Angel Eyes (68 page)

In any event, Irina used a great deal of caution. She parked around the back, went into the rear entrance of the building next door and down into the cellar. Valeri had told her that his building and the one next to it had once been one, and the cellars still connected.

Ten minutes later Irina emerged into the hallway of Valeri's building.

She stood quietly in the open doorway to the fire stairs, slowing her breathing, trying to listen for small sounds beyond the pumping of her heart. Her eyes were open all the way around and their pupils were fully dilated.

Someone came out of his apartment, and Irina ducked back into the stairwell. She could smell boiled cabbage and stale tobacco. The door closed, a key turned, and heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor. The elevator whined, opened, closed, whined again, descending to the lobby.

Stillness creeping like shadows with the movement of the sun across the afternoon sky.

There were no dezhumayas in either of these buildings, snoops who, in years gone by, would keep track of everyone and everything going in and out. Unofficial adjuncts to the KGB. Some things, at least, had finally changed in Moscow.

From where she stood, Irina could see Valeri's front door. It looked all right. Closed. Just as she had left it. But was that an illusion? Mars's people must have been through the place, if only to be thorough, searching for clues to Valeri's whereabouts.

KGB. Keep calm.

Irina shuddered, and for a moment her resolve wavered. She could just turn around, go down the stairs to the basement, cross over, and leave via the building next door. Simple. No one would know that she had even come near the place.

But the fact was it wasn't so simple. Freedom was a complex issue, one that, she saw now, she had been obsessed with ever since she had returned from Cambridge. How could she turn her back on freedom now?

If she turned away, where would she go? Back to her apartment to wait for Mars Volkov to find her and debrief her about her conversations with Odysseus? What would she do when Mars was finished with her? Return to her drone-like job at the Ministry of Education? No, no. She could not go back. She would choke to death on her own despair. Her feet were set on this new path, and she knew that she must follow it to its end or she would never be able to live with herself. The other side of the mirror was too tantalizing, too filled with wonders for her ever to contemplate stepping back.

Irina stood trembling with fear as she inhaled the smells of the building. The elevator hummed, on its way toward another assignation on another floor. A baby cried. A radio played a snatch of martial music, then was still.

Gathering her courage like a cloak around her, Irina ventured into the hallway. She went quickly to Valeri's door, slid her key into the lock, turned it. She closed her hand over the knob and, turning it, let herself into the apartment.

She knew immediately that people had been here. The stillness was the same as when she had been here before, but there were smells lingering in the air, half-remembered reminders: a whiff of body odor in the dusty air of the hallway, a hint of cheap tobacco in the stale air of the bedroom. She saw no butts anywhere, and she did not notice anything out of place. Whoever had been in here, searching, had been circumspect.

Irina held her breath until she reached the kitchen. But there it was, the illegal Toshiba lap-top, sitting comfortably where it had always been, on the corner of the chopping block.

Crossing the kitchen Irina slammed down the top of the computer, unplugged the cord from the current converter, stuffed both into the computer's carrying case, then fit the computer itself in, zipped the case closed.

She had just grabbed the case by its soft handles when she heard the scrabbling sounds at the front door. Her blood froze in her veins. The contents of her stomach threatened to return to her mouth.

KGB. Keep calm.

Mary, Mother of God!

Irina looked around her. I'm trapped, she thought. Then, No! The window!

She threw open the kitchen window, ducked, stepped quickly out onto the fire escape. She turned, shut the window behind her, stood with her back against the filthy concrete and brick facade of the building. Below her was Telegraph Street. Irina closed her eyes, imagining herself kneeling in the sanctuary of the nearby Church of the Archangel Gabriel. She was there, as a child with her mother, inhaling the heady incense, hearing voices raised in prayer, listening to the incomprehensible sacraments. If only she could turn back time ...

Her eyes flew open as she heard a voice say, ''Is there any evidence that she was here?''

"The front door was unlocked. Captain."

"Search the apartment.''

Irina turned her head, strained to get an oblique look through the windowpane. In a moment she saw a young good-looking man in a gray uniform with red accents. Valeri in the dankness of the crypt saying. Mars is out for my blood. He's mobilized the KGB Border Guards to find me.

How did they find me? Irina asked herself. Was I followed or were they watching the apartment? I thought I had been so careful. Oh, God, how stupid I am.

"She's already left. Captain."

"Why did she come here?"

Silence

"Is anything missing?"

"Just the computer, Captain."

"Ah," the young uniformed man said. "The computer.'' He turned away from the window. "Find her," Irina could hear him say. "If she slips by us, comrade Volkov will have the lot of you reassigned to Sinkiang.''

KGB. Keep calm.

How many of them are there? Irina wondered, shaking with terror. They're like ants crawling over a picnic blanket. I've got to get off the blanket before they eat me alive.

When she could no longer see anyone through the kitchen window, Irina began to climb down along the rusting catwalks. At any moment she expected shouts to be raised as one of the Border Guards contingent spotted her. But nothing happened.

She gained the ground without incident. The Toshiba computer pulled at her left arm. If only I can make it to the car, she thought, I'll be all right.

She went along Telegraph Street, fearful that someone would wonder what it was she was lugging around with her.

It had begun to rain. Instead of heading directly for the car, Irina sought shelter. She stood, hidden within the deep shadows of a building doorway, the Toshiba tucked behind her legs, invisible to anyone passing by. She watched the street with frightened, haunted eyes. She could feel the bars across her moon, heading downward to close around her. She could feel the arctic cold of the winter that never ended, bones strewn across a bleak field of ice, frozen Siberian tundra catching the snow as it silently fell from a featureless sky. Her nightmare taking shape around her.

Irina scrutinized the faces of everyone who passed by. She peered into rain-streaked car windows. Everyone was a potential enemy, and she thought, It's happening to me, so soon, so soon. I have become afraid of everything and everyone. Must this be the price of freedom? Haven't I any other choice?

Thunder rolled through the canyons of the city, and it became as dark as midnight. Once or twice a flash of lightning lit the street in a sickly, colorless burst of energy, making Irina start nervously.

It was pouring. The KGB must be nearby, she knew, and she suspected that the longer she remained in the area, the greater her chance was of getting picked up. Such was her anxiety and single-mindedness, it never occurred to her to ditch the Toshiba in the nearest trashcan. Besides, even she knew that making a run for it on foot now would be foolish. The KGB would spot her within minutes.

The car was her only salvation. Once she was in it she could blend into traffic, take back streets, shortcuts, be able to double back on herself to make certain that no one was following her.

Picking up the computer and ducking her head, Irina ventured out into the rain, heading for the car.

It was slow going. The drainage in this section of the city was due for repairs, but they had not come through as scheduled and as a result, every time it stormed, rainwater would sluice through the gutters, occasionally slopping onto the sidewalks.

Irina passed several babushkas dragging their net shopping bags behind them. A street merchant huddled with sodden newspaper over her head, dancing from one foot to another to avoid the water as best she could, as her pathetic display of dried-out beets and blasted turnips was battered by the foul weather.

Once, when Irina suspected that she was being followed, she ducked into a small building, clattered through the worn tiles of the dismal lobby. At the rear entrance she glanced back, saw the obvious trail of water and nearly burst into tears.

I'll never get the hang of being devious, she thought miserably. Then she remembered that she had still eluded the KGB, and she took some solace from that fact. Perhaps I'm not as inept as I think, she told herself bravely as she pushed out the rear door.

She found herself in a filthy back alley. Someone had forgotten to take in their laundry, and linen flapped wetly over her head in the sodden wind. For a moment she was at a loss as to which way to go. Then, glancing down the end of the alley, she saw part of the rear of the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, and regained her bearings.

Irina hurried down the alley. The Toshiba was growing heavier by the minute, but she tried not to think of the weight. She concentrated on getting to her car, slipping through the net the KGB had thrown around Valeri's apartment.

She emerged from the alley, turned left down the block. A black Zil turned onto the street, came cruising toward her, its speed far slower than was normal, as if its occupants were checking each side of the block.

Irina ducked back into the alley, held her breath as the Zil came abreast of where she was hiding. She wished she were twelve again, thin as a rail, able to disappear in a sliver of shadow. She imagined herself gone from here as the Zil stopped abreast of the alley. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she was certain it would give her away. The Zil sat for what seemed an interminable time. Its windows were tinted black and she could not see inside. Truth to tell, she did not want to look inside. What was happening in there? Had they spotted her? Were they playing with her as they would a mouse?

At last the Zil rolled on. Irina took a deep, shuddering breath as her eyes followed the Zil down the street. It turned at the far corner, disappeared.

She headed down the street in the opposite direction. She would have liked to stop at the church, sink to her knees, pray for safety for Valeri, the Hero, as well as herself. But there was no time. Still, she spoke to God as she rounded the corner to the street where she had left the car.

She stopped, cautious again. The street was deserted. The car sat where she had left it. But suddenly it didn't seem like a sanctuary: this was, after all, the car Mars had given her; what if it had been followed, or worse, was bugged?

Irina looked furtively around, her heart pounding in her chest. What was she to do? She had to get back to Valeri with the computer, yet with the KGB out, she could not walk there or take a tram. But if the car was bugged, she would lead them straight to Valeri.

There was so little time. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she worked through the problem. She stared at the car. It seemed to beckon her on, a safe haven. It occurred to her that she was already thinking like a fugitive, and that frightened her further.

Behind her she heard the soft swish of car tires on the wet asphalt of the street, and she jumped, thinking of the black Zil. All right, she thought, I 'll use the car but abandon it well before I get to the church. Once I get to the other side of the Kremlin I'll be all right. I can walk the last few blocks, making sure I'm not followed.

Having made up her mind, she hurried to the car, dropped the keys in her anxiety, retrieved them, unlocked the driver's door. She threw the Toshiba on the passenger's seat, slid in herself, shut and locked the door behind her.

The ignition turned, and when she heard the engine cough to life, she breathed an enormous sigh of relief. She stared out the windshield. It was already fogged, and she used the cuff of her coat to wipe away the condensation. She wondered vaguely why there should be so much condensation when she had just now got in the car. That kind of mist came from human breath.

That was when she became aware of the slight stirring behind her. A hand clamped her shoulder and she gave a little scream.

"Did I startle you, Irina? That was thoughtless of me."

She saw his movie-idol face in the rearview mirror, and she thought for a moment that her heart had ceased to beat. Then it thudded home, and she felt as if she had been punched in the chest.

She said his name involuntarily, like a sigh. "Mars."

THIRTEEN

MOSCOW/STAR TOWN

Tori was dreaming of Koi, of the purity of whiteness stained red, of shiny innards slithering into sunlight, steaming like an Aztec sacrifice; she was meditating on the uncompromising will of the warrior spirit; she was wondering how it was the Japanese, among many other ancient peoples of the world, had determined that blood could purify the most corrupted spirit, when Russell woke her. Had she dreamed about the blood of Koi or the blood of Christ?

"We've just landed outside Novosibirsk for refueling," Russell said. "We're halfway to Moscow."

Although they were at a civilian airfield and had logged an official flight plan, the military commander of the nearby air base had sent his adjutant, who was in the company of a lean-faced plainclothes man. An obvious KGB agent, the lean-faced man's cheeks were scarred by a severe case of adult acne, and his cheap suit seemed to grab him under the arms and in the crotch. Tori wondered, stifling a guffaw, whether after eight hours in that flexible torture chamber he would talk in a falsetto.

The two men scrutinized the false diplomatic documents the Tides and Legends section of the Mall office in Tokyo had prepared, just as the Soviets in Ulan Bator, their first refueling stop, had done. Everything had been preprinted; all that had to be done by Titles and Legends was to insert the proper names, titles, border frankings, and so forth, add several sets of official orders, and the documents were ready to go.