Disposable Asset

by John Altman

  He nodded again.

  ‘Sleep well, baushki-bau,’ she said and started to remove herself.

  ‘Katya?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Leave the door open a crack?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘OK, detka. And don’t be scared. I’ll be right outside.’ She paused, and then added: ‘I’ll take good care of you.’

  Lying in the dead woman’s bed, she ran restive eyes across a dark ceiling.

  In the morning they would wake, breakfast, and dress. Ordinary clothes for him; short dark hourglass coat, shades, and half-ponytail for her. She would leave Nikolai alone while she went to, ahem, fetch the car. And just thirty kilometers later, they would reach the checkpoint. Ten minutes after that she would be in Finland at last, where the entire state security apparatus would not be bent on finding her. And then this would all, finally, be over …

  Outside, the snarling wind cranked briefly up into a shriek.

  In the grip of that wind, drifts of snow would be massing against the woodpile beside the house. Inside her crude coffin of logs, Nikolai’s mother would by now be crusted with ice. But so it went, in the end, for everyone. For Quinn. For Blakely. Eventually, for Cassie herself.

  But not yet.

  She breathed, slowly and steadily. Consciousness oscillated in time with her respiration, turning deep and then shallow, shallow and then deep. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least rest. Tomorrow she must be ready. Tomorrow was the last hurdle. In which the brave and resourceful bunny rabbits eluded the evil cats. Chapter six, she thought dreamily, in which Eeyore has a birthday and gets two presents …

  In which Nikolai and Katya elude the evil Koschei and escape scot-free. And little does young Nikolai realize that in fact Katya is Cassie and Cassie is Koschei, or the closest thing this particular story has to Koschei. Cassie is the bad guy here, because Cassie is doing to young Nikolai exactly what Quinn had done to her. Putting him at risk for her own selfish purposes. Taking him to run a gamut of stupid, brutal men with big guns and itchy trigger fingers. Using him, not to mince words. Using his naivety, his trust, his love, and his hunger for his missing parents – just as Quinn had done to her.

  It was the way of the world. The older and stronger took advantage of the younger, the dumber, the weaker. You didn’t have to like it. But you did have to be on the right side of the equation. Otherwise you suffered. As she had suffered.

  No longer.

  Now the fog had truly lifted. Now she was truly awake. Now she saw clearly at last.

  In the real world, it was every man for himself.

  Distantly, an owl hooted. A wolf howled a mournful reply – almost just outside the window, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

  FIFTEEN

  The little bird cooks porridge, she gave it to this one, she gave it to this one, she gave it to this one … but none for you! Why? You did not bring water. You did not chop firewood. There is nothing for you …

  Eventually, he slept. In the dream he was inside a car, leaning up against a door, and the door popped open; or perhaps the rest of the car fell away, but the door remained in place; or perhaps it was the world itself that fell apart, the air and the light which held the door and the car together that failed. In any event, the integrity of the vehicle deteriorated, the door opened, and Nikolai and the speeding car parted ways. He was falling. Katya had not kept him safe. Grown-ups lied: about that, about everything.

  His eyes were half-lidded, and he looked at his glowing Sputnik. He half-dreamed, half-listened as the stuffed animals clustered around him whispered: Don’t trust the grown-ups. Grown-ups lie. Grown-ups always lie.

  It was true. Mama had lied about whether or not Papa would come back – so long ago that she thought Nikolai had forgotten. But he would never forget. She lied about whether she went to bed right after she put him to sleep. (She very rarely did.) She lied about whether Sasha hurt her when they hugged hard. Sasha lied too: about whether or not he would play with Nikolai, about whether or not he would still be at the house in the mornings. (He very rarely was.) Sometimes he lied without even lying, which was like a double lie. He told Mama she looked pretty, she should have another bite of cake, but with his eyes glinting in such a way that indicated he didn’t really mean it. Nikolai saw; he saw it all. Adults were confusing and horrifying and contradictory. If you could count on one thing about them, it boiled down to this: they lied.

  In this shadow world of half-sleep, piglet became a sage, a soothsayer, a general the others would follow into battle without hesitation. You would never guess it to look at him, but piglet knew a lot.

  Don’t trust Katya because she’s a grown-up and she lies.

  But what else was he supposed to do? She was the only grown-up around. He needed her. At least until Mama came home …

  He tossed, turning over, closing his eyes tightly. Go away, piglet. I don’t want to listen to you any more.

  In the morning, he bounced out of bed eagerly, consumed by a single thought: today was the day they would go get Mama.

  As he crossed the room, he felt a penetrating gaze on his back. He turned. Piglet lay slumped crooked on the bed, small black eyes accusatory. A rill of the previous night’s fear trickled across Nikolai’s happy mood, like a storm cloud moving across the sun.

  ‘Breakfast,’ called a merry voice.

  He slowly turned away and went to have breakfast.

  Vegetable soup, stale bread, and varenye waited on the table. The discontent he felt at the meal was balanced by the fun of having routine so blithely upended – whoever heard of soup for breakfast? He ate a few polite bites and drank water. Katya drank tea. After the meal she set him in front of the TV – another violation of the rules, so early in the morning – and then went into Mama’s room. Minutes later, she disappeared through the front door.

  He watched an entire episode of Spokoynoy nochi, malyshi!, was just starting again from the beginning when he heard the front door open again. He listened as she packed a bag in the bedroom. Then she came out and turned off the TV. Nikolai blinked, hardly recognizing her. For the first time in his experience, she had no ushanka; he could see her blonde hair, tied up on one side with a ribbon. She wore sunglasses balanced on the tip of her nose, and make-up, and a small purse, and a short dark hourglass coat.

  Crouching before him, she looked levelly into his eyes. ‘We’re going to go get your mommy now, sweetheart. Just like the bunny rabbits in the story. And if anyone asks …’

  ‘I’m Maxim,’ he said.

  ‘Such a smart boy. You’re Maxim, and I’m your mother.’ Smiling, she reached into the purse. ‘You won’t have any trouble,’ she said, ‘because you look exactly like Maxim. Look what I found.’

  She produced a small booklet and opened it. Nikolai saw a photograph of a boy who looked, indeed, very much like himself. Puzzling out the letters below, he put together the first name: M-A-X-I-M.

  He grinned. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Right? I found one for myself, too.’ Back into the purse went the passports. Out came Nikolai’s winter hat, with ear flaps and a tassel. She tugged it on to his head. ‘So just remember: if we run into trouble you say, loud and clear, “I’m Maxim, and this is my mama!” And we’ll get your mother back. And while we’re at the doctor’s office, I bet you’ll get a special treat – a lollipop. Sound good?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Where will you go, after Mama comes back?’

  She looked at him. ‘I’ll come play with you again real soon, detka.’

  ‘Promise?’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  She buckled him into the back seat, slid behind the steering wheel, and pulled away without a backward glance.

  Gripping the wheel tightly, she tried to clear the flight decks in her mind. Just an ordinary mother with child. Ordinary tourists, occupying an ordinary Toyota Alphard minivan. She’d had an ordinary fight with he
r ordinary husband. He’s coming by train with our daughter, through Imatra. If she believed it, they would believe it. Of course, it’s really he who wants to see the dam.

  The Alphard’s suspension expertly absorbed the road’s small rolls and dips; the ride was smooth and silent. The stillness, somehow malign, did not help to ease her nerves. She almost reached out and switched on the radio, just to drown out the quiet. But then she risked tuning into a news report at just the wrong time. The boy might hear the wrong thing. She left the radio off.

  She would ditch both kid and van, she thought, somewhere in Helsinki. He would survive. She had. Things were tough all over. In the real world, it was every man for himself.

  Before trying an airport, she’d lay low for a while, and then steal another passport. And then … somewhere new. Out west, maybe. Once she’d known a guy named Bogie, who had gone to seek his fortune in LA. Maybe it was time to look him up, see what there was to see out in La-La Land. She’d thought her days of wandering were over. But she’d made that mistake before. Reality always came back around.

  A glossy black crow sitting on a fence post watched the van pass. Eyes rimmed red in the cloudy, dreary light. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary …

  Towering snowy pine and spruce. The sky gray, flat, and low. The only other vehicle in sight a truck, just vanishing beyond a low hill ahead. The road should have been more crowded. She was counting on a crush at the customs station to help ease them through. Why wasn’t the road more crowded?

  Still ten kilometers, at least. Time enough for a crowd to develop.

  A train appeared on the right, hooting. In back, Nikolai sat up straighter. ‘Look!’ he yelled, so vigorously that her heart staggered in her chest.

  ‘I see!’

  ‘Look! It’s so fast!’

  ‘I see!’

  ‘I hope it’s the good guys!’ he cried happily. ‘I hope it’s the good guys coming to help us and not the evil bad cats and evil Koschei trying to get ahead of us because they’re going to win. Look how fast they’re going!’

  ‘I think it’s the good guys!’ she said.

  ‘I think so too! I hope so! I really hope so! They’re going so fast! But we’ve got to get Mama and so it really better be the good guys because if it’s the evil cats we’re really in trouble!’

  ‘It’s the good guys! But if it’s the bad guys, what do we do?’

  ‘I say I’m Maxim and you’re my mama!’

  ‘Such a smart boy!’

  Traffic thickening now, thank God. And even more ahead; slowing down, bunching up. A sign announced in multiple languages the imminence of the border crossing. The road branched into multiple lanes. And here came the clog of traffic, with a vengeance. The minivan drew to a stop behind a wheezing bus.

  They idled.

  He’s coming by train with our daughter, through Imatra. He’s coming by train with our daughter, through Imatra. He’s coming by train with our daughter, through Imatra.

  They crept slowly ahead. The customs station looked just as it had on the website, with one lane for the train, which had come to a stop, and six for motorized vehicles. Trunks were inspected, passports scrutinized, windows leaned into, paperwork filled out. Certain travelers were invited to pull over into stalls, leave their cars, and accompany border guards into a low gray building. On the other side of the border, the Finnish apparatus hummed along: bigger, brighter, cleaner.

  They pulled up to a white line. A guard wearing a clipboard and holding a beret approached her window. ‘You’re Maxim now,’ she told Nikolai. ‘And I’m your mama.’

  In the rear-view, she saw him nod soberly.

  The guard leaned down: early twenties, dirty blond hair, air of profound disinterest. At the same moment the cool gray fog descended, thicker than ever, enveloping her. She felt tremendously calm, tremendously in control, as if she watched herself, watched an entire scene already scripted, from the outside.

  ‘Anything to declare?’ the guard asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, handing over the passports.

  ‘Tourists?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going to meet my husband in Helsinki …’ She almost said more, bit her tongue. Don’t try too hard.

  ‘Fruits and vegetables?’

  ‘No.’

  He leafed through the passports, handed them back, then passed over the clipboard. A form on top, a ballpoint pen on a chain. ‘Fill this out.’

  She did, providing Helsinki as their destination, tourism as their purpose, and a home address in Kursk. As she handed back the clipboard, her eyes flicked past the guard. A dozen yards ahead, the customs operation fed into a brief no-man’s land. Then, beyond a Tigre APC with a light machine gun mounted on a rooftop turret, was Finland.

  ‘I have to go potty,’ Nikolai announced suddenly.

  A cold hard wind picked up, blowing the cool mist to shreds.

  She thinned her lips, looked back over her shoulder. ‘Can you hold it?’

  ‘No. I need to go now.’

  The guard was watching. She had no choice. ‘OK,’ she said.

  He directed her to pull forward again, park in a stall bordered by waist-high slats of Plexiglass. Before stepping out of the van, she looked around, noting the position of mounted cameras, dogs sniffing at the ends of leashes, a helicopter passing overhead. A tourniquet was closing around her chest, squeezing her heart.

  She might still floor the accelerator. But on every side of the stall beyond the Plexiglass barricades, the minivan was penned in; vehicles in front, vehicles in back. She might piledrive one or two out of the way, but she could not plow through them all. And even if she could manage to get beyond them – even if she could manage to part the terrific metal sea – she would find emergency measures instantly implemented, spike strips and armed guards, and beyond those, the Tigre APC. And, of course, the helicopter. Always a damned helicopter …

  Nothing for it but to leave the van, take the kid to the bathroom, and pray.

  She closed her eyes for a split second.

  She opened them and reached for her door.

  Junior Lieutenant Golod sneezed.

  Miserably, he flicked a wad of snot from his fingertips. Then he dug a tissue from his tunic. From the far side of the border, two members of the Finnish Customs and Frontier Guard looked at him askance. Supercilious bastards, thought Golod, with their spotless blue-and-white uniforms and their snotless noses. But their precious manners came at the price of virility. Just a matter of time until Rodina kicked their ass again on the battlefield, reabsorbing them into the great Russian Empire.

  Closer by, a handler and his Caucasian Mountain Shepherd watched, with hints of both humor and concern, as Golod gave his nose a terrific honk. Almost daintily, the junior lieutenant repocketed the sodden tissue. He gave the handler a challenging stare. The man turned away, finding the fragment of cloth with the quarry’s scent and offering it to the dog again. The powerful tail thumped twice.

  A waste of time, thought Golod as he watched the canine team snuffle on. They would all catch their death of cold for nothing. The woman would never try to pass right in front of all these cameras and guards and helicopters and dogs. She was not a samoubiystvo, a suicide waiting to happen, or she would not have lasted nearly this long. Probably, she had gone south long before, and this was all a wild goose chase.

  His nose was already running again. Nothing out here but cold and wind and trees, it seemed, and the carbon monoxide of a thousand idling vehicles. No wonder his body was breaking down. Even the dog was shivering …

  … and growling, low and thick.

  Straining forward, ninety kilos of muscle pulling the leash tight, and then looking back to see its handler’s reaction.

  Not shivering, Golod realized suddenly.

  The dog was quivering with excitement.

  He followed the line described by the taut body.

  A trio had just walked past: a guard, a young child, and the child’s mother. />
  Golod absorbed the woman from the back. Blonde, proper, responsible. Nurturing, if still a few years from conventional thick-waisted matronhood. A far cry from the shaved-head young punk they were seeking. And in the company of a child and a guard, which elevated her almost above suspicion.

  But the quivering dog, now arrow-straight, said otherwise.

  Golod drew his threaded SIG Mosquito semi-automatic pistol with ten-round magazine and, holding it loosely by his side, exchanged a glance with the dog’s handler.

  As they walked, Cassie bent away from cameras under the guise of wiping Nikolai’s nose with a tissue. She said, ‘Make sure you wash your hands after you use the potty.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  ‘Soap and water.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ He looked up at the guard. ‘I’m Maxim,’ he said guilelessly.

  The man grunted.

  ‘Halt,’ someone was calling.

  Cassie ignored it.

  They kept moving.

  ‘Hold it. You there. Halt.’

  This time there was no pretending she had missed it. The man escorting them had heard it too; he turned his head. And others were picking up on the spoor in the air, the frisson of unfolding developments.

  The guard who was issuing the command – ten, twelve yards away, a few years older than her, thickset, red-nosed – had drawn his gun.

  She turned on her heel, heading back toward the van, dragging Nikolai along. On her left a dog arrowed toward her, quivering at the end of its leash as its handler fought to hold it back. She nudged Nikolai around to her other side, a mother protecting her brood. ‘Need to go potty,’ he said weakly.

  They were almost back to the minivan now. But the guard with the drawn gun was advancing. Another was coming up behind the Alphard. By then she had the door open. She hiked Nikolai into the back seat. She closed the door and moved to cross around the rear fender, but the man there was unlimbering his holster. She reversed, went to cross instead in front of the hood, and nearly collided with the one holding his gun.

  She found a friendly smile. Cocked her head lightly, communicating gentle surprise. What’s the problem, officer?