Moskva

53 Crossing the River

‘What do you mean it won’t work?’

‘They took the rotor arm.’

‘I don’t even know what that is.’

‘It’s part of the electrics. Cars won’t work without them.’

Alex’s bottom lip trembled. ‘You’re meant to be getting me out of here.’

In her voice, Tom could hear petulance, and Alex’s sudden scowl said she knew he could hear it, but she was doing a good job of hiding the fear. He was proud of her for that. Her eyes were wrong, though, dilated. It would help if he knew what they’d given her, because Tom was certain they’d given her something. And if it was nasty, she was going to have trouble going cold turkey later. Assuming he could buy her a later.

‘They were going to kill me.’

Tom froze, feeling suddenly sick.

Alex huddled in the safety of the arch, her expression unreadable as she stared at the Jeep that would now be taking them nowhere. ‘It would have been cold anyway,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t even have a roof.’

‘Alex? They were going to kill you?’

‘That’s what the weird one said.’

‘Kyukov?’

She shrugged. ‘The other one said he’d return me. The weird one said they wouldn’t. His friend was keeping me alive until you arrived. He kept talking about photographs. What photographs?’

‘They’re from the war.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘I don’t think your being here is about the photographs. You’re their guarantee that Sir Edward will help prevent the release of official papers.’

‘That’s not going to work. He took Mummy from Daddy. Did you know that? He doesn’t care about me. He pretends to. He doesn’t really…’

Tom remembered Sir Edward’s shock when Tom mentioned the dead cat, his restrained despair and quiet fury at being trapped and unable to say by what. ‘Believe me,’ Tom said, ‘he does care.’

Alex turned away and Tom understood the conversation was over.

‘I’m cold,’ she said a few seconds later.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You haven’t got a top. You must be cold too.’

Tom took it as the apology it was and nodded towards the huts.

‘They’ll see us,’ she protested.

‘We keep close to the garden’s outside wall. Find a spot roughly in the middle at the end, head to the huts from there. It’s a blind spot.’

‘And the falling snow will help,’ Alex said.

‘And the falling snow will help.’

They set off, Tom’s arm tight around Alex’s shoulders as he tried to keep her upright and moving. When she stumbled for the second time, he stopped, bit down on his frustration and set off again more slowly.

Patience, he told himself.

If necessary, he was capable of waiting for hours, utterly silent and still. He had done it that night in a Belfast car park. He simply wasn’t patient around children, his own or anyone else’s. And look where that had got him.

They stopped midway along the end wall, looking in both directions to check no one was in sight and they’d reach the right place. The first row of huts was two hundred yards away. ‘What if they do see us?’ Alex demanded.

‘Weave,’ Tom said. ‘And keep weaving.’

‘You think they’ll shoot?’

If what she’d just said was true, Kyukov might.

If Tom had been on his own, it might be different.

He’d be back in the orphanage, bringing the battle to them. He’d fix a trap, find himself a weapon, embrace the darkness and find somewhere to wait them out. Break General Dennisov’s neck – or Kyukov’s, it didn’t matter which – take the gun or whatever he found and kill the other. Alex made that impossible.

Tom considered leaving her at the huts and doubling back.

But she was cold and scared and barely able to walk on her own.

As Tom watched her limp beside him, her bare feet cutting prints in virgin snow, he knew he had to stay with her and keep going. Alone, if he got himself killed, that was his problem. But he was here with Alex, and if he got himself killed, then Alex was on her own.

He couldn’t take the fight to them with Alex in hand.

All he could hope for was to outrun them, find something to keep her warm in one of the huts and keep going. They’d crossed the widest point of the river getting to the island. The river on this side had to be narrower.

Once back on the mainland…

Once back on the mainland what? Find a road, flag down a car, hope there was someone official who’d be prepared to arrest them, get a message to the commissar, to Dennisov or the embassy? It came to something when their least forlorn hope was being arrested. A pop came from behind them and Alex stumbled.

‘Are you hurt?’ Tom asked.

She picked herself up, her face white.

‘Are you hit?’

Alex shook her head.

‘Then run,’ Tom ordered.

‘My feet hurt.’ She sounded close to tears.

Wrapping his arm round her, Tom dragged Alex after him, trying to steer her left and right when her instinct was to head straight for the nearest hut. Another shot followed and when Tom glanced back he saw a shadow through the falling snow, and another coming up behind it.

They were maybe seventy-five yards away.

You could kill with an automatic at seventy-five yards but more by luck than anything else. Accuracy wasn’t good at half that distance.

A revolver, on the other hand…

At least they had the falling snow on their side.

‘Keep weaving,’ Tom said.

He picked her up when she fell, took her down with him when he stumbled in turn, and ran, half-blinded by snow, towards the huts that got closer with every step. ‘Keep going,’ he insisted.

‘But the huts –’

‘The next row. No, the one after.’

He led Alex at a slant towards a hut near the end, hoping the rows behind would keep him shielded. Then he doubled back, dragging her with him, and stopped at one hut before going to another.

‘What are we doing?’

‘Muddling the footprints,’ Tom said.

It wasn’t perfect because there wasn’t time for perfect but it would do. At least Tom hoped it would. Pushing open a rotting door, he bundled Alex inside. The wooden floor sank with every step, fallen shutters revealing jagged glass. The only things inside were frames for empty bunks. A shot came from outside.

‘Hush,’ Tom said.

Alex put her hand over her mouth.

‘They’re shooting at shadows,’ he said.

The coast looked clear in both directions.

‘We’ll try that one,’ Tom said. The door to a hut opposite was already open. Better still, they found the window on the far wall missing.

‘Through you go.’

Tom helped Alex up and over the sill, hearing her grunt as she landed outside. Scrambling after her, he looked back. The general was rounding a corner in the row of huts behind. He held his automatic drawn and was stepping sideways, with the weapon raised and ready to fire.

‘What did you see?’ Alex asked.

‘One of them.’

‘You should leave me.’

‘Alex…’ Tom wasn’t sure what to say other than Don’t be ridiculous.

So he put his arm round her again and ran for the last of the rows, finding a door unlocked and barging it open. ‘Quickly,’ he said.

A pile of rags produced torn trousers, a kapok jacket with one toggle missing and a cap with half its peak ripped away. The jacket was stiff with ice and quite possibly dirt. The cap had been chewed by rats, judging from the droppings.

‘Alex. Come on.’

Turning her back, she slipped off Tom’s jacket, let him help her into his shirt and then the padded jacket they’d found. Buttoning the front, she turned to let Tom tie the missing toggle’s tape to the loop it threaded through. And Tom had a flashback to helping Becca dress. She’d been young. Young enough to accept help.

‘Are you okay?’ Alex asked.

‘I’m fine.’ Tom grabbed his jacket and turned his back while she scrambled into the trousers.

‘What’s that?’ Alex said. He thought she’d heard something but she was staring through the filthy window towards a long building between them and the river. It was older than the orphanage, but not by much, one of those strange pre-war buildings that must once have looked very modern.

‘We’ll go round it,’ he said.

Crouching low and keeping huts between themselves and where Tom hoped Kyukov and the general were, they ran for the trees along the river, Tom dragging Alex after him. ‘Almost there,’ Tom promised.

They cut between the pine trees, grateful for their sudden cover, and came out on the edge of the Volga, stopping in shock. There was no ice. Dark water stretched from their feet right across to the far bank. There was no way over.

‘Why isn’t there ice?’ Alex demanded.

‘I don’t know.’

There had been ice on the river’s other side.

There was still snow at their feet, snow falling around them and snow smothering the bank they couldn’t reach.

Dropping to a crouch, Tom tested the water.

It was close enough to freezing to make his fingers ache and numb his hand. The only clue to the absence of ice was that fat pipes, coming from the building they’d gone round, disappeared into the water and a low mist hung over them.

‘Think you can swim across that?’

Alex shook her head miserably.

‘I’ll help you,’ Tom said.

‘It’s too far,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll drown.’

She must know she was trapping them on the island. But this was Alex. Swimming was one of the things she did well, probably better than him. If she said she was too cold, too weak, too shaken, or a mix of all three, to swim across, he had to believe her. No matter how fiercely he wanted to drag her into the water and make her try.