Tatiana

29

Arkady and Tatiana dressed in the dark and carried their bikes to the road.

There was only one way to go. It might take Alexi three hours to rid himself of the motorboat and return by car from the south. The northern half of the spit was Lithuania and from what Arkady remembered of his earlier trip with Maxim, the Frontier Guards at the border station were probably snug in their beds. A person could practically walk through.

Which was a fantasy, he knew. Alexi had chased them from the cabin. They were mice on the run. The batteries for their headlights were running low and the light they cast was growing feeble. The sound of the ocean rolled on one side and trees murmured on the other. Arkady had no idea how far they had gone. He thought if they could just keep riding, they would be swallowed up by the dark like Jonah and the whale and never be seen again.

Tatiana’s headlight died first and she drew almost even with him to stay in contact.

How did the heart measure distance? How many revolutions of the pedals? How many revolutions of the wheels? He more imagined than saw waves lap the beach and trees sway above the dunes.

As his headlight faded, Arkady halted Tatiana and they came to a standstill in the dark, going nowhere as sand swirled at their feet. He heard breathing dead ahead. Tentative. Waiting.

A blinding light filled the road. The beam was white tinged with blue and emanated from the border station’s ancient searchlight, searching not for high-altitude bombers but targets approaching on foot. Even shielding his eyes, Arkady couldn’t see more than the fire flash of automatic weapons and he couldn’t tell if they were Frontier Guards or Alexi’s men. Between Arkady and the station, figures poured over the road, a carousel of shadows in midair. Silhouettes with antlers milled in confusion, took cover in trees and ran again, while over and around them, branches snapped and bullets ripped the air.

Carrying their bikes, Arkady and Tatiana retreated along the edge of the searchlight’s beam. It seemed to stretch forever, finally faded to a glow and then grew stronger again as the headlights of a car approached.

Arkady knocked Tatiana to the ground. “Stay down.”

The car passed them and stopped. The station searchlight shut down, replaced by flashlight beams that swung back and forth.

Arkady heard the opening of car doors and recognized Alexi’s voice.

“Did you get them?”

“Not yet, but we know they’re here.”

“Then let the dogs out.”

“We let them out, but there’s all these fucking deer.”

“Elk, you idiot.”

“Whatever. The dogs are going crazy.”

“But you did see them?”

“I thought we did.”

“Then find them.”

“What about birders?”

“We’ll get fair warning. I have eyes on the road.”

After Alexi drove away, Arkady and Tatiana struggled through branches. Occasional shots rang out. Finally other car lights left the station, burrowed through the dark, and the night was still.

Dawn didn’t break so much as slowly reveal dunes on one side of the road and sea on the other. Arkady and Tatiana rode silently, saying nothing. Ahead, a figure emerged from the mist dragging his sledge full of trash. The beachcomber, although he could have been a pilgrim or mendicant priest or a Volga boatman heaving on his rope. In any case, he was part of the background, someone seen without being noticed. At the sight of Arkady and Tatiana he hesitated, as a man will when confronted by ghosts. Arkady coasted by before abruptly reversing direction. Tatiana did the same on the other side. It took a moment for the beachcomber to move and when he did, he overturned the sledge, spilling its cargo. Unburdened, he sprinted past Tatiana, knees high, tripped and regained his balance even as he lost his scarf and sack. As Arkady weaved through rolling cans and bottles, the beachcomber plunged like a hare up a dune. Arkady abandoned his bike and climbed after, slipping in a treadmill of sand. At the crest of the dune Arkady caught him by the ankle and dragged him down. He was a small man with a raw, half-starved quality and eyes that seemed to start from their sockets.

“You were watching us,” Arkady said.

“Just watching. No harm in that.”

“And reporting to Alexi.”

“I was doing nothing. I was walking down the road and you attacked me. I’ve got my rights.”

“Forget Alexi. Where’s the butcher? The man in the van with the pig on top. Who is he and where can I find him?”

“No. No way.”

Terror lent strength. The beachcomber wrested one hand free enough to throw sand in Arkady’s face. By the time Arkady cleared his eyes, the man had vanished in the pines.

When Arkady returned, Tatiana was examining the litter of soda cans and bottles, twists of driftwood, shells, scarf and sack. In the sack were a sandwich and a cell phone.

“He’s gone,” Arkady said.

“That’s okay, he won’t be communicating with anyone soon.” Tatiana handed him the cell phone.

He punched up the cell phone’s recent calls. The last was a call to a Kaliningrad number only minutes before. He pressed “Contacts.” The name that popped up was Alexi.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Sure, I’m just sorry he got away.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

• • •

There were different ways to be on the run. One was to flee, the other was to blend in. In the tourist town of Zelenogradsk, they bought hooded ponchos and binoculars to join the birders who tracked migrating flocks as they streamed overhead. What was it like to be ordinary people? With a baby and grandmother waiting at home, a pan of water on the radiator, a cat with a whimsical name, no fear that a neighbor might put a gun to your head. When a black car cruised by, Arkady and Tatiana played newlyweds and ducked into a souvenir shop to price amber jewelry. Amber was on sale everywhere as pendants, bracelets and necklaces that were honey colored or dark as molasses, with apple seeds or the wings of a primordial fly that had buzzed its last as resin started to encase it.

“You’re enjoying this,” Arkady said. “You like the hunt even if you’re the hunted.”

“When I was growing up, I never understood why, when games began, girls sat down while the boys had all the fun.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“I’m a woman who doesn’t like to be left behind, if that’s what you mean.”

She was the one who found an Internet café, a basement dive soaked in screen glow. Fluorescent decals blossomed on the walls. A counter served espresso and herbal tea. Globs rose and sank in lava lamps. There were only two other patrons. Tucked into their separate headphones and carrels, between the cigarette haze and fruity exhalation of hookahs, the denizens of the café were oblivious to each other.

Arkady called Victor on the café phone. It was Zhenya who answered.

“Is it you, Arkady? You’re alive?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Me too.”

A sign on the wall said, NO BLOGGING, NO FLAMING, NO SKYPING. However, the waitress, a girl with a shaved head and blue tattoos, said the warning was meant for tourists, not Koenigs, the native sons of Kaliningrad.

Once the visual connection was made, Zhenya, Victor and a pretty girl with red hair appeared on the screen.

Arkady said, “This, I take it, is Lotte. She must be a good friend.”

During introductions, Lotte regarded Arkady with undisguised curiosity. What a sight he must have made, Arkady thought. A knackered horse next to the beautiful Tatiana. Tatiana studied Zhenya much the same way. Victor maintained a straight face and kept his eyes on the café stairs.

There was no sign of Alexi’s men; it wasn’t their scene, Arkady thought. Alexi was not Grisha. He was calculating but he didn’t command the same loyalty or respect. He was perverse, and even in the underworld that wore thin. Men who should have relentlessly pounded the pavement, foul weather or no, would stop in a hotel lounge for a drink to drive the cold out of their bones.

Zhenya held the notebook up for Tatiana to read. She had seen it before. All the same, the speed at which she scanned the pages was impressive.

He said, “Lotte figured that the symbols with colons were people speaking at the meeting. They were partners.”

“First among partners would have been Grisha Grigorenko.”

“The man with a top hat with the line underneath.”

“Next,” she said, “the man without the line underneath would be Ape Beledon. Old and deadly. The crescent moon could be Abdul. Abdul makes a fortune out of videos and makes even more protecting gas lines that cross Chechnya.”

“I have no idea about the symbol of the blocks,” Zhenya confessed.

“Building blocks,” Tatiana said. “The Shagelmans, Isaac and Valentina, have a construction company. They build highways, high-rises, shopping malls. In fact, they wanted to tear down my apartment house. As for the last two partners, I can’t be so definite. The star stands for official power, someone high up in the Defense Ministry or a strongman in the Kremlin. One of those perpetual thugs. And China. Joseph Bonnafos spoke Chinese, but he also spoke Russian, French, German, English and Thai.”

“Why the wasp?” Victor asked.

“Amber,” Lotte said.

Zhenya proudly said, “We think it’s an agreement between the Chinese government and a company close to the Kremlin.”

Arkady asked, “Would it be Curonian Renaissance? Curonian Bank? Curonian Investments?”

“No.”

“Curonian Amber,” Tatiana said.

There was a long pause at the other end. Lotte said, “That’s it.”

Tatiana said, “I’ve been studying this strange entity for years. On the face of it, Curonian Amber is a virtually dead amber mine on the spit. Dig a little deeper and it’s also the holding company for the Curonian Bank, Curonian Investments, Curonian Renaissance and all the rest. It’s Grisha’s brainchild, a way to move money in any direction. Who would stop him? He was a billionaire with allies everywhere. So far, remarkable but not unique. Moscow has a dozen more Grishas. What Joseph Bonnafos was hinting at would have been a coup that set Grisha apart. It was also potentially another Kursk disaster.”

“I think that Curonian Amber plans to repair a Chinese nuclear submarine here,” Zhenya said. “There’s a price tag of two billion dollars mentioned. Wouldn’t that put Grisha in a league of his own?”

That wasn’t the only possible interpretation, Arkady thought. Tatiana thought so too; he saw it in her face. But a sum that magnificent inspired respect. Even Arkady felt it momentarily.

“It doesn’t change the fact that Grisha was nothing but a thief. They’re all thieves,” Victor said. “Somehow the repair was a scheme to steal money. A lot of money.”

Arkady asked, “Was there any mention of Alexi in the notebook? Doesn’t he feel that he is the heir apparent and that whatever was Grisha’s is now his? Alexi has been trying to cut in from the start. Zhenya, when he had you and Lotte translate the notebook, was there anything in particular that he was after?”

“Everything.”

“What was the last thing he asked?”

“Where the meeting was going to be. I told him on Grisha’s yacht, the Natalya Goncharova.”

“Abdul is in Kaliningrad,” Victor said. “His concert is over. He’s sticking around for something.”

“I’ll keep working on it,” Zhenya promised. “Nuclear submarines, that’s pretty wild. Maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe it’s about rubber duckies in a tub.”

“Come home,” Victor said to Arkady.

“Good night,” said Tatiana.

The screen returned to a home page of the Milky Way. Arkady noticed that Tatiana had not mentioned the submarine Kaliningrad and its failure in sea trials, rather than feed Zhenya’s assumption. She saw the big picture; anything less was a distraction. Tatiana thought in terms of nations and history, just as Arkady focused on the small picture of three children and a man in a butcher’s van.