by M. L. Huie
“Who he thinks is working for him. This was about building trust. And that’s all.”
Leaves fell into the creek and floated downstream. Livy stepped back from Keller and watched a little boy pick a big maple leaf out of the water and proudly show his mother. Keller leaned against the bridge, trying to make eye contact.
“Do you know why the Germans called him the ‘Red Devil’?”
“I’ve read the file.”
“Files don’t deal with reputations and how they’re made. They’re just about facts. In the war, Kostin was with a group called SMERSH. It’s an acronym but the words mean ‘Death to Spies’ in Russian. One of Kostin’s jobs was to interrogate Nazi deserters. This was near the end, and the Red Army was still weeks from Berlin. Kostin would squeeze these men for every piece of information they might have. He’s a damn good marksman. He knew where to shoot a man to maximize pain but keep him alive long enough that he’d talk. I don’t mean just kneecaps, but places where the pain is so bad they must have begged to be finished off. He even had a calling card, you might say. When he was done with them, he’d shoot both eyes out, then hang the bodies up as a warning.”
Keller’s little story did its job and gave her a bit of a shiver. Then she thought about Peter Scobee, another man she thought she knew. A man whose kind exterior masked something dark. This time was different, she told herself. She had no illusions about Kostin. And she had her own dark side to worry about.
“So let me ask you, Miss Nash, do you think you can establish real trust with a man like that?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Livy turned away from him. The tranquil natural scenery, combined with mums and children out for a day, looked like a Normal Rockwell painting. The only thing wrong with the picture was the two of them. The spies in the park, manipulating lives all over the world.
“What if he starts to suspect you? You think he’ll show you mercy?”
“Are we done here?”
Keller leaned in. His eyes lightened and the big Midwestern face softened. “This operation has gone a lot further than I ever thought it would, Livy. That’s thanks to you. But what I’m suggesting can end it. If we threaten to send that film to his embassy, then Kostin knows that the next stop for him is Moscow, to get a bullet in the back of the head. We’ll have him. He’ll give us what we both want.”
“Mr. Keller, you’re not a woman. We know men. Better than you do yourselves sometimes. Yuri is tired. He’s a man searching for something. Into his life walks an old fling. Someone who understands him more than other women do. Someone who offers him precious secrets. And the promise of more. I’m his lifeline. I have more leverage over him to get what we both need than any blackmail you and your G-men can dream up.”
Keller sighed and held out his hand to her. The gesture threw Livy until Keller said, “So good seeing you again. Please tell your family I miss them.” She took his hand and they embraced. A friendly, platonic hug. The kind friends give each other if they’ve grown up together.
As he held her, he said, “Think about this. You’re playing the long game right now. Doesn’t have to be that way.”
She pulled away, smiled, and turned to walk back to the zoo entrance. Keller started in the other direction.
Her nerves vibrated. She walked quickly. A gust of wind caught the front of her hair. She pushed it back into place and felt wetness on her cheek. She was right about what she’d told Keller. She knew Yuri Kostin. Livy was sure of it.
* * *
By late afternoon she was back in the palatial, air-conditioned comfort of The Statler. She tried to nap but couldn’t. Reading didn’t make her tired. It couldn’t take her mind off the night before at the Gayety, the afternoon with Keller, and the realization that she might very well be in this dark game for weeks to come.
Livy ate dinner at a table for two in a corner of the hotel restaurant. She picked at her food and felt the same creeping anxiety she’d felt each night since this whole thing had begun. At the table next to her, a husband and wife tried to get a toddler to eat with her fork. Keller is home right now, she thought. With the missus and the new baby. And here she was. Alone. Pushing a piece of overcooked chicken around a fancy plate and facing the same demons she thought she’d beaten a year ago. She had the impulse to go back to her room, call Alice, and ask if she wanted dinner or a drink. But she couldn’t involve more people or get too close. She was here to do a job, and the situation was just too volatile.
She wanted Margot out—but deep down she wanted herself out just as badly.
After dinner, she could no longer put off the inevitable. She wandered across the lobby into the bar of the Embassy Room and sat at a corner table. This place felt far more intimate than the one at the Mayflower. Only a few tables scattered around a long mahogany bar.
Livy ordered Scotch on the rocks. It felt wrong. This wasn’t part of her role. No, this was her true self. Livy Nash. Drinking again. But dammit, she needed to relax sometime. She felt wound far too tight. There’d be a time later when she would quit again, when she wouldn’t need its comfort. The first few sips seemed to help, but the tightness in her back and neck remained. She ordered another.
Two younger men in khaki trousers and navy sports coats had noticed her when she walked in. One was handsome, with stiff blond hair and the kind of smile that had given Errol Flynn a pretty decent career. They kept turning to her while she sipped the first Scotch. When she ordered the second, the blond’s attention surged. Their furtive glances seemed to say, She’s alone and she’s sticking around.
Halfway through the second Scotch, Livy felt the fist that gripped her back loosen slightly. She rolled her neck from one shoulder to the other. Just that much release felt so good. When she opened her eyes, the blond stood in front of her. He must have felt confident, because he’d brought his drink with him.
He flashed the big smile and started to speak.
“Piss off.”
His reaction made Livy think she’d come off a little stronger than intended. The blond and his drink pivoted and headed back to the bar. Neither he nor his friend craned their necks to look at her again.
Livy knocked back the last swallow of the drink. The tension in her neck was at almost manageable levels now. Yet somehow she didn’t feel relaxed. Something gnawed at her.
She turned toward the lobby and saw him. Maybe she’d spotted him in her peripheral vision earlier, and her subconscious had held on to it, but whatever the case, the Gray Man sat in one of the upright chairs near the front desk, a newspaper folded across his lap. He made eye contact with Livy, stood, and moved toward her.
Chapter Twenty
Livy felt the precariousness of her position. She had no weapon. The nature of the job demanded her identity be authentic down to what she kept in the drawers of her room. Reporters who do stories on ladies’ fashion don’t carry pistols. Livy reached into her handbag and dropped twenty cents on the table for the waiter. The handbag had a bit of heft. Might do as a last resort. The far better plan was to get out. Now.
She headed toward the bar, away from the Gray Man in the lobby. There was another exit out onto K Street there. Kostin’s words from last night suddenly seemed more significant.
“You embarrassed the man sent to watch you.”
The Gray Man didn’t look like someone who took that sort of thing lightly.
Despite his age and belly, the Gray Man seemed more than physically capable. His arms and torso bulged through his shapeless suit. Her only option would be to go to the front desk and report him if he followed her. But would that keep her safe in her room tonight? Livy scanned the hotel for anything else handheld and heavy that could be used to clout the big man.
She didn’t have time to consider further options. Two younger men—also in gray suits—stood on either side of the exit from the bar.
Livy stopped ten feet away They stared at her, not advancing.
The hell with this, she thought, and said, “Excuse me.”
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She pushed past one of the younger men, who took her arm at the elbow. She kept a tight grip on her handbag and was about to test its effectiveness as a blunt object when she felt the other young man on her opposite side. He put something hard and metallic against her ribs.
“No talk,” he said. “Walk to door.” He had a thick accent and struggled with even a few words of English.
The man with the gun had a cracked front tooth, freckles across his nose, and dark hair. The young man who held her elbow looked the typical MGB type. Short blond hair, puffy dead eyes, and a mouth with all the charm of a letter slot at the Royal Mail.
As they made their way through the bar exit, Livy felt a chill when she saw the Gray Man lumbering toward them on the street. Cracked Tooth pressed the gun a little deeper into Livy’s side.
“Move,” he grunted, and they pushed her down the sidewalk toward a burgundy Ford sedan.
Livy considered her options. She could scream. The doorman was around the corner somewhere, but with the sheer breadth of the Statler, he was probably a full city block or more away. The thought crossed her mind that this little “kidnapping” was nothing more than Yuri Kostin’s way of arranging a meeting. After all, she worked for them now, so why would the Gray Man and his cohorts want to take her somewhere dark, shoot her in the back of the head, and leave her? The anxiety of that thought gripped her as the two Russian escorts marched her nearer the car, affecting awkward smiles that only made them look more menacing.
“I want to know where you’re—” Livy said.
“No talk.” Cracked Tooth pushed the gun in deeper. Puffy Eyes tightened his grip on her elbow.
Livy tried to calm herself. She’d fought like hell to avoid this exact same type of situation just a few weeks ago in Paris. Now, three MGB men led her to a waiting car.
She felt the scream deep in her gut. This doesn’t have to end badly. There would be a way out of this. A way to explain. But she just didn’t know what they wanted. That scared her more than anything.
She heard laughter and voices behind her, probably from the front of the hotel. Cracked Tooth spun around at the noise. Livy lashed out, bringing her handbag down on his gun hand. The automatic clattered on the pavement. She felt two arms encircle her midsection, so Livy pushed away and whirled around with a backhand to the face of Puffy Eyes. It connected long enough for her to turn and take one step toward the voices. But Cracked Tooth had recovered too quickly. He held the gun steady, and the look in his eyes told her she wouldn’t make it another step.
“In car. Now!” the Gray Man hissed.
Puffy Eyes ran around to the driver’s side of the car. Cracked Tooth opened the back seat and shoved Livy across the black leather seats to the far side. The Gray Man shifted his bulk into the passenger seat while the gunman joined Livy in the back.
Livy knew now. Wherever they were going, Yuri Kostin wasn’t waiting on the other end.
The Ford’s big engine growled to life, and the car jolted forward into the street. The Gray Man spoke softly in Russian to the driver. He kept the car’s speed slow as they merged into the nighttime traffic in front of the hotel.
Gray Man said something over his shoulder, and Cracked Tooth ripped Livy’s handbag away from her and handed it up front. The big man opened it and took each item out. Lipstick, compact, pens. With a grunt he tossed it back.
The car took a left on Nineteenth Street and slowly picked up speed. Livy noticed Cracked Tooth looking out the rear window, but he kept the black automatic aimed at her midsection. His eyes flicked back to her. Then to the window.
He spoke hesitantly to the Gray Man. The big man in front shifted the rearview mirror. The adjustment allowed Livy to see as well. The blue Packard followed them. Even three car lengths back, she recognized the long hood and angled grill.
The Gray Man barked something at the driver. Puffy Eyes nodded, slammed on his brakes, and nose-dived the Ford into the next right turn. Another command from the big man and Cracked Tooth grabbed Livy’s head and shoved it down between her knees. He kept his hand on the back of her head, pressing the muzzle of the gun into her temple.
The force caused Livy to bite her bottom lip. She felt blood on her tongue. She tried to focus on the pain rather than the situation that had quickly slipped out of her control.
The Ford dove into a hard left. The car’s tail slid the opposite way, tossing Livy hard into the door. The Gray Man barked at the driver, spitting out order after order in Russian.
Livy’s head crashed into the front seat as the car braked again. The tires squealed, trying to hang on to the road. Her body bounced from side to side, but Cracked Tooth’s hand remained on her neck, the gun against her head.
She had few options. She had enough strength to knock the man’s hand off her neck. Maybe she could push the gun away in the same moment. Then, grab the door handle, push it open, and roll out into the street. Everything would need to happen in perfect order, and she’d still run the risk of being run down by another car. Maybe even the blue Packard itself. She decided to keep her head down. For now.
Potholes and broken pavement rattled the Ford’s backseat, sending Livy’s knees crashing into her forehead. The Gray Man continued shouting instructions at the driver. He called him Sergei, but that was all Livy could understand.
The car accelerated, braked, and spun hard. Then more bumps. The Ford shook and bounced. Another turn. The engine revved. A smoother road now, but Sergei kept his foot on the gas pedal.
The blue Packard must still be behind them.
Livy tried to focus on her breath, a trick she’d learned during SOE training. When you can’t control anything else, control your breath. It’s yours. Concentrate on it. She felt certain the trainer hadn’t anticipated the technique being effective when you’re captive in the back seat of a car during a high-speed chase through city streets, but it took her mind off what might happen once the car stopped.
Sirens! She heard them in the distance. They sounded streets away. The long wail of a Washington, DC, police car, maybe two, approaching.
The three men in the car heard them too. The Gray Man spat out a command. Sergei spun the wheels, and Livy’s body lurched right and then left. It felt like the entire car spun around and accelerated in the opposite direction. The Gray Man shouted as the car’s engine screamed. The driver braked quickly. Livy was pushed back, then forward. The front wheels hit yet another bump at speed, and Livy’s body lifted off the seat. Her feet suspended above the floorboard for a second. The back wheels followed. Another lift, like a rollercoaster.
Then silence.
The car cruised slowly a minute, maybe two. Livy kept still, wondering where they might be, what could be happening. Easing to a stop, the driver put the car in park but kept the engine running. No one spoke. Livy heard someone light a cigarette. The smell spread through the car. Livy coughed. Breathing was hard enough with her head between her knees.
She heard the driver engage the clutch, and the car began to move. Again she coughed, and Cracked Tooth pulled his hand away from her neck. She sat up, pulling air into her lungs. Livy played the moment for all it was worth. She gasped, hands clutching her chest. At the same time, she took in the surroundings.
They were driving through a city parking lot filled with cars. Sergei must be a damned good driver. She saw no sign of the blue Packard. The sound of the sirens seemed to have faded in another direction.
The Gray Man took a long drag on the cigarette.
“Medlenneye,” the big man said to Sergei. “Medlenneye.”
He slowly eased back onto the side street in front of the parking lot. Now they had the road to themselves.
The Gray Man turned to Cracked Tooth and gestured at Livy.
Holding the gun still in his right hand, the Russian grabbed her neck again with his left. Livy was ready. Sensing he might have relaxed during her coughing spasm, Livy lashed out. She slapped his left hand away and brought her fist hard back across his cheek.
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But she was too stiff and slow from sitting in such an awkward position for so long. Cracked Tooth pounded the heavy grip of the gun into the back of her neck. Livy felt the blow flare down her back. The Gray Man shouted. The Russian beside Livy grabbed her hair with his free hand and slammed her head hard into her knees. A spasm of pain radiated from her forehead to the bridge of her nose, causing her eyes to water. He shouted and placed the barrel of the gun to her forehead, pressing it deep into the temple.
She’d had to try something. Anything. But her chance had passed. Now, they’d be more careful. Livy listened to her breathing, focusing on something she could control. She wouldn’t have much control over what would happen next.
Chapter Twenty-One
They drove for another fifteen or twenty minutes, by Livy’s estimate. No more swift turns or sudden braking. The blue Packard and the police had been left behind. She assumed they must be well outside the District, now in Virginia or Maryland probably, although Livy had no idea which direction they’d traveled. Not long after they left the parking lot, the roads got smoother, and Sergei kept the speed of the Ford consistent.
By the time the car came to a stop, Livy could barely turn her neck. When Cracked Tooth took his hand off it, at first Livy couldn’t lift her head. She felt a knot where he’d smashed the gun into her neck.
She started to move slowly, but the Russian took no chance. His left hand held her arm, and his right kept the gun jammed into her side. Slowly, painfully, Livy turned her neck and shoulders to look at Cracked Tooth and see where they’d stopped. She felt some satisfaction that the Russian now had a nice bruised cheek to go along with his cracked tooth.
They’d parked behind a row of what appeared to be shops, all closed now. The building was one long brick structure with a steel door every twenty yards or so. The Gray Man heaved himself out of the car and made his way to one.
Sergei opened the car door on Livy’s side and pulled her out. Her legs felt shaky and stiff. The blood made its way back to her feet as she stumbled around the rear of the Ford. Cracked Tooth met her on the other side of the car, and the two younger Russians took her forcibly toward the back door.