and as his gaze shifted, his eyes fell on the person he’d really come to find. He made a few limp excuses and as casually as he could, walked over to Evgenia, his head full of nothing to say.
She turned.
“You came back!”
Arthur smiled, then laughed. It felt difficult at first. Then wonderful.
“Of course I did,” he said. “It was the only way to make a happy journey.”
Evgenia looked puzzled.
“You wished me a happy journey. One that comes back to you.”
He paused, trying to ignore the people milling around them.
“I had to come back. To see you. To be with you.”
Evgenia blushed, showing Arthur a vulnerable side he’d not seen before. Fighting the urge to put his arms around her and kiss her, he put a hand lightly on her sleeve. Already he could see Lenin looking in their direction, and a warning bell rang in his head.
“Listen,” he whispered. “Lockhart’s throwing a party at the Elite. Tomorrow night. Say you’ll come?”
She smiled, and before he could react took a quick step toward him and brushed his lips with hers.
She nodded, and hurried away.
This is what you want.
Arthur stood alone in the busy hallway, trying to blot everything from his mind but the feel of her lips on his, before the memory slipped away for good.
8:50 P.M.
ARTHUR DRESSES, SLOWLY.
Was this how a knight would have felt, before going into battle? Each piece of clothing he puts on feels like a piece of armor. His trousers are cuisses; his socks are greaves. His shirt is a cuirass, the collar a ventail. His boots are sabatons, his jacket a surcoat. But if he thinks he is armoring himself, it is an illusion; a bullet will sail clean through his armor and his skin to burn the flesh beneath.
Nevertheless, it helps. It’s just another talisman, but he’s taking all he can get.
He knows he is no knight, though at least, like the hero in a fairy tale or romance, he finally knows what his quest is. His purpose.
* * *
He checks his watch, for the twentieth time.
Not long.
He runs over the plan once more, or as much as he knows of it. He wonders if Lockhart has held anything back. Maybe he doesn’t trust him entirely.
They’ll meet at ten, at the Finland bar. Then Lockhart will tell Arthur where to go and meet the two Latvians, and where to take them.
Simple.
So simple.
Arthur ties his tie. It’s the only one he has now; the rest are all in the flat in Petrograd. As he ties it memories return of the last time he wore it; Lockhart’s party downstairs in the hotel dining room. He turns and looks at the bed, and smiles.
He got there early.
The first guests were arriving at the dining room of the Elite, which had been turned into an impromptu cabaret. Tables were being moved into place, a few early diners being seated, and Lockhart surveyed everything. The hotel knew what it was doing, but tonight it was only doing so with Lockhart’s money.
Arthur saw Lockhart and headed for him, something on his mind.
“I thought Robins was Head of the Red Cross.”
“He is,” Lockhart said, waving at someone across the room. “Look, do we have to talk business tonight, Arthur?”
“Yes, we do. I’ll leave you alone, just answer me some questions. We were out walking this afternoon and we were stopped by some Red Guards. Routine check. I opened my coat like a good boy. Robins legged it and escaped over a wall.”
Arthur hesitated, staring hard at Lockhart.
“He’s a spy, isn’t he?”
Lockhart whipped around and glared at him, though no one was in earshot.
“Just how stupid are you going to be?” he snapped.
“As stupid as I have to be. Is he a spy?”
“He’s Head of the American Red Cross mission…”
“And he’s a spy, too, isn’t he?”
“Does this matter, Arthur? Why do you need to know? Are you going to print it in your newspaper?”
“Of course not. I’m not that stupid.”
“Good, because stupid people end up dead people. No, I am not being dramatic, Arthur. That’s
She turned.
“You came back!”
Arthur smiled, then laughed. It felt difficult at first. Then wonderful.
“Of course I did,” he said. “It was the only way to make a happy journey.”
Evgenia looked puzzled.
“You wished me a happy journey. One that comes back to you.”
He paused, trying to ignore the people milling around them.
“I had to come back. To see you. To be with you.”
Evgenia blushed, showing Arthur a vulnerable side he’d not seen before. Fighting the urge to put his arms around her and kiss her, he put a hand lightly on her sleeve. Already he could see Lenin looking in their direction, and a warning bell rang in his head.
“Listen,” he whispered. “Lockhart’s throwing a party at the Elite. Tomorrow night. Say you’ll come?”
She smiled, and before he could react took a quick step toward him and brushed his lips with hers.
She nodded, and hurried away.
This is what you want.
Arthur stood alone in the busy hallway, trying to blot everything from his mind but the feel of her lips on his, before the memory slipped away for good.
8:50 P.M.
ARTHUR DRESSES, SLOWLY.
Was this how a knight would have felt, before going into battle? Each piece of clothing he puts on feels like a piece of armor. His trousers are cuisses; his socks are greaves. His shirt is a cuirass, the collar a ventail. His boots are sabatons, his jacket a surcoat. But if he thinks he is armoring himself, it is an illusion; a bullet will sail clean through his armor and his skin to burn the flesh beneath.
Nevertheless, it helps. It’s just another talisman, but he’s taking all he can get.
He knows he is no knight, though at least, like the hero in a fairy tale or romance, he finally knows what his quest is. His purpose.
* * *
He checks his watch, for the twentieth time.
Not long.
He runs over the plan once more, or as much as he knows of it. He wonders if Lockhart has held anything back. Maybe he doesn’t trust him entirely.
They’ll meet at ten, at the Finland bar. Then Lockhart will tell Arthur where to go and meet the two Latvians, and where to take them.
Simple.
So simple.
Arthur ties his tie. It’s the only one he has now; the rest are all in the flat in Petrograd. As he ties it memories return of the last time he wore it; Lockhart’s party downstairs in the hotel dining room. He turns and looks at the bed, and smiles.
He got there early.
The first guests were arriving at the dining room of the Elite, which had been turned into an impromptu cabaret. Tables were being moved into place, a few early diners being seated, and Lockhart surveyed everything. The hotel knew what it was doing, but tonight it was only doing so with Lockhart’s money.
Arthur saw Lockhart and headed for him, something on his mind.
“I thought Robins was Head of the Red Cross.”
“He is,” Lockhart said, waving at someone across the room. “Look, do we have to talk business tonight, Arthur?”
“Yes, we do. I’ll leave you alone, just answer me some questions. We were out walking this afternoon and we were stopped by some Red Guards. Routine check. I opened my coat like a good boy. Robins legged it and escaped over a wall.”
Arthur hesitated, staring hard at Lockhart.
“He’s a spy, isn’t he?”
Lockhart whipped around and glared at him, though no one was in earshot.
“Just how stupid are you going to be?” he snapped.
“As stupid as I have to be. Is he a spy?”
“He’s Head of the American Red Cross mission…”
“And he’s a spy, too, isn’t he?”
“Does this matter, Arthur? Why do you need to know? Are you going to print it in your newspaper?”
“Of course not. I’m not that stupid.”
“Good, because stupid people end up dead people. No, I am not being dramatic, Arthur. That’s
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