He’ll be in the west wing. He’ll give you the room number. Leave the toilets and go straight to the elevators but take your time and don’t look behind.”
“What about her… the woman?” Nikolai whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry about your woman, my friend. She’ll have other things on her mind. Are you with me, little brother?”
An apprehensive nod. “I’m with you.”
“Good. Now, just in case there is anyone else watching, when you get to the elevators, make sure you wait for one where you will be the only passenger. And remember, there’s a floor indicator panel so it’s important you make at least one other stop on your way up, okay? Now…” A pause from the other end of the line. Vari consulting his watch. “ … we have to move. We’re running late. You ready?”
Nikolai drew a breath. “Ready.”
“Then go, little brother. Now!”
Nikolai stabbed the call-end button and thumbed the number for the Rossiya’s reception, made the request and waited. From outside the stall he heard the sound of a zipper being pulled; a shuffling of feet then footsteps on tile receding. Two long rings died before the phone was answered. The voice was soft but precise. Pure American. Almost lazy in its self-assurance.
“Who do you want?”
Nikolai hesitated a beat. This was like stepping off a cliff in the dark.
“Am I speaking to…” Which name did he use? “Is that Mikhail Tarkovsky?”
“Who needs to know?”
“My name is Nikolai Aven.”
An unhurried warmth settled over the other man’s tone. “Well hello there, Mr Aven. I’ve been expecting your call. Room 8020, west wing, top level. Why don’t you come on up?”
Nikolai repeated the room number to himself. “Thank you. I will,” he replied, cursing himself immediately. What a stupid thing to say.
He killed the cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Flushed the toilet and left the cubicle, tossing a few kopeks into the absent attendant’s bowl on the way out.
The woman had given up on her make-up. Now she too was talking on a cell phone. Calling in for instructions, Nikolai guessed. He walked past her, pretending not to notice, and swung right through the double doors that led to the elevator lobby, hoping to God that Vari knew what he was doing.
He turned the corner and saw the elevators twenty meters ahead; beyond them, strolling towards him, two uniformed security guards, one with his head tilted sideways as he spoke into the microphone pinned to his collar. Was he imagining it or were they staring at him? Nikolai felt a cold surge of anxiety… fear or guilt, he wasn’t sure which. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until ten meters his side of the elevators he and the guards passed. Had one of them nodded or was he imagining it?
Was the woman still following?
He started to turn then caught himself and resisted the urge, pressing ahead until the commotion erupted behind him.
The male voice came first. Abrupt. Commanding. Then a woman’s, shrill and taut in protest, followed by the sounds of a scuffle, more shouting and the staccato squawk of a radio and now he did look back. He couldn’t stop himself. Looked back and stared in dismay at the unfolding spectacle.
The woman from the Metro was pinned face down on the floor, her head twisted, cheek pressed hard against the gray marble, her green eyes blazing as she writhed beneath the bulk of the security guard perched astride her. He held her arms pinned behind her back, his grin widening the more she struggled. His partner stood above them, watching, talking sideways into his radio as he unhooked a set of handcuffs from his belt. For a moment it seemed as if the woman was about to surrender, then Nikolai saw her captor’s free hand slide beneath her and into her blouse, clutching and fondling her breast, and she started screaming again, thrashing out blindly with her feet as the handcuffs closed around her wrists. Now the guard’s hand moved down to the
“What about her… the woman?” Nikolai whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry about your woman, my friend. She’ll have other things on her mind. Are you with me, little brother?”
An apprehensive nod. “I’m with you.”
“Good. Now, just in case there is anyone else watching, when you get to the elevators, make sure you wait for one where you will be the only passenger. And remember, there’s a floor indicator panel so it’s important you make at least one other stop on your way up, okay? Now…” A pause from the other end of the line. Vari consulting his watch. “ … we have to move. We’re running late. You ready?”
Nikolai drew a breath. “Ready.”
“Then go, little brother. Now!”
Nikolai stabbed the call-end button and thumbed the number for the Rossiya’s reception, made the request and waited. From outside the stall he heard the sound of a zipper being pulled; a shuffling of feet then footsteps on tile receding. Two long rings died before the phone was answered. The voice was soft but precise. Pure American. Almost lazy in its self-assurance.
“Who do you want?”
Nikolai hesitated a beat. This was like stepping off a cliff in the dark.
“Am I speaking to…” Which name did he use? “Is that Mikhail Tarkovsky?”
“Who needs to know?”
“My name is Nikolai Aven.”
An unhurried warmth settled over the other man’s tone. “Well hello there, Mr Aven. I’ve been expecting your call. Room 8020, west wing, top level. Why don’t you come on up?”
Nikolai repeated the room number to himself. “Thank you. I will,” he replied, cursing himself immediately. What a stupid thing to say.
He killed the cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Flushed the toilet and left the cubicle, tossing a few kopeks into the absent attendant’s bowl on the way out.
The woman had given up on her make-up. Now she too was talking on a cell phone. Calling in for instructions, Nikolai guessed. He walked past her, pretending not to notice, and swung right through the double doors that led to the elevator lobby, hoping to God that Vari knew what he was doing.
He turned the corner and saw the elevators twenty meters ahead; beyond them, strolling towards him, two uniformed security guards, one with his head tilted sideways as he spoke into the microphone pinned to his collar. Was he imagining it or were they staring at him? Nikolai felt a cold surge of anxiety… fear or guilt, he wasn’t sure which. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until ten meters his side of the elevators he and the guards passed. Had one of them nodded or was he imagining it?
Was the woman still following?
He started to turn then caught himself and resisted the urge, pressing ahead until the commotion erupted behind him.
The male voice came first. Abrupt. Commanding. Then a woman’s, shrill and taut in protest, followed by the sounds of a scuffle, more shouting and the staccato squawk of a radio and now he did look back. He couldn’t stop himself. Looked back and stared in dismay at the unfolding spectacle.
The woman from the Metro was pinned face down on the floor, her head twisted, cheek pressed hard against the gray marble, her green eyes blazing as she writhed beneath the bulk of the security guard perched astride her. He held her arms pinned behind her back, his grin widening the more she struggled. His partner stood above them, watching, talking sideways into his radio as he unhooked a set of handcuffs from his belt. For a moment it seemed as if the woman was about to surrender, then Nikolai saw her captor’s free hand slide beneath her and into her blouse, clutching and fondling her breast, and she started screaming again, thrashing out blindly with her feet as the handcuffs closed around her wrists. Now the guard’s hand moved down to the
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