She felt as if a hand had reached out from below and snatched her the rest of the way down into the old darkness. “No! You can’t do szat--”
“It’s done.”
“Please, call the Americans,” she pleaded, all too aware that the Siloviki who Putin had increasingly placed back in his inner circle could still make anybody considered to be troublesome disappear. “Szey’ll bury me--”
“I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands--” He stopped himself. “Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
He said nothing.
The voices in the hallway grew louder. Were people from the Russian embassy really here? Or was it a trick? She strained to hear what language they were speaking, but couldn’t tell. “Unless what?” she repeated, desperate for a way out.
He studied her with a heavy sadness and shook his head.
“Tell me! I’ll do anything,” she pleaded. But as she uttered those words, the old reflex to submit and save herself seizing hold, she felt ashamed.
He tapped the top photo on the table, the one of Wey Chen’s letter. “I probably shouldn’t reveal this to you, but we didn’t take any of these pictures.” At that moment, the voices outside became much louder, and angrier. For a second he frowned in the direction of the door, as if annoyed by the ruckus, but then returned his attention to Anna. “They were sent to us anonymously. So we just want your help in finding out what is going on. In my opinion . . .” He shuffled through the pile, and brought one of the pictures of her and Terry to the top, “. . . this man betrayed you, and you owe him nothing.” He pointed to Ryder, and again shook his head, signaling how sad it was that her former colleague had mistreated her so.
The gesture reminder her of long ago, in another room with another cop and another picture when she was invited to lay a charge.
He leaned forward. “Suppose you offer evidence--namely a sworn statement that Drs. Ryder and Wey Chen conspired to use you as an innocent dupe in an attempt to blaspheme our nation and cause us economic harm--”
“What?” She jumped to her feet.
“Then I have reason to keep you here, and turn the Russians away empty-handed. Afterward, once your testimony is public, you be free to leave China.”
Present tense! He was losing it again. She, on the other hand, regained a fragment of her self-control. “I can’t do that. Ryder never put me up to anything of the sort--”
“You sure? How you know he not set you up to be used without your knowledge--”
“Because he wouldn’t have done it so clumsily,” she fired back, at least certain of that much.
Her answer seemed to take him by surprise He attempted to look earnest, but appeared at a loss for words instead. And his eyes kept darting toward the exit, the crescendo of shouts outside growing ever more loud.
She still couldn’t make out if they were speaking Russian. But in her mind, the approaching furor mimicked the soundtrack to a long ago nightmare, a mob of faceless police readying to sweep her back into what she’d escaped forever.
But that’s the fear this bastard is counting on, she thought. The same way the cops in Sverdlovsk had counted on her fear of losing a place in medical school. Except now she was no longer that helpless student. And no way would she let a tyrannical cop separate her from Kyra. Rage overwhelmed fear.
She grabbed her chair and swung it at his head.
Still seated, he saw it coming and just managed to tip over backwards to avoid the blow. He was rolling onto his feet, eyes popping wide in astonishment, when she kicked him in the groin, her dancer’s toes hardened like a row of ball-peen hammers.
He doubled over, his face red with fury and pain.
She backed toward the door. Whatever was going on outside sounded confusing enough that it might help her get away. All she’d need would be a few minutes head start, time enough to reach a phone and call the American embassy. She even knew the number by heart, having used it to sign in on arrival. 8188-8911. It had stuck in her head.
Her captor had other ideas. He roared something in Mandarin, and staggered toward her, only to abruptly stop and stand rigidly to attention.
It wasn’t what she expected.
She turned to see an older Chinese man who’d entered the room during her one-sided battle. His uniform bedecked with even more braid than her inquisitor’s, he snapped off an angry torrent of words, also in Mandarin. Something that sounded like “Katasova” was buried in the stream of otherwise indecipherable vowels.
Her interrogator, obviously outranked, remained erect, grimacing in silence. Then he erupted in a furious outburst of his own, and the two men argued back and forth for a while.
This is a turf war, Anna thought, and I’m the turf.
The older man uttered another volley of short, harsh syllables, silencing his young opponent again, but leaving him purple with rage. “Dr. Katasova, will you come with me, please,” he added in English, bowing his head ever so slightly in Anna’s direction . “I hope you’ll accept my apology for what happened. There has been a terrible misunderstanding.”
He led her outside into the corridor, past the two soldiers, by the sour-faced female attendant, and through a front door. It was nearly dark, and the sky bulged with storm clouds that were the color of lead.
They walked toward a sleek gray limousine, the kind embassies used, but it carried no flag.
A small group of men with occidental features and wearing Armani suits leaned against the hood, chatting.
As she drew nearer, she realized they were speaking Russian.
She froze, pivoted on her heel, and ran in the opposite direction.
“Anna!” cried a familiar voice from inside the car.
She ignored it. Because it couldn’t be him. Ahead she spotted an open lot scattered with brush and garbage that seemed to be her best bet for making an escape.
“Anna, it’s me!”
No! It’s a trick. She continued to run.
“Anna! Stop!”
Every instinct told her to keep going, but she slowed, and turned, as if in a dream.
And saw his boyishly thin form climb out from the dim interior of that hearselike vehicle.
His face was pale under tousled black hair, his features drawn, but the lovable spark in his dark eyes remained as undiminished as ever.
It was Yuri.
Chapter 13
“Anechka,” he said, and approached her the way he might a frightened animal, his hand outstretched, palm down.
She reeled backward, still not believing it could be him.
His fingers entwined themselves in hers and pulled gently, until he had her in his arms. She felt buried in the familiar feel of them, her head against his chest. His heart pounded against her ear, the way it did after they’d just made love. “Yuri?” she said, her voice still filled with disbelief.
“Come, Anechka, we have to hurry.” His broad Russian accent comforted her, its sound soothing and familiar as he guided her quickly toward the car.
It started to rain.
The Chinese policeman who’d escorted her out of the building gave her a polite nod and, like some overgilded chauffeur, held the rear door open for her. The men who’d been speaking Russian watched impassively. The coldness in their eyes made her uneasy.
“I want to talk alone with my wife,” Yuri told the one nearest them before climbing in beside her.
Wife? He hadn’t called her that since their divorce. A slip, or is that how he still thought of her, after all these years? Probably both. It didn’t matter, was totally irrelevant to the moment, but what a crazy revelation to pop out at a time like this.
The man he’d spoken to regarded him indifferently, then nodded, as if giving permission.
Yuri isn’t in charge here, she thought.
A second man, this one barking orders into a cell phone, walked around and got behind the wheel. As they accelerated away, Yuri leaned back into the soft black leather and grinned that damned, seductive boyish grin. “Wel
l, well, well. My Anechka in trouble and me to the rescue. Now that’s sweet!”
“Yuri, what the hell is--”
He waved her quiet. “There’s no time for explanations, my dear. All you need know is that your papers are in order, we cleaned out your hotel room--unfortunately only after the police tossed it--and the luggage, what’s left of it, is already at the airport. If anything’s missing, you’ll have to write it off.”
“But how--”
“No, no.” He wagged his finger at her playfully, continuing to speak in Russian. “You listen. No questions--”
“Yuri! Tell me what’s happening--”
He admonished her with the finger again. It became a metronome in her face.
She slapped it aside, soaring from frightened and confused to furious in one second flat. “Yuri Raskin! Stop that suave I’m-in-control crap right now--”
“Anechka, Anechka, Anechka!” He erupted into a deep rolling laugh, his eyes sparkling in the semi-darkness, and gestured operatically to the heavens with his hands. “You are, without a doubt, most beautiful when your passions peak, whether they be in rage or joy.”
That did it. She would murder him, here and now.
His overly dramatic declaration even caused their driver to regard them through the rearview mirror, a quizzical frown bunching up the skin of his forehead. It accentuated an ugly scar that ran through his right eyebrow.
“That’s the crypt-keeper!” she said in a high-pitched whisper, the shock of recognition having torpedoed her anger.
Yuri winked, stretched, and spread his arms along the top of the seat, in all appearances a man who owned the world.
Reaching over as if to ruffle his jet-black-hair, she grabbed a handful instead and gave it a yank. “You’re infuriating!”
“Ow!”
She released him.
“That hurt!”
“Good. And I’ll hurt you plenty more if you don’t start talking--”
“Okay, okay.” His bemused expression became deadly serious. “You’re booked on the next flight to Hong Kong, and from there to Honolulu. Now here’s the important part. Not a word of this to anyone. Not to your friend Ryder, not your people at World Health, nobody. Invent some story about Kyra getting sick and having to rush back to Kailua--”
She grabbed his hair again. “No, Yuri! I want your whole story. For starters, what the hell is that crypt-keeper creep doing here?” Her whisper had picked up the wrath of a snake’s hiss. “And who told you about Ryder’s part in this? Come to think of it, how did the Chinese know I’d worked with him before--”
“Stop it!” He leaned forward and broke her hold on his head with a brusque sweep of his arm. “You’ve got to keep your mouth shut, Anna. Promise me!”
“Why should I? It was a setup from the start, and those bastards never let me have so much as a phone call, even threatened to send me back to Russia. I’m going to scream bloody murder, to everyone from the State Department to the UN to Geneva and the WHO--”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “You’re going to shut up and do as you’re told!”
She stared at him in disbelief. He’d never laid a hand on her in anger before, not in the heat of their worst arguments. But this wasn’t anger. His pupils were suddenly so dilated they’d squeezed his irises into thin brown rims, and his lean face lost what little color it had. He was as frightened as she’d ever seen him.
He abruptly embraced her, his lips at her ear. “You don’t know what’s at play here,” he whispered. “There are forces bigger than anything you can imagine, and all your protests to all your petty little officials in all your useless organizations won’t change a thing . . .” He trailed off and pushed her away, glancing slightly toward the driver.
She followed his gaze. The crypt-keeper’s black stare was directed straight at them in the rearview mirror, and the coldness of it sucked the fight right out of her soul. Siloviki! her instincts screamed. The Armani meant he must be the kind who hires out to gangsters. “My God, Yuri, what have you gotten yourself into?”
The driver’s shoulders and neck bulged larger.
Yuri suddenly laughed again, but this time it sounded forced. “Gotten myself into?” He spoke at normal volume, but with a forced casualness that reminded her of how he had often dealt with overzealous policemen in Sverdlovsk. “Seems to me you’re the one who’s gotten yourself into something, and I’m getting you out.” He leaned away from her and settled into the corner of their seat, well beyond whispering range. “So behave!”
The driver’s neck and shoulders dropped a size. Clearly a man who liked his passengers to talk openly, not murmur secrets behind his back. He also seemed to prefer that Yuri keep her in line. Fat chance, but it might be a good idea to play along. “Yurisky,” she said, resurrecting her own pet name for her ex-spouse as tenderly as she could. It felt strange on her tongue, like a word from a foreign language that had been lost from disuse. “You know I can keep a secret. Why did they arrest me?” Pouting, she snuggled up beside him, playing the perfectly submissive ex-wife, and watched the driver’s neck to see if she’d strayed out of bounds again. No change.
Might as well press further. “And why are you here, Yurisky--”
Yuri put a finger on her lips. “No questions, remember? I mean it. And nobody hears anything about this, understand. My getting home depends on it.”
Perfectly submissive ex-wife vanished. “Home? But aren’t you flying out with me--”
“I have my own ways of getting back. And you mustn’t tell anyone I’m in China. Officially I never left the US.”
“But--”
“Anechka, you’re safe now. So leave it at that, cuddle close, and relax.”
Bringing her mouth to Yuri’s ear, she nuzzled it with her lips, then nipped at his ear lobe. “I’ll bite it off if you don’t tell me the truth” she said, taking the fleshy petal between her incisors.
Yuri’s smile widened. In the dark it seemed a grimace, and he said nothing, simply began to caress her neck. His fingers that had once explored every part of her were tentative, as if unfamiliar with the terrain. His touch left her cold. But she continued to give his ear an unctuous tonguing, attempting to appear as compliant in pleasing him as his usual bimbos. No threat here, Mr. Crypt Keeper.
Yuri leaned forward and reached into a compartment that held a decanter of amber fluid surrounded by glasses. He poured a small amount into one of the tumblers. “Drink this. It’s whisky. You need to calm down. Just sip it.”
“I’ll calm down when you tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed and looked toward the driver. “See? Its better she know.”
The man at the wheel didn’t say a word. He simply nodded.
Permission again. This time to speak.
Yuri toasted her with the glass. “My White Russians, whom you consider to be a bunch of gangsters, just saved your ass, is what’s going on.” He took a big swallow of the drink, then continued. “I’d done them and their families a lot of medical favors, big ones. When they learned something was brewing that could implicate you in a mess of trouble, they warned me, out of courtesy.”
“Trouble, with me? Wait a min--”
He waved her quiet. “These men are very powerful, and they do business with other powerful men from all over the world. Since the end of our late lamented Russian empire that kept local war lords in check, that world has become one big wild, wild west where the cowboys rule. But in China, with its huge emerging markets and billions to be made, the local boys are still fighting it out over who’s going to be the new sheriff in town. That leaves it a particularly dangerous, yet opportune place. All kinds of games and plots are afoot, and one of them, unfortunately, involved you as a pawn.”
“But why me?”
He took another swallow of his drink. “They didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Frankly, that kind of knowledge can get you killed. All I know is, the other side, the entrepreneurial Chinese with whom my White Rus
sians trade, took exception to whatever manufactured crisis with America their opponents had in mind--saw it as a threat to their own business ties with the US--and put a stop to it. They pulled a few strings with their own military connections, counter orders were issued, their good guys outranked the bad guys, and we won.” He took another mouthful of whisky, but this time savored it before swallowing. “Ah, single malt from Scotland. Lets hope that particular colonial hold-over in Hong Kong never loses its grip.”
She’d watched him as he spoke.
All the tell-tale signs had been there. The warm spark in his eye returned. The color in his cheeks regained a healthy glow. His manner became easy. Sweeping hand gestures accompanied his relaxed, raconteur style--Yuri at his charming best, holding court, verging on pretentious, and a nervous little catch in his voice that told her he was lying through his teeth.
…2009…
Chapter 14
Thursday, January 22, 2009, 7:32 PM EST
Amtrak Acella Express, destination Boston
Anna felt the old resentments stir and became oblivious to the swaying motion of the train.
After his return to New York, Yuri had never explained what really happened in Guangzhou, but one thing he did say stood out as particularly odd. She’d been pressing him about his own part in it all, and he replied, “You’d be proud of me, Anna. I’m going to save the world, just like you.”
If, after all their years together she knew when he was lying, she also knew when he told the truth. It came out effortlessly, the complete absence of any affect a telltale giveaway. That’s how he had spoken then, no joking, no feigned confidence. The claim, and his sincerity, struck her as strange, but he wouldn’t elaborate. The only thing she knew for sure--he believed it himself. As for the rest of her ordeal, he still insisted that she mustn't make a fuss. “Not only will you cause problems for me, but you’ll be persona non grata over there and never see the inside of China again. I’d say that would be a disadvantage for a leading member of WHO whose specialty is emergent diseases in Asia.” His warning infuriated her all the more because the son of a bitch was right. Reluctantly, she let the matter drop, and the entire event remained a mystery until, a year later, she learned a fragment of the truth.
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