The Complete Fugitive Archives (Project Berlin, The Moscow Meeting, The Buried Cities) (Endgame: The Fugitive Archives)

by Frey, James

  The apartment door opens, and Boone comes into the room accompanied by another man, who they call Tolya. He is not much more than 16 or 17, skinny and twitchy. He is also, apparently, a radio operator. He and Boone have been in the building’s basement, where there’s a hidden shortwave radio and where Boone was to try and communicate with his Cahokian liaison.

  “Did you reach him?” I ask as Boone takes the empty chair beside me. Yuri and Oksana stop their conversation and look at him too.

  “Yes,” Boone says.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to say too much, but he has little choice. Tolya has heard everything, and although Ott assured us that the boy understands almost no English, I suspect this is a lie. He has most likely understood everything that Boone transmitted to his contact, and everything that was sent back. Because of this, I’m also sure that Boone communicated in coded language.

  “I told him that I need a few more days to complete my mission,” Boone continues. “Hopefully, we will be done by then.”

  Yuri grunts. “Done or dead,” he says, then laughs loudly. “That is the plan, anyway.” He gets up and joins Tolya at the stove, where he is stirring whatever is cooking in the pot. Yuri dips a ladle into the pot, slurps loudly from it, and then picks up a bowl. He ladles some more of the pot’s contents into it and brings it over, along with a pile of spoons, which he drops in the center of the table.

  “Borscht,” he says as he hands me the bowl. “Very good.”

  I pick up a spoon and taste the soup. It is good, and warming. Yuri brings more bowls, and soon everyone is eating. Yuri talks as we eat, and it occurs to me that perhaps he gave us the soup so that we would be too busy to interrupt him.

  “I work as guard at Taganka,” he says. “In part of prison where Falkenrath and Brecht are kept. “Oksana works in kitchen. Ironic, since at home I do all cooking and she is better shot with pistol.” He laughs again, and Oksana makes a gun shape with her thumb and finger and pretends to shoot him.

  “Often I transfer prisoners from one place to another,” Yuri continues. “Plan is that I bring in new prisoner—Sasha.” He indicates Boone. “Also, there is new girl working in prison infirmary.” He looks at me. “What name is on your papers?”

  “Irina Guryeva,” I say.

  “Irina is new girl in infirmary,” Yuri says.

  “Infirmary?” I say. “Why not in the kitchen with Oksana?”

  “No girl needed in kitchen,” Yuri says. “But needed in infirmary. Oksana tell them her friend nurse and will come help. Your Russian is good. You will be fine. Mostly it is cleaning and sewing up knife wounds. You can do that?”

  “She can do that,” Boone says, and gives me a wink. I think about how I stitched him up after he saved me from the MGB attackers. At the time, touching his bare skin made me feel oddly off balance. Now I know why.

  “Excellent,” Yuri says. “Now you both inside Taganka.”

  “Okay,” Boone says. “But how do we get Falkenrath and Brecht out?”

  Yuri shrugs. “I do not know,” he says. “I only get you in.”

  “What?” Boone says. He looks at Ott. “This is the big plan? Get us inside and then make it up as we go along?”

  Yuri shrugs again and holds up his hands. A moment later, just as I’m about to speak, he and Oksana burst out laughing.

  “Yuri is joking,” Oksana says. “There is a plan.”

  “Yes,” Yuri says. “There is plan. Plan is, new prisoner Sasha will get into fight with Falkenrath, so that he has to go to infirmary. There, nurse Irina will give him injection that will make it like he is dead. We then take body out.”

  I look at Boone, who, like me, seems skeptical. “You’ve used this drug before?” I ask.

  “Three times,” says Yuri.

  “And it worked?”

  “One time,” he says. “Right, Tolya?”

  Tolya, who is leaning against the wall as he eats a bowl of borscht, nods brusquely.

  “Tolya was good as new once we give him antidote. No problem.”

  “And what about Brecht?” I ask. “How are we getting him out? Are you going to drug him as well?”

  “His health is not good,” says Yuri. “And two deaths would be suspicious, so we cannot use drug. To get Brecht out, we need explosion.”

  “Explosion?” Boon says.

  Yuri waves a hand. “It not as dangerous as it sounds. Always things exploding in Taganka. Prisoners make illegal stoves. Also, things for making vodka.”

  “Stills,” Oksana says.

  “Stills, yes,” says Yuri. “They make stills out of coffee cans, teakettles. All kinds of things. We make it look like one of them explode. Makes big mess. Lots of noise. Prisoners will start to riot as they always do. While other guards getting them under control, we sneak Brecht out.”

  I shake my head. “This is the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” I say.

  Yuri shrugs. “You have better one?”

  “Can’t we bribe someone?” I suggest. “Everyone I ever met in the MGB could be bribed.”

  “Possibly,” Yuri says. “If you have enough money. But takes time, and you do not have time.”

  “Or money,” Boone reminds me. “Not that much, anyway.”

  Yuri nods at him, then looks at me. “You have other plan?”

  I think for a minute. “I guess not,” I admit.

  Yuri holds up his hands. “I think not. So, we use my plan.”

  “What will Ott be doing?” I ask.

  “Waiting in ambulance,” Yuri says. “To drive body away. We will also put Brecht in van. Hide him underneath place where body is. It will, how you say, use one stone to hit two birds.”

  We spend the next few hours going over the plan again and again, using the rough map of Taganka Prison that Yuri draws on a piece of paper. Yuri will use his position as a guard to bring in a new prisoner, Boone. He will put him in the same cellblock as Falkenrath. Boone will pick a fight with the scientist and injure him enough to require a trip to the infirmary, where I will be waiting pretending to be a nurse. I will administer an injection to him that will make him appear to die, at which point they’ll call for his body to be removed to the ambulance waiting outside. Ott will be driving the ambulance, and will accept the body. In the meantime, Yuri and Boone will be setting up an explosion in the cellblock to create chaos and allow them to sneak Brecht out as well.

  The more we talk about it, the more unsure I am. There are so many places where the entire plan could go wrong, so many things requiring luck. Yuri assures us that he has some friends inside Taganka who will help, or at least not interfere, but I’m still not comfortable. I don’t like having so many variables, so many moving parts that need to come together for this to work.

  Boone can sense that I’m wary. His hand finds mine under the table, and he holds it while we go over the various steps in as much detail as we can. Every time Yuri glosses over something, or tells me not to worry when I raise a concern, Boone tightens his grip, reminding me to calm down.

  It’s after three in the morning when Yuri finally says, “I think that is enough. We go at six, so we should sleep.”

  “Six?” I say. “Why so early?”

  “Shift changes at seven o’clock,” Yuri explains. “This way, everyone tired from being up all night. Less likely to pay attention or notice anything out of place. Explosion will take them by surprise—BOOM! Also, will still be dark outside, so easier to get away.”

  He gets up, as if the meeting has been adjourned, and goes over to the couch, where he lies down. “Good night,” he says, and almost immediately he begins snoring.

  “He can sleep anywhere,” Oksana says as she covers him with a crocheted afghan. “He learned it fighting in the war. I, however, cannot sleep with his snoring, so I will be in the other room. You are welcome to sleep there too. We have no beds, but blankets and pillows.”

  Ott and Tolya stay in the kitchen as we follow Oksana into the apartment’s tiny bedroom, which is divided in half
by a sheet hung on a line. Oksana gives us the promised blankets and pillows, then leaves the room. We hear the door to the tiny bathroom shut, and then the sound of pipes banging as water is turned on. Boone and I create makeshift beds with the blankets and use the opportunity to talk while we’re alone.

  “What did you tell Kenney?” I ask him.

  “Not much,” he says. “That kid was hovering, although he was pretending to do something else, and I didn’t want to say too much in front of him. I think he understands more English than he lets on. And anyway, I didn’t want Kenney to know too much either. I’m sure the Cahokians have people in the Soviet Union, but I don’t want them involved. The less everyone knows, the better it is for us.”

  “This plan is shaky,” I say.

  “Like an earthquake,” he says. “But it’s the best we’ve got. Too many people know about the weapon now, and Brecht is the logical person to go to. We’ve got to get to him before someone else does.”

  “I wish we had more time,” I say. “And money. And equipment. And pretty much everything else.”

  “Hey,” Boone says. “We have the most important things. Each other.”

  “You just want to see me in a nurse uniform,” I tease. His remark is sentimental, but I can tell he believes it. I do too. Being with him is the only thing I have right now besides the years of training that are making it possible for me to—hopefully—pull off what we have planned.

  “We’ll make this work,” he says, kissing me.

  I don’t know if he means the plan or us. Before I can ask, Oksana comes back.

  “The bathroom is free,” she says as she disappears behind the sheet.

  “Ladies first,” I say to Boone, and head for the door with my bag.

  The bathroom is tiny, the water a cold trickle, but it feels good to splash some on my face and brush my teeth. As I do, I look at myself in the cloudy mirror. I look like any number of girls getting ready for bed. But in a few hours, I’ll be in the middle of a mission that could end in the deaths of more than a few people. Perhaps even mine. I think of all the other girls in all the other apartments in this building. What are they thinking about right now, the ones who aren’t asleep and dreaming? Are they wishing they had a new dress, or that the boy they like liked them back? Are they worried about their futures, or filled with hope for a better new year?

  I rinse my toothbrush and put it away. Will I be doing this again tomorrow night? Or will everything be different? I don’t know. I turn off the light and return to the room where Boone is waiting. Until it’s time to get up and prepare for the mission, I’ll lie with him, his arms around me, and, hopefully, dream the dreams of a normal girl.

  Boone

  From the outside, Taganka Prison is actually beautiful, at least what I can see of it in the predawn darkness through falling snow. It’s an imposing brick structure, with high walls, towers, and barred windows. I know terrible things happen inside, but as Yuri and I approach one of the side doors, I feel as if we’re entering a castle.

  “Talk little,” Yuri reminds me as he inserts a key into the lock of the door. “Your accent is not so good. Perhaps you act simple, yes?”

  I nod. At the moment, all I want is to get inside. I’m supposed to be a prisoner, and Yuri has dressed me as one. I’m wearing pants and a thin shirt underneath a tattered old coat. No socks, and a pair of old shoes with holes in the soles. When the wind blows, I feel as if I’m back inside the flooded chamber underneath the New Museum.

  “I will have to be rough with you,” Yuri says. “I apologize. It is necessary.”

  With the door open, he pushes me through, yelling at me in Russian to hurry up. I know this is for the benefit of anyone who might be inside, so I play my part, stumbling in and trying to look frightened. But the only one there is an old woman who is washing the floor with a mop, and she doesn’t even look at us as Yuri takes me by the arm and leads me down a hallway.

  As he predicted, the prison is mostly quiet. But there is some activity. As we move deeper into the building, a handful of guards appears. They glance at me and say a few words to Yuri. Nobody asks who I am or why I am there. I imagine they’ve seen so many people come in that they no longer care. Prisoners are just more bodies to manage, not people with names or stories of their own.

  I see some of these prisoners as I’m marched up a flight of stairs and down more hallways. They are crowded into cells. Most are asleep, but some are up. They gaze out with little more interest than the guards showed, maybe sizing me up, maybe looking to see if I’m someone they know. None speak to me or to Yuri, and I avoid their eyes, trying to be as unmemorable as possible. The smell is the worst, a combination of harsh soap and unwashed bodies. I suspect the soap is used more for the floors than for the prisoners, as I see more women like the one downstairs, all of them tiny and hunched over, pushing puddles of dirty water around as if it will help.

  Eventually, we stop in front of a cell and Yuri takes out his ring of keys. A door is unlocked and slid open. Yuri whispers in my ear, “Do it soon, before the shift change.” Then I’m inside, and the door is slammed shut.

  The cell is small, no more than eight feet across. Bunk beds are pushed against one wall, and there is a small window high on the far wall. The glass has a hole in it, and the winter cold blows in. A form is wrapped in a thin blanket and curled in the bottom bunk. Helmut Falkenrath. Ott’s father.

  I’ve debated about how much to tell him about what is about to happen to him. Part of me thinks that if he knows, it will not be as frightening. Another part thinks that it will all be much more believable if he knows nothing. However, I’m also afraid that if he fears he might be killed, he might have a heart attack or something.

  I hear noise in the hallway. Guards are talking. I recognize Yuri’s voice. The shift change is beginning. It’s time to act.

  I go to the bed and kneel down. I reach out and touch Falkenrath’s shoulder. To my surprise, he is not asleep. “I have cigarettes,” he says in Russian. His voice is timid, and I can feel him trembling. Probably, he has been afraid since hearing someone new enter his cell. He’s offering me a bribe not to hurt him. He keeps his back to me, curled tightly.

  “I am your son’s friend,” I say in German. “I am here to get you out.”

  He hesitates, then rolls over. It is hard to see him in the dim light, but I can see the gleam of his glasses. “Tobias?” he says, as if he can’t quite remember.

  “Yes,” I say. “I am a friend.”

  I feel bad saying this given what else I have to do, but I need to give him some hope to help him get through the next few minutes.

  “Is he here?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “He is waiting for you outside.”

  The voices of the guards grow louder. They are walking down the corridor. It’s time.

  “You must trust me,” I whisper to Falkenrath. “You will be all right.”

  Before he can answer, I drag him from the bed. “I said that one is mine!” I yell in Russian.

  Falkenrath cowers before me, obviously not understanding. He looks at me with confusion on his face. I have to remind myself that I’m here to save him as I punch him in the stomach. I don’t hit him as hard as I could, but even still, he cries out and falls backward. I reach down and pick him up by his shirt, which rips as he feebly claws at me with his hands.

  Hearing the commotion, prisoners in the surrounding cells stir. I hear the sound of running feet. The guards are coming. I have only moments to do what needs to be done.

  “I am king here now!” I shout. I pull the knife that has been hidden in my jacket out and hold it up. Falkenrath, seeing it, squeals in fear.

  “Help!” he cries. “Someone help me!” Despite what I have told him about being here to get him out, he obviously doesn’t believe that’s what’s happening. I don’t blame him.

  I cut him with the knife, aiming for the soft part of his stomach, the spot someone who was really trying to kill him would go for. B
ut I don’t go deep, just enough to make the blood flow. Falkenrath screams as if I’ve stuck him like a pig at slaughter, however, clutching himself and throwing himself on the floor. I don’t think he’s acting, but it’s exactly what I need him to do.

  I crouch over him, yelling threats and holding the knife up as the guards reach the cell door and open it. As planned, one of them is Yuri. He comes in first, knocking the knife from my hand with one giant paw and throwing me onto my back. He kneels over me and yells to the other guard, “Is that one dead?”

  The other guard checks Falkenrath. “Only bleeding,” he says.

  “Take him to the infirmary,” Yuri orders. “I’ll take care of this troublemaker.”

  The other guard helps a moaning Falkenrath get to his feet, then removes him from the cell. Yuri says to me, “Play along,” then jerks me to my feet.

  “Not five minutes in here, and already you think you run the place?” he bellows. “I think I need to teach you how things work in Taganka.”

  He punches me, but not too hard. I fall against the bunk beds, making as much noise as possible. From outside the cell, the sound of other inmates shouting drowns out our voices. Some are calling for me to kill the guard. Others are calling for him to kill me. A few rattle things against the bars of their own cells, clacking and clanging, creating a soundtrack to the fight.

  Yuri and I make it sound convincing. Several times he throws me into the bars of the door, all the while yelling at me that I need to learn my place. I pretend to fight back at first. At one point, Yuri shoves me a little too enthusiastically, my face connects with the floor, and my nose really does start to bleed. It hurts, but it makes things seem more real, so I don’t try to stop it. Yuri hauls me to my feet and drags me from the cell.

  “Perhaps some time alone will change your attitude,” he says as he parades me down the hallway.

  By the time we reach the stairs, the whole floor is buzzing. Also, more guards have appeared. As Yuri marches me by them, they eye me like a prize that they wish they’d been lucky enough to catch.