Gregor drank more, saluting everything American he could name, from McDonald’s to Cadillacs and then some, until Edward took his leave. As a parting gift of goodwill, Gregor presented him with a flask-shaped bottle of vodka that slipped easily into Edward’s inside coat pocket. They shook hands and the big Russian hugged Edward and slapped him on the back, knocking the air out of his lungs. Gregor stood at the top of the staircase until Edward got to the bottom, where he could hear the big man cry after him, “Dus vidaniah, Tavasrish,” which by now Edward knew to mean “goodbye, my friend.” Outside, the taxi was waiting for him. Or, to be more exact, for the other half of the bill.
Back on the train, Edward went straight to the cabin. Natalie was standing by the wash basin, wearing her oversized T-shirt and, as far as Edward could see, not much else. She had an odd look in her eye that Edward could not quite fathom.
“Where were you?” she shot at him.
“I had to see someone.” Edward realized she was angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Everything’s fine. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“For God’s sake, Edward. I’m not a little baby. You should have told me what you were doing.”
Edward was stuck for words. He stared at her for several seconds, then he said in a low but firm tone, “Let’s get one thing straight here, Natalie. When it comes to the operational side of this journey, I tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. This is not an operation run by a committee, we don’t take a vote on things or make mutual decisions, and I don’t have to explain myself to you, or anybody else for that matter. Is that clear?”
Natalie sat on the bunk, looking away from him. She burst into tears. “I thought something terrible had happened.”
He sat next to her on the bunk and took her in his arms. “I was so worried about you,” she sobbed. He pulled her closer to him, stroking her back, trying to soothe away the tears. She buried her face in his neck, and he breathed the warm fresh scent of her hair. He felt a tightness in his groin and a pleasant weakness in his chest. But he could do nothing about it. His role here was that of comforter, not seducer.
Natalie lifted her head and sniffed. Seen like this, her face streaked with tears, she looked even more beautiful.
“I’m sorry I cried. It’s not like me,” she said finally.
“It’s okay.” He leaned his head on hers. For a long time they sat there in each other’s arms, until the Trans-Siberian started rolling again. She turned her head and watched as the station house and the deserted platform slowly moved away, clearing the view for more of Russia’s endless forests.
Natalie slid a cold hand under Edward’s shirt and slowly ran her hand across his chest. Rolling to one side, she lifted her leg across his thigh, her T-shirt riding up. He realized he was right: She had nothing under the shirt but herself. He drew her closer to him, searching with his lips for hers, his hand pressing against the small of her back. Slowly, bit by bit, she helped him off with his clothes, kissing every part as it was exposed. He, in turn, ran his lips over her soft skin, breathing in her scent, drinking it, feeling his head drift with it. Then, as though in a slow dance through a perfumed dream, they were naked, swaying on the narrow bunk. Her slim, soft body motioned slowly in his arms. Kissing his chest she coiled slowly, sliding down his body like a gentle wave, teasing him to the point of ecstasy.
Then, kissing her way back, she lifted herself gradually, standing as high as the upper bunk would allow before returning to unite with him. He felt the smooth warmth as she slowly took him in, seating herself on him, letting the gentle motion of the train dictate the rhythm as it rolled onward to Moscow.
CHAPTER 13
Moscow
March 18
11:15 hours
The taxi sped through the broad, frozen streets of the big city. Although Natalie was curled up close to him on the car seat, Edward had an empty feeling of loneliness, an underlying anxiety about the unknown that was gaining on him with every passing minute. This could very well be his last encounter with freedom for a very long time—or even his last day alive. Not knowing who was waiting for him, and why, was taking its toll. At first glance, Moscow was extremely reserved, lacking the friendly bustle of a Western city. The wide streets seemed distant and formidable.
Automatically, before he even realized it, he had snapped into operational mode, his attention focused on every detail that might affect his survival. He was learning the terrain, familiarizing himself with the rhythm of the place. His emotions were compressed into a tiny knot somewhere in his guts. It was that which caused the loneliness. As experience and training had taught him, the only person you could count on to get you out of trouble was yourself. But it wasn’t only himself he had to look out for.
Edward was glad of Natalie’s company, of the intimacy they had shared, and he was hopeful it would continue. If he could only leave her in a safe place and keep her there while he took care of the business at hand. He felt something for her. He wasn’t quite sure yet what it was, but he liked it. Still, there was something odd about her that he just could not put his finger on. She was like a moon rock, the kind children used to get out of Cracker Jack boxes, changing colors almost to fit with his moods.
Natalie still had her apartment out on the Kalinina Prospekt, in the western part of the city, but they had decided against using it. There was no way to know if it was still under surveillance by the people who had wanted her dead.
They checked into the Hotel Metropole, a large, old-fashioned monument to what Russia could have been if it had only been allowed. In contrast to its welcoming glow and old imperial charm of gilded mirrors and marble columns, the clerk behind the oak counter under the sign reading “Registration” had a bored, sullen look, and although Edward couldn’t understand what he was saying, his tone was obviously less than cordial. At last, after many surly looks and irritable remarks, he handed them their key and turned away with an insolent air to stare at the wall.
“What was that all about?” Edward asked as they made their way up to the room.
“Nothing much. It’s par for the course around here.”
“How come?”
“These people haven’t had to be polite to their guests for seventy years. It’s going to take a while for them to change their ways, and there’s very few who can teach them how.”
The room was clean and airy. The en suite bathroom was spacious and exhibited a sunken bath. When she saw it, Natalie’s eyes lit up. She turned on one of the brass taps, and after a short cacophony of coughing air, it finally issued gushes of cold water which gradually turned steaming hot.
“Check this out,” she said, looking at Edward with laughing eyes. “After four days on that lousy train, I’m ready for this.” Before he could say anything she was naked and testing the steaming water with her toe. There was a mischievous expression on her face. “Care to join me?”
Edward was as clean as could be by the time they were dressed for dinner. He felt he was in the eye of the storm, where the quiet and serenity were temporary. He had a sensation that he was being watched but, not giving way to the constant enemy of covert activity, paranoia, he dismissed it. No one knew which hotel they were going to stay at, and he had not yet made contact with anyone. Considering these two facts, there was no possible way for him to be under surveillance unless their entire operation leaked badly. And that was not an option he could check out at the moment. Nevertheless, he knew he would feel more secure if he had a weapon. Bringing his snub-nosed revolver through Russian customs, of course, had been out of the question. He decided to make use of Larry’s contact from the British Embassy. He called the number Larry had given him.
“I can get you a Luger at very short notice,” said a British-accented voice when Edward had explained who he was and what he wanted. “Would that do?”
They agreed to meet in the ground-floor washroom of the Metropole at eleven. Edward would bring
the five hundred dollars, and the man named Smythe—he had sternly corrected Edward when the latter had called him “Smith”—would bring the gun. Feeling reassured by this arrangement, Edward announced to Natalie that he was ready for dinner.
The hotel’s Russkaya Chainaya restaurant boasted traditional Russian cuisine, as well as a selection of Western dishes, including omelets and hamburgers. The smell of cooking in the place was appetizing, even if the dishes they were presented with were far less so. Natalie ordered traditional Russian dishes: fish soup, rasstegai pies, and a small bottle of Georgian wine. Edward was more careful. Tomorrow was his rendezvous at the Grave of the Unknown Soldier, and the last thing he wanted was a bad stomach. He stuck to buns and butter and some cooked vegetables.
After dinner they returned to their suite. Natalie settled down with her paperback, but Edward was too restless to sit still. He prowled around the suite, looking out the window, checking his watch, waiting for eleven to come around. At last it was time.
“You’ll be okay?” said Natalie.
“No problem.” He took the elevator down to the ground floor and went directly into the washroom, where a man was standing by the mirror, trimming his beard with a small, thin pair of scissors.
“Smythe?” said Edward, taking care to get the pronunciation right.
“End cubicle,” the man said quickly.
Edward went down the row of tan painted doors, opened the last one and shut himself inside. He heard the door of the next cubicle being locked.
“Money,” said Smythe.
Edward put his hand, clutching a fistful of fifties, through the gap between the cubicle wall and the floor.
“All right,” said Smythe’s voice. “Here.”
As soon as he saw the pistol, Edward loosened his grasp on the bills. They were quickly removed from his hand. The toilet flushed, and Smythe left the washroom. Edward gave him a couple of minutes, then went back upstairs.
Natalie was in bed already. Edward sat by the small table and took the gun apart. It was not enough to have a gun; he had to make sure it would work. Then, satisfied it was all in order, he placed it under the pillow and got in beside her.
Moscow
March 19
10:05 hours
The Federal Express office was located on Kalanchovskaya Street, not far from the Ostrovsky Theater. Edward picked up the parcel first thing in the morning. The waybill described the contents as “documents.” In fact, the parcel consisted of a large carton filled with books, as Edward confirmed when he got it back to the Hotel Metropole. He searched a couple of paperback volumes before he found what he was looking for: a large book in which the inside pages had been cut a square hollow, large enough to conceal two thick piles of bank notes. In that book alone, there were two hundred bills worth one hundred each.
The parcel contained a total of over forty books, all but the first few of which contained similar hidden compartments. Edward counted the bills with satisfaction. All in all, Larry had sent him nearly half a million dollars.
Edward put some of the money into an attaché case. The rest he placed in a special belt he had brought with him for this purpose, which he then strapped around his waist, beneath his shirt and pants. It made him look a little overweight around the middle, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was more concerned that the money might not be enough. He still had only a vague idea of what he would spend it on, but he was certain that none of the items that were likely to wind up on his shopping list would come cheap.
He and Natalie put their coats on and went down into the street. It was a fine day, and their destination was not far off, so they decided to walk.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, at the foot of the Kremlin’s Armory Tower, south of the large square at the end of Karl Marx Avenue, appears humble enough at first glance. But as you come closer to it you realize its impact: a large granite platform with a slightly sunken section, in the middle of which an eternal flame burns at the center of a five-pointed bronze star with an inscription in Russian. Closer to the wall, behind the star, is a large granite sarcophagus draped with the Soviet flag in polished brass, and a larger-than-life Russian helmet with the star emblazoned on its front. Behind the sarcophagus, on each side of which stands a ceremonial guard, is a row of pine trees glowing green against the red stone of the Kremlin wall, over which tower the yellow walls of the former Arsenal Building.
Occasionally someone stopped and placed a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the inscription. Edward knew the look in their eyes; he had seen it many times at marble and granite pillars where names were not marked. There was the hope and the frustration of not being sure, which differed from the agony of those who knew all too well where their dear ones rested.
Edward looked at his watch. The rendezvous was set for eleven; it was two minutes to. Arm in arm with Natalie, he stood in front of the brown granite tomb. Together they looked like any tourists, except maybe for the copy of the Phoenix Gazette sticking out of Edward’s coat pocket.
A woman walked up and laid a bouquet of red tulips among the others at foot of the tomb. She stood there for a minute and looked at the effect, then stooped again and moved it a little closer to where Edward was standing. “Toriste?”
He nodded.
“You speak English?” she asked.
Edward nodded again.
“Such beautiful flowers, yes?” she said, standing again, smiling. Edward nodded indifferently, wishing she would go away.
“You see here,” said the woman, pointing to the inscription on the granite tombstone. “You know what says? I will translate.” And she read: “‘Your name is unknown, what you have done is immortal.’ Beautiful, yes?” Edward nodded again, trying to walk the fine line between keeping his distance and being outright rude to the woman. At last, as if sensing that these tourists were not friendly, she walked away. Edward looked at his watch again. It was one minute past eleven. If something was going to happen, it would happen now. Edward watched the second hand ticking on his watch, then his eye was caught by the white card that was attached to the bouquet the woman had left. On it was written one word: Larry.
Edward bent down and busied himself with untying and retying his shoelace. Before standing up, he palmed the white card. Written on the other side were the words: Restaurant. Hotel Intourist. Alone.
Edward slipped the card into his pocket. Natalie had not noticed a thing. He waited for a couple more minutes, then he looked at his watch again. “I don’t like the way this is turning out. Something’s wrong. Go back to the hotel and wait for me there. If you don’t hear from me within three hours, leave the hotel. Contact Larry, he’ll get you out of here.” He handed her the attaché case. “There’s at least a hundred and fifty grand in there. Use it if you need it.”
“What happened? Why the sudden change?”
“I don’t know, it’s just a hunch. But I want you to be safe. I’ll probably be back shortly. It’s just a precaution. Don’t argue with me. Please, just do as I say.”
“Okay. If I’m not in the hotel I’ll be at my apartment.”
“That might not be smart. They might still have it under surveillance.”
“I mean if you don’t come back right away. For now I’ll wait for you at the hotel. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. You just watch out. Don’t be a hero, okay?” She flicked her fingers at the monument. “This is what heroes get—a hole in the ground.” She looked into his eyes. There was a strength in her look.
“Okay. If you don’t hear from me soon, don’t hang around. Get the hell out of this place.”
She leaned over and kissed his lips. “I love you,” she said and turned to walk away. He had nothing to tell her, nothing that would sound as clear as her statement.
Sokolov had the tinted window of his car rolled down a couple of inches. He waited until the woman who had come with the American walked away. Then, once he was sure his target was moving in the direction of the hotel as instructed, he order
ed his driver to head to their second position. As he passed by the Hotel Intourist, he signaled a man waiting outside. The signal meant the target’s on the way and all is clear.
Sokolov had to come up with the card trick at the last minute. He had no idea who the woman was, and he wasn’t about to find out during the operation. As Rogov had said to him over and over again, do not compromise your plan and you minimize your risk.
CHAPTER 14
11:05 hours
Edward walked through the Alexandrovsky Gardens, across the Square to Gorky Street. He soon identified the Hotel Intourist and went inside to find the restaurant. The menu was posted on a board outside, and he stood there reading it for a minute or two. A man approached and stood by him. “See anything that whets your appetite?”
“Not really,” Edward replied truthfully.
“There is a bakery on Pushkin Street. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“Left on Gorky,” said the man, pointing at the main entrance. “Take the first right, then the first left. It’ll be on your right.” Then he turned away as if they had never met and wandered off into the restaurant.
Edward followed the directions. He knew they were testing to see if he was bringing a tail with him or leading his contact into a trap. The method was well known and used by every intelligence agency worth its salt, and yet it was foolproof. The counter-surveillance team would consist of at least five people and two cars, as well as whomever he was to meet with. The fact that they were taking precautions made him feel better; if this were a trap, none of it would be necessary.
Edward walked at an easy pace, trying to look inconspicuous. The buildings along Pushkin Street were all quite anonymous, with few signs to say what they were, not that he could have read the signs had there been any. He wondered how easy it was going to be to find a bakery. He thought he should be looking for a shop with a line of people outside. Weren’t Russians supposed to have to line up for everything? But there were no lines of people anywhere in sight. He kept walking.
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