The Russian Woman

Chapter 29

Anya woke with a gasp, heart pounding. She'd been dreaming, a dark dream of something evil and unseen coming for her. The illuminated dial on the clock next to her bed read 3:33. She got out of bed, put on a robe, and went into the kitchen.

She'd never get back to sleep. Anya turned on the light, put a kettle on for tea, and sat down at the kitchen table. She wasn't worried about waking her mother. Yulia always took a sleeping pill that knocked her out until morning.

She pulled the kettle off the stove as it began to whistle. As she went through the familiar steps of making tea, her mind swirled with thoughts and images. Mikhail and Grigori. Cameras flashing at the medal ceremony. The way she'd caught General Kerensky looking bored. Tarasov's platitudes about heroism and sacrifice. Stepanov, his certainty he could have her because he wanted to.

Because she was powerless.

Powerless to resist the advances of a man who could destroy everything she'd worked for.

Powerless to prevent men like him from risking catastrophic war with America.

It pissed her off.

She'd sworn an oath of loyalty when she entered the military. But where did her loyalty really lie? Was it to her superior officers, men like Stepanov? To her government? She'd joined the Army to protect the people, the Motherland. She hadn't joined it to blindly follow Russia's leaders over a cliff.

Anya didn't believe for a moment that Russia could win a war with the United States. Tarasov and his generals had started down a road that could end in the destruction of everything. She wasn't confident sanity and common sense would prevail. She could do nothing or she could act, but there wasn't anything she could do on her own. She needed serious help. There was only one obvious choice.

The Americans.

If she went to them, they had the power to do something. But if she went to them, it would make her a traitor.

Her position at CSS and high security clearance gave her access to a wide range of classified military information. If the Americans knew what Tarasov and the generals were planning, they might be able to stop things from escalating before it was too late. It was the only option she could think of. The idea made her feel sick to her stomach. If she took that step, there could be no turning back.

Was it treason to betray your country in order to save it?

It was Sunday. Unless she was ordered in, she didn't have to go in to work today. She began thinking about how to make contact with the Americans. She couldn't go anywhere near the American Embassy without being photographed and questioned. She couldn't call. Every call to and from the embassy was recorded and analyzed.

She racked her brain. She needed a go-between, someone who had a reason to help her. Someone who was unhappy with the regime.

Vlas. He hates Tarasov and his cronies. He might help.

Anya knew Vlas Sokolov from an economics class she'd taken at the University. He'd been her professor. They'd formed a friendship that extended beyond the classroom, based on a mutual love of coffee and chess.

Chess was a national obsession in Russia. Sokolov was ranked at the expert level, several hundred points above Anya. She would never match him, but she enjoyed the challenge of the game, the need to think several moves ahead and anticipate her opponent's strategy.

She hadn't seen Vlas for several years. She wasn't sure what had happened to her old professor since then, but she knew he no longer taught at the University. Sokolov had made the mistake of publishing one article too many expressing dissatisfaction with the economic policies of the regime. Anya had no contact information for him, but that wasn't a problem. Unless he had greatly changed, she knew where he would be on a Sunday.

It was going to be a warm spring day, ideal for playing outdoors. Unless something had happened to him, Professor Sokolov would be at the chess ground in Presnensky Park. The park was home to Presnya, one of Moscow's many chess clubs. There were always people there, looking for a game.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was still many hours before she could go to the park.

The adrenaline rush fueled by her anger had worn off. Suddenly, she was tired. She decided to go back to bed and try to get a few hours of sleep before her mother woke.

Hoping she didn't dream.