Beautiful Assassin (49 page)

The man dragged me into the room and someone else shut the door behind me. There I saw several other men. Gavrilov and Dmitri helped drag me over and force me into a small wooden chair. Next, they bound my legs to the chair with pieces of rope and my arms behind my back so that I couldn’t move. The rope dug painfully into my flesh.

“Bastard,” I cursed at Gavrilov.

“If I were you, you traitorous whore, I would shut my mouth,” he hurled back at me.

I started to scream for help but one of them put a gag over my mouth and tied it so tightly behind my head I thought I couldn’t breathe.

From behind me, I heard a familiar voice say, “Not too tight. We don’t want to leave any visible bruises.”

I turned my head to see Zarubin standing there.

“How are you, Lieutenant?” he said in that gritty voice of his.

He walked over and pulled up a chair and sat down in front of me, leaning toward me so that his knees almost touched mine.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” he said. “If you promise not to scream again, I will have it removed.”

I stared into his dull gray eyes. Though I hated him, I finally conceded a nod.

He motioned to one of the men behind me, who undid the gag and removed it. Then Zarubin leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, as if he intended to be there for a while.

“So. Tell me what you and the captain talked about this morning.”

“I didn’t see the captain this morning.”

Zarubin took a weary breath and blew it out noisily through his nose. “We know you did. So stop lying. How much have you told him concerning Enormous?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t test my patience, Lieutenant. What did you tell him about what we know?”

“I told you, nothing.”

He sighed again, then gave a nod at the heavyset man. “Just don’t touch that pretty face of hers,” he instructed.

The
chekist
officer grunted, and I felt a sharp blow in my right side that exploded upward into my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. I tried to curl into the pain, but the rope held me fast. For a long time, I couldn’t breathe, the pain was so savage, so overwhelming. Slowly, though, the pain lessened and I was able to draw air into my lungs again.

“Don’t force my hand,” Zarubin said. “We know you talked to him about it. What did you tell him exactly?”

“Nothing.”

“And they told me you were intelligent.”

He gave another nod to the man, which was followed immediately by another blow to my side. This one was harder than the first, slamming into me so hard it rocked the chair I was sitting on. I heard some
thing snap, felt a red-hot stabbing pain in my side. Each time I took a breath it felt as if someone were sticking a fork into me.

“I am going to ask you once more, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said. “And I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Did you talk about Enormous to the captain?”

I thought of lying, telling them anything, just so that they’d stop, but I sensed that if I lied I would be making it only harder for myself, because I wasn’t sure what they knew already.

“No, I didn’t talk to him about that.”

Another nod, another blow to my side. I felt sick with the pain.

“What of your plans with Viktor?”

“I had no plans with Viktor.”

Zarubin shook his head. “We already know you were going to defect with him. We know that much. So stop trying my patience.”

“I thought about it, yes.”

“With whom was he working?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me any names.”

I flinched even before the blow struck my side. My head spun with the pain. I thought I would pass out.

“We have all the time in the world, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said. “Was he working with the captain?”

“What?”

“Viktor. Was he working with your American lover?”

I slowly looked up at him. It was the first time it had occurred to me that perhaps the captain had been working with Viktor as well as with me.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Did you tell the captain anything about our
rezidentura
? About Comrade Semyonov or myself? Or about our contact in the White House?”

“No. I swear I didn’t.”

He gave another nod, and I was struck again, this time on the left side. Spasms of pain rippled through my body. I leaned over and vomited on my lap.

Zarubin smiled, seeming to enjoy this. He took out a handkerchief,
leaned forward, and gently wiped my mouth. Leaning in so close that I could smell his aftershave, he said, “Did you tell the captain the names of the scientists who are cooperating with us?”

Between paroxysms of pain, I said, “How…would I? I don’t know…who is working with you. I only know those Vasilyev…told me to bring up with Mrs. Roosevelt.”

Zarubin appeared about to give the order to hit me again but Vasilyev said, “She’s telling the truth. The only names she knew were those I supplied her with.”

Zarubin stared at Vasilyev, as if annoyed with him for cutting short his fun.

“You are in serious trouble, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said, but he kept his eyes trained on Vasilyev. “And that trouble might spill over to those closest to you.”

I lifted my head to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I hear that you received a letter informing you that your husband is alive.” He stared at me with his dull gray eyes. “That’s wonderful news. Though it would be unfortunate if he had to pay for your acts of disloyalty.”

“He had nothing to do with this,” I said to him. “You leave him alone.”

“That is entirely up to you.”

“I didn’t want to come here. I wanted no part of this.”

“Still, you betrayed your Motherland.”

“Go to hell, you bastard.”

Zarubin pursed his lips. “I think the whore might need a bath,” he said. “Take her and clean her up.”

They untied me and dragged me roughly into the bathroom. There I saw that the tub was already filled almost to the top with water. It was one of those clawfoot tubs, so the water was very deep. The slender policeman held my legs while Dmitri grasped my arms, and the heavyset man had his arm wrapped around my neck in a headlock. They lifted me into the tub and forced me down into it, fully dressed, my back toward the water. It was freezing, and I shuddered as soon as cold water came in contact with my skin. I realized right away
they weren’t intending to wash me, and I started to kick and thrash about, trying to get free, the water sloshing over the edge onto the floor, splashing against the wall, the three of them struggling in the narrow space to subdue me.

“Are you ready to talk, Lieutenant?” said Zarubin from the doorway.

I didn’t answer.

The heavyset man grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head backward into the water. I tried to pull away, but he held me firmly, painfully by the hair. Looking up through the undulating surface, I could see the muscles in his face straining, his eyes red and bulging. I wanted to scream but of course I couldn’t. My lungs burned, my head seemed as if it would explode. Just when I thought I would lose consciousness, he yanked my head out.

I coughed and spat out a mouthful of water.

“Is your memory coming back, Levchenko?” said Zarubin.

I struggled to catch my breath, trying to ready myself for another dunking.

“Again,” Zarubin commanded.

Once more the man plunged my head beneath the water. After what seemed like hours, he yanked me up again.

“Ready to talk?” Zarubin said.

I just stared at him.

“Again.”

“Wait!” I heard a voice cry.

It was Vasilyev. He had pushed by Zarubin and now stood in the confined space of the bathroom.

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said.

“That’s what we aim to find out,” countered Zarubin.

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t.”

Zarubin ignored him. “Again,” he commanded.

The man was about to dunk my head when Vasilyev yelled, “Stop it!” The heavyset man paused, looking over at Vasilyev. I followed his gaze to see that Vasilyev had pulled a gun out and was pointing it at the
chekist
officer.

“Let go of her,” he directed. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Comrade, I would strongly advise you not to interfere,” Zarubin warned.

“Get her out of there,” Vasilyev said. When they didn’t obey, he turned the gun on Zarubin. “Now!”

Zarubin nodded toward the others, and they lifted me out of the water. I struggled to get to my feet, but my uniform was drenched and it weighed on me like a suit of lead. Oddly, though, I no longer felt cold, nor did I feel the pain in my sides as intensely.

“You had better think about what you are doing, Comrade,” Zarubin said to Vasilyev.

“Shut up.” Then turning to me, Vasilyev said, “Get out of here, Lieutenant. Quickly.”

Our eyes met for a moment, and everything I had thought or felt about him suddenly changed.

“Thank you, Comrade.”

“Go!”

I pushed past him and out into the room. I started for the door, but someone slammed into me, driving me into the wall. When I turned I saw that it was Gavrilov. I wheeled about and struck him flush in the face as hard as I could with my fist. He continued to grapple with me, so I hit him again, several times. Finally he relinquished his hold on me and dropped to the floor, coughing. Then I turned and fumbled with the lock before opening the door and rushing out of the room. As I started to scramble down the hallway, I heard what I thought was a single gunshot coming from behind me, inside the room. Vasilyev, I thought.

I rushed to the elevator but decided at the last moment not to risk it and continued on for the stairs. By this point I heard someone calling after me. “There she goes.”

I flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time, my waterlogged shoes making squishy sounds as I ran, water spraying all around me. I thought how I would be an easy trail to follow. I tried to fall back on my sniper training. What would I do if I had been spotted? How would I slip away? Somewhere above I heard their footsteps and their cries. When I came to one door, I started past it so that the trail of water would
lead them away, then I quickly backtracked and opened the door and ran down the hallway. Here at least the carpeting deadened the sound of my steps and the trail of water wasn’t quite so obvious. I ran wildly, not really knowing where I was headed. When I came to another door and another set of stairs, I glanced back over my shoulder to see if they were following. For a moment at least I had eluded them.

I entered the stairs and rushed headlong down them, trying not to trip on my soaked trousers. Of course I couldn’t read the floor numbers on the doors and had to keep going until I thought I had come to the lobby. I opened the door and ran over to a phone booth. I went in and closed the door and dialed the operator.

“Captain Taylor,” I said. The woman on the other end said something to me in English, and I repeated, “Captain Taylor.”

The phone rang several times.
Please, be there
, I pleaded. I was about to hang up when he finally picked up the phone.

“They know everything,” I blurted out.

“What?”

“They know everything. They tried to kill me and now they’re after me.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m hiding in a phone booth in the lobby. Come quickly.”

While I waited for him, I watched the lobby through the glass door of the phone booth. I thought of Vasilyev, what he had done for me. After all my doubts about him, after all our arguments and conflicts, he had sacrificed his life to save mine. I was thinking about this when I saw Dmitri and the heavyset
chekist
officer come rushing into the lobby, looking around. I quickly ducked down and tried to hide. I thought how in some ways I had come full circle. As I had when I was a sniper, here I was once more hiding from my enemies, trying to avoid their detection. Only now my enemies weren’t the Germans. They were my own countrymen.

I was cowering like this when the door flew open.

“Jack—” I began but stopped when I saw the heavyset one looming over me. He grabbed my arm roughly and yanked me upright, then pulled me out of the booth. “If you scream,” he whispered hotly in my ear, “I will kill you, you bitch.” He took one arm, Dmitri the other, and
they led me along. Then I saw Zarubin standing there, a look of outrage on his face.

“If you make a scene, Lieutenant, I promise you, your husband will pay dearly,” he said to me. “Come along quietly and nothing will happen to either of you. You will return home to a hero’s welcome and a grateful nation. You have my word.”

“Your word,” I scoffed.

“Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be all right.”

They quickly escorted me through the front door and outside to a waiting limousine. The skinny one was standing there, holding the door open. I didn’t see Vasilyev or Gavrilov in the car. I don’t know why, but I knew then, as assuredly as I had ever known anything, that the letter about Kolya was a fake, that he was dead, or at least that he had not been found. And I knew too that I would not return home to a hero’s welcome, that I would rot in some prison camp or be dispatched with a bullet to the back of my neck.

Just before I was put into the car, I heard a voice call out in Russian: “Stop!”

I turned to see Captain Taylor, surrounded by half a dozen men in dark suits, as well as several uniformed policemen. They came rushing up to us. Charlie stared at me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“What the hell did they do to you?”

“Captain,” Zarubin interrupted, “this is not your concern.”

“Lieutenant Levchenko has asked the United States for political asylum.”

“My government will be extremely displeased at this action. Lieutenant Levchenko was invited as a guest by your Mrs. Roosevelt. And now she is going home as a Soviet citizen.”

“But she has asked for and been granted asylum.”

“I think you are mistaken.”

“Why don’t we ask her?” Charlie said.

Zarubin turned and tried to usher me into the car.

“Hold it,” cried Charlie. “Do you want to go with these men, Lieutenant?”

I looked at him. “No. I don’t.”