by Craig Thomas
Harris, a British businessman with a Helsinki base and frequent opportunity for business travel inside the Soviet Union, was to pose as a Finn when they reached the border. He possessed a Finnish passport and his visas had been stamped to indicate that he had travelled from Helsinki to Leningrad a few days before. Gant and Anna were to remain as Russians, and as members of the Secretariat. They were accompanying Harris from Leningrad to inspect his facilities on behalf of the Leningrad Party. Harris was in the metallurgical business, and factories and businesses in the area covered by the Leningrad Oblast required his products.
The covers were impressive, even unnerving to a border guard. The only suspicious circumstance was the time of arrival at the border and the manner of travel. Yet, Gant knew it would work. He no longer noticed the hairpiece and the half-glasses, and in the same fashion he no longer considered the flaws in Harris's plan.
The journey helped, of course. The constant moving away and, after Moscow, the openness of the dark, snowbound countryside. Frozen lakes gleamed in scraps of moonlight between heavy snow showers. Moscow had hemmed him. It had been a huge trawl-net laid just for him. Here, he saw no evidence of the hunt and he accepted the innocent-seeming time at its face value. He even dozed in the back of the warm car, head nodding on his chest, waking periodically to glimpse the countryside or the lights of a village or see the snow rushing out of the night towards the windscreen.
But, Anna - ?
It was as if some motive force within her had seized up. She seemed incapable of action or decision. He did not even know, this close to the edge of the Soviet Union, whether she really intended to cross with them. He could imagine her opening the door of the car, even as the red and white pole began to swing up, and start walking back down the road into Russia. Also, he did not know whether Priabin was to be trusted.
At Kolpino, he had looked like a man striving to cling to the wreckage of his life; trying not to display emotions he might normally have considered womanish. He had waved them through the inspection at the station, chatting to them, strutting a little with his superior rank, dropping hints of mystery and important Party business. He had watched them into Harris's hired car, had stood in the falling light of a lamp outside the station, a solitary and enigmatic figure, as they had driven off. Gant, glancing round, had the impression of a small figure with arm aloft. And then his sense of intruding upon some private act had made him turn away. Anna had remained with her head turned to the rear window long after the bend in the road had removed him from sight.
He did not think Priabin would follow them or betray them at the border, because of Anna's safety. But, he was not quite certain. As they had all three left the train, Gant and he had come face to face for a moment. Priabin had still possessed the grim, almost fanatical look that had been on his features when he first entered their compartment - when he had intended shooting Gant.
Priabin still wanted to kill him.
'You are coming over?' Gant now asked hoarsely, slipping his papers back into his breast pocket. He fiddled with the glasses on his nose, as if working himself back into a portrayal just before going on-stage.
Anna looked up at hitn. She looked older, even in the semi-darkness. He heard her shallow, quick breathing. He thought she was very minutely shaking her head, but it did not seem to be any kind of denial. He touched her hand as it lay on her lap. The hand jumped like a startled pet, but did not withdraw.
'It's going to be all right - I promise,' he said. He had made Harris support his idea, render assurances. Anna could be got back into the Soviet Union without difficulty - via the same route and within a couple of days. Harris knew Aubrey - yes. Did Aubrey have the necessary clout with the CIA - ? Yes, Harris thought so. Yes, he didn't see any reason why she should not be let off the hook for getting Gant back to the West…
'A couple of days,' he murmured, prompted by his memories of Harris's reassurances. 'That's all it'll take, I promise you.' He smiled crookedly, sorry that she could not see clearly the reassuring expression. 'I'm big for them now - at the moment. I can get them to do what I want - get you out of it.'
Her head was shaking now. 'I can't believe it is going to work.' She looked up at him, having taken his hand. 'I do not blame you, Mitchell Gant - believe that, at least. You were just… the wrong man at the wrong time.' She might have been talking of a ruinous love-affair, one which had cost her her marriage. That heartfelt tone gave Gant an insight. For her, the relationship with Priabin had been somehow altered, perhaps even destroyed. She could not envisage a satisfactory future unless she restored her relationship with him.
Gant envied and pitied her. And realised the mutuality of their passion. Priabin's hatred, harrowed to himself alone now, was as palpable as if the man had just put his head into the car. The three hours since they had left him would have done nothing to dissipate that hatred. It would have grown, perhaps run out of control like a forest fire.
And Gant knew that Priabin would not give up, would not be content to wait in a Leningrad hotel for her return.
'Listen to me,' he said urgently. 'You love him, he loves you. What is there to be afraid of? Only people like your Case Officer - nothing more dangerous than that. And the Company will be warned off. You won't have to worry… and it won't matter how long it takes to get cosy with Dmitri again. You'll have the time to do it. For Christ's sake, Anna, just cross the border with me and I promise you everything will work out!'
He gripped her hand fiercely. It lay dormant in his fist. He dropped it onto her lap, sighed, and slumped back in his seat.
After a long silence, he heard her say softly, almost apologetically, 'Very well. I have made up my mind. You are right. I will come with you.'
He looked at her carefully. He could see the pale skin and her cheeks seemed dry. Her eyes were in shadow. The touch of her hand did not seem pretended or assumed, and he believed her.
'OK,' he said. 'You've made the right choice. I know you have.'
'Will he understand?'
'He knew all along - '
'But that was different - ' It was almost a wail.
'You mean - you weren't helping me, uh?' Gant snapped. 'I wasn't the key to his career?'
'He wouldn't think like that.'
'Maybe, maybe not. Whichever way you look at it, he owes me. He's a man with a lot of grief to unload, and I gave him all of it. I just hope he sits tight in Leningrad and boozes himself into self-pity. It could be safer for all of us.'
'You mean- ?'
'I don't mean anything. Let's just hope, uh?' He was angry that he had voiced his own fears precisely at the moment she had become reconciled to accompanying him. He glanced at his watch, holding its dial close to his face.
Harris had been gone for more than fifteen minutes.
He gripped the door handle.
'I'm going to look for Harris - stay here,' he ordered.
'You think - ?' she asked fearfully, as if Priabin threatened her, too. Priabin, yes, he thought. Both of us are afraid of the same man -
'I don't think anything. He could have slipped and broken a leg. I'll be back.'
He pressed his fur hat onto his head and squinted into the blowing snow. Anna watched him as he trudged as quickly as he could out of the lay-by and onto the main road. The high bushes hid him.
Anna turned back, and stared at the thick coating of snow that obscured the windscreen. There were lighter, paper-like coverings on the side windows. The car was claustrophobic, small and cell-like. Her fears enlarged within it.
She had coped, so easily and successfully she had always coped - ! But not with this.
She rubbed her hands down her face, as if scouring her skin. She was trapped, utterly trapped. Only the American, whom she ought to have hated because he had acted as the catalyst of her ruin, offered her any hope of escape. If they would let her go - if only they would let her go!
Gant had said it didn't matter how much time it took to rebuild her relationship with Dmitri. He ha
d promised her time in which to do it. She could only believe him, because there was no other solution. No other way out.
The door of the car opened. She turned her head and stared into Dmitri's face. Her mouth opened, as if to protest at the appearance of a ghost, and then he had climbed into the rear of the car and was holding her in his arms. She gasped and clung to him. His overcoat was chilly and wet with melting snow. His cheek was cold against her temple, but it soothed her. She held onto him, even when he made as if to push her away, because the world was no larger than the material of his coat, the cold of his cheek, the noise of his laboured breathing in her ear. Then he forced her to sit upright, holding her arms tightly enough to hurt. She studied his face in the darkness of the car. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he seemed to be searching her face for some emotion he feared to find.
'Dmitri-where…?'
'No time, Anna,' he said breathlessly, placing his gloved forefinger on her mouth. 'Listen to me. Come back with me now. Please come back with me now - !' It was an order, but more than that, a plea. As if he saw into a black future, and wished to pull her back from it as from the edge of a cliff.
'What is it?'
'What do you mean? I want you to come with me. Quickly, before Gant returns. Let him cross the border by himself. We can be in Leningrad before morning, in Moscow by noon. Look, Anna, we can explain everything. I - I can explain in some way or other why I had to leave Moscow, why I travelled to Leningrad. No one need know that you ever left the city. Come quickly now, before he returns…' He was eager to be gone, like a thief leaving a house he had ransacked. She did not understand his urgency. She did not understand why he was there, how he had followed them. There was something in his tone that lay beneath love, and she could not help her mistrust of it.
'Why ? Dmitri, what's the matter - tell me… ? '
Her hands gripped his arms. They appeared to be jockeying for a position whereby one could use a wrestling throw upon the other. She shook her head slightly.
'There's nothing the matter. Now, come with me, Anna - quickly, before he returns - '
She knew, then. The anxiety was clear in his voice. Knew part of it, at least. 'Where's Harris, Dmitri? Where is the driver? What will the American find?' She shook his arms.
'It doesn't matter,' he said softly.
'Tell me!'
'You killed him?'
'There was a struggle,' he answered lamely.
'No there wasn't - !' she almost screamed, outraged more by his lie than by the death of Harris. 'You killed him. Don't lie to me!'
'Come on - '
'No! Not until you tell me what will happen.'
'Anna - '
'No. What will happen?'
'Gant will be arrested at the border - perhaps even shot. Yes, best if he were shot.'
'You mean you've told them to expect him - expect us?' she asked, appalled, her hand covering her mouth, then both hands clamped upon her ears.
'No. Not yet. I came for you first.'
'Dmitri - for God's sake, what are you doing - ?'
'Saving you - saving us. Harris knew about you, Gant knows about you. He won't give himself up at the border when they try to arrest him - they'll have to kill him. You'll be safe, then.'
'No-'
'What matters most - him or us? Anna, if Gant dies no one will know you helped him. He won't be able to tell them - '
'And the CIA?' she asked bitterly. 'They will know.'
'No they won't! You can tell them he made you turn back, that he went on by himself while you returned to Leningrad… he and Harris were killed. It's easy - '
'Easy? Killing two people is easy?'
'Anna - forget all this. Just get out of the car, come with me and let him go by himself. I'll - I won't call the border post, I'll let him go. I promise he'll be safe-'
'I don't believe you - you want him to die.' She studied his face; even though he mqyed his head back and away from her, she could distinguish the gleam in his eyes. He did want Gant killed. Like a jealous lover, he wanted his rival dead.
The windows of the car were fogged. The snow was slush-like, beginning to slip down to the sills, because of the warmth inside the car; their anger. She did not know what to do. Dmitri could not protect her from the CIA. She could not let Dmitri kill Gant. Because he was Dmitri, because she could not live with him if she acquiesced… she would learn to live with Harris's death, change it from murder into something else. But not Gant. She would have known beforehand, and would never escape it. 'I can't let you…' she murmured eventually.
'What? You want to protect him?' Dmitri raged. 'You want to go on being a spy, an agent? For the Americans?'
'Not for the Americans, not for him - for us. I can't agree to his murder, I can't let you murder him! Don't you see? I can't live with that - !'
'I can,' he announced with cold solemnity. 'I want to.'
'Dmitri-'
He shook his head. 'You're coming with me, Anna,' he said, grabbing her arm. This time the pressure of his grip made her cry out. He pulled at her arm, opening the door with his other hand. 'You're coming with me! You'll forget about this, you'll forget about everything…'
'NO!'
He grunted and twisted her arm, making her scream. 'Come on, Anna,' he snarled, threatening her. 'Come on.'
He twisted her arm further, almost seeming to Anna to be on the point of breaking it. Fire spread through her wrist to her elbow to her shoulder. She cried out again, looking wildly at him, unable to understand his rage, his desire to hurt her, 'No-!'
'Come on - !' He pulled her upper body clear of the car. She lay almost horizontally on the seat. He bent and slapped her face. 'Come on, come on-!' He wrenched her arm. She screamed.
Then she felt the pressure, the agony, lessen. The skirt of his overcoat brushed her head, she saw feet slipping and struggling in the trampled snow by the wheel of the car, then something banged heavily against the front passenger door. She heard Gant's voice.
'What the hell is the matter with you?' Gant was breathing heavily, almost grunting out the words. She could hear Dmitri's rough breathing, too. She rolled back into a sitting position. Dmitri's back had wiped away the snow from the passenger window. The freezing air made her shiver violently. She held her injured arm gently, cradling it like a child in her other arm. 'That's better,' she heard Gant say. 'Just take it easy.' Then: 'You all right, Anna?'
'Yes, yes,' she managed to say thickly. Then she groaned as she moved.
'OK?'
'Yes.' She got heavily out of the car, still cradling her arm. Dmitri looked at her, horrified. Gant's arm had been across his throat, his pistol at Dmitri's forehead. Now, the American stepped back, motioning her away from Dmitri. She obeyed.
'What the hell was happening when I came up?' Gant asked. Then he added: 'You know he killed Harris?' She nodded. Addressing Dmitri, he said, 'You stupid bastard. What the hell's the matter with you? You could get us all caught!'
'You I want caught!' Dmitri snapped back.
'OK, kid, I'm the biggest villain you ever met! That I can understand - but her! You're putting her in danger. You think you can just take her back, without guarantees from the Company. You're dumb - too dumb.' Something else, something more dangerous, occurred to Gant at that moment, and he said, 'Are they expecting us? Are they?' The pistol jabbed forward, at Dmitri Priabin's stomach.
Anna gasped, then cried out, 'No! He hasn't told them yet - I swear he hasn't!'
'I believe you. You,' he added, addressing Priabin, 'what was the plan, uh? Kill Harris so we get into trouble at the border… or just me? Anna was going to walk? You'd have left me stranded, and you'd have made sure I got killed.' Gant's features twisted in anger and contempt. 'Get in the car,' he snapped. 'Back seat, with the window rolled right down - get in!' Priabin climbed reluctantly into the car and wound down the window. He glared out after the door was closed on him. He avoided looking at Anna. He rubbed his hands together between his knees, as if warming o
r washing them. Gant pocketed Priabin's heavy Stechkin automatic, keeping his own pistol levelled. 'Anna - come here,' he said. 'Not too close.'
She moved closer to Gant. Priabin's eyes blazed as she seemed to touch the American.
'I'm all right,' she announced, now rubbing her injured arm. 'I'm all right, Dmitri - '
'I'm sorry,' he said, shamefaced.
'OK, that's fine, real fine. Now, what do we do with him? If we leave him here, he'll call the Border Guard just as soon as he can. If we take him, he'll turn me in the first chance he gets -and that will mean he screws things up for you, too, Anna.'
'No,' Priabin protested sullenly.
'Wake up to the fact that I'm the only real chance she has of walking free of this whole mess!' Gant snapped angrily. 'You let us cross the border, and she'll be able to come back to you. Your way - she hasn't a prayer.'
Priabin's face gleamed with hatred. He could not accept Anna as a gift of the American. He was not calculating, not operating, in any kind of professional capacity. He wanted to kill Gant, but it was because of Anna. He blamed the American for everything. The killing of Gant would be some kind of cleansing ritual; either that, or it would prove his manhood or keep his mistress or ensure their safety. Whatever the reason, the death of Gant was inextricably tangled with any solution he envisaged. Perhaps he wanted Gant dead as much as he wanted Anna safe.
'Dmitri, let us go,' Anna pleaded, almost leaning into the car. 'Please let us go. It has to be this way - I have to be free of them- !'
Gant was shocked at the depth of bitterness in her words. However, he addressed Priahin in a tone of laconic threat. 'Well, Dmitri, speak up. You heard the lady. Will you let us go?' Priabin did not reply, did nof even look at Gant. Gant said to Anna, 'Will he let us go? Can you really believe he won't try to kill me?'