for France. Is she dead now?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Kevin, please, do not make this harder.”
“Harder? What could be harder than to face death?” he asked, realizing there was only one way to end this. Not yet, he cautioned himself. He had to use her, as she had used him. He had to learn from her. Then he saw her eyes narrow and sensed she was about to pull the trigger.
“How will Sokova make the substitution?” he asked suddenly.
She stared at him with an expression that mixed incomprehension with disbelief. “What difference can that make now?”
“To you, none. But for me, a satisfying of curiosity.”
“You are stalling me. You hope I will give in because I love you.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t be holding that pistol on me, would you? How will he do it?” Chapin demanded.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Chapin believed her. His muscles knotted with tension.
The time had come. He knew he had to act now, or he would die.
“Goodbye Kevin. I do love you,” she said as a shadow grew on the wall behind her.
She started to squeeze the trigger. He dove sideways at the same instant she fired.
The sound was a dull thump. He rolled on the floor, gaining his knees as Abby fell.
He dove at her, grabbing the pistol from her hand. But his action wasn’t necessary, for she lay still. Her eyes were open wide in death. Blood seeped from her back, onto the floor, and spread in a dark and glistening pool.
His stomach convulsed. He clamped his teeth shut. He had loved her. She had tried to kill him. Chapin looked up and saw Brannigan and Blacky standing in the doorway.
The Soviet double agent held a Kalashnikov nine-millimeter. There was a silencer on it. “Thank you.”
Blacky shook his head. “Thank her. I was going to get Titania. She came after me and brought me back.”
“The door was open,” Brannigan said. “I went in and heard what she was saying.”
Chapin stood, went to her, and took her by her shoulders. “That’s twice that you’ve saved me. Thank you.”
Brannigan’s features were unreadable. She looked away from him and down at Abby. “What now?”
Chapin’s mind raced. No one had come to investigate the gunshot because of the silencer. But, when Abby didn’t report for her shift, someone would look for her. Her death would cause a major commotion on both sides.
If he could hide her body for a few hours, he might still be able to salvage things. “We go home. All of us.” He went to the dresser and Abby’s purse. He took out Abby’s wallet and passport. “We let Titania use these.”
“But she’s a blonde,” Blacky said, pointing to Abby.
“Go with him,” he told Brannigan. “Help make Titania into Abby. At least so she can pass a cursory inspection. When you’re finished, meet me in the cafeteria.”
When they were gone, Chapin knelt next to Abby. The sickness of what she had done was draining. A bleakness rose, turning his thoughts inward and dark. He cried, and wondered if it was for Abby or for himself.
He had made an almost deadly mistake. Was there no one he could trust anymore? He shook his head, wiped his eyes, and picked Abby up. He carried her to the single closet, and put her on the floor inside. He covered her with the clothing from the closet rod, closed the door, and jammed the lock. When he was satisfied the door would not open, he stepped back and told himself that in death Abby would make up for her deceit.
With that thought, Chapin closed off his pain and concentrated on getting out of Russia and completing his self-appointed mission.
With the right kind of luck, Titania Basilova would be able to pass as Abby Sloan, and gain her freedom in America. With the same sort of fortune, Chapin would be able to stop Sokova before he replaced Mathews with the Soviet raised twin.
Working quickly and efficiently, Chapin cleaned the blood from the floor and straightened the apartment. He packed his bag, went to the cafeteria and, although he wasn’t hungry, forced himself to have coffee and warm bread.
He was acutely aware that unless it was necessary, he must keep separate from the others, in case Abby’s body was discovered and connected him to it.
Larry Pine, the Courier photographer, walked in ten minutes later. He came over to the table and sat down. His walk was stiff, his face angry. “Are you going to work today, or do Brannigan and I carry your part again?”
He kept his expression blank. “Larry, things aren’t always what they seem to be. And I’m sorry you feel that I’m letting you down. We’re leaving for home in a few hours.”
Startled, Pine drew back. “Who is we?”
“The Courier press team.”
“Why?”
“We were recalled.”
“No way. Look, Morgan, I don’t know what kind of a scam you’re working; but, what I do know is that you aren’t any kind of a journalist that I’ve ever worked with.”
“Which means what?” Chapin’s voice went soft and low.
“That I go nowhere without direct orders from Ed Kline.”
“Suit yourself,” Chapin said. He looked at his watch. “Brannigan and I will be ready at eight. Meet us in front, with your bags.”
“And if I’m not there?” Pine challenged.
“Then, you stay. It’s not a smart move, but it’s your job…your decision.”
“I’ll think about it.” Pine stood and left the cafeteria.
At six-thirty, with his tension mounting, Chapin decided a change in plans was in order. He went to the hospital, rather than waiting for Titania and Brannigan to return to the cafeteria.
He found Blacky inside the lobby of the ma
keshift hospital, helping with the incoming injured. After alerting Blacky of his plans, he went up to Titania Basilova’s floor. At her room, he knocked and entered. He found Brannigan and Titania at a mirror, staring at an inch-wide band of whitish yellow hair at Titania’s hairline.
“We used high-volume peroxide and a heat lamp,” Brannigan said, motioning to an infrared lamp. “I figured if we could do the hairline, she could wear a scarf.”
Chapin nodded, realizing Brannigan had once again come through. “Perfect. A little makeup and we’re all set.”
“Why do you risk this?” Titania’s eyes were intense. “You may be caught with me. Without me, you have a better chance of escape. You must escape if you are to stop the people you are after.”
Chapin met her words with frankness. “Your husband gave up his life to help us. Without him, there would be no chance of stopping Sokova. This is for him!”
“But—”
“It has been decided, Titania. Get yourself ready. I spoke to Pine,” he told Brannigan, “which is why I’m here. I wanted to let you know that he may not be going back with us.”
“I expected that. Ever since we arrived in Tashkent, he’s been angry with you for not doing your job. He doesn’t understand how you can walk away from a story, and I couldn’t tell him why.”
“You were right.”
“But I’ll talk to him.”
“All right. Finish Titania’s makeup. I’ll be waiting downstairs with Blacky.
Fifteen minutes later, with a blond fringe peeking out of a blue scarf, and a face looking surprisingly like the one on Abby Sloan’s passport, Titania Basilova and Leslie Brannigan exited the makeshift hospital and got into the Zil.
At five to eight, they were back at the building, waiting for Larry Pine. Chapin sat in front with Blacky. Brannigan and Titania shared the backseat.
“Do you think he’ll come?” Brannigan asked.