The Russian Woman

Chapter 41

Anya was tall for a Russian woman, making it easy to keep her in sight. She didn't seem to be in a hurry. It was a beautiful day, pleasant and warm. A faint breeze carried a hint of the Black Sea, not far away.

Thorne kept a leisurely pace behind her. The street seemed loose, clean. He could feel it. No one was watching.

Sensing the street was a gift, a sixth sense. Not everyone had it. It was one of the reasons Thorne was still in the game, one of the reasons he was good at what he did. The same sense had kept him alive in Afghanistan. Daily confrontation with violent death either brought it out or it didn't. He'd known some who had developed the same ability to sense unseen danger. Others never had. Most of those men were dead.

Sometimes Anya stopped to look in a shop window. He followed her to a broad square fronting the cathedral.

The massive building had been built in the nineteenth century as a tribute to Czar Nicholas the First. The architect had combined neoclassical motifs with the style of a traditional Russian Orthodox church. The cathedral gleamed white in the bright sunlight.

A high tower rose from the center of the cathedral, roofed by a green dome, a golden orb and a cross. Four smaller towers mirrored it with similar domes, orbs, and crosses. Wide steps led to a colonnaded façade capped by a triangular pediment. Statues of the apostles stood guard around the edges of the building. He waited until Anya climbed the steps and went in. Thorne did another check for watchers, then followed her up the steps.

Helsinki Cathedral was a major tourist attraction, but this early in the day there were few tourists inside the church. He saw Anya standing at a souvenir shop near the entrance, reading a pamphlet. He waited until she started down the central aisle toward the nave before entering.

Helsinki Cathedral was Lutheran, different from the great Catholic cathedrals of Europe. It was built in the shape of a Greek cross. Long rows of plain wooden pews marched in regimented order toward the nave and altar at the far end of the cavernous space.

Far overhead, the ceiling was circular, undecorated, plain. High arches opened to the arms of the cross. Crystal chandeliers hung over the central aisle, glowing with light. Halfway to the nave, Thorne looked back. An organ decorated with ornate carvings in gold and red overlooked the space from a broad balcony.

Anya reached the nave and stood admiring an enormous painting behind the altar that pictured Christ being taken down from the cross. The painting was surrounded by an elaborate, gilded frame, flanked by two golden pillars mounted on a marble platform. A pair of life-sized angels in gold knelt in reverent worship to either side.

Thorne came up to Anya, holding his brochure. He looked up at the painting.

"Impressive, isn't it," he said in Russian.

She looked at him. "Yes, very beautiful."

It was the first time he'd heard her voice. He didn't know what he'd expected, but he liked it, he liked the way she managed to make Russian sound almost soft. She was wearing a light touch of perfume, something that hinted at flowers. Up close, she was even more beautiful than he'd thought.

"I would have worn a red flower, except I haven't had a chance to buy one yet," he said. "Please, do not be alarmed. You were told you would be contacted."

He watched her register the words. Her face blanched.

"I know you must be nervous. It's natural."

"What if someone is watching us?"

"No one is, I've made sure of that. I'm good at what I do. I know it's a lot, but I'm asking you to trust me for now."

"Do I have a choice?" Anya said.

"You always have a choice. Right now, trusting me is the right one."

"What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Like the angel. So, you are my guardian angel?"

"Yes. That's a good way to think of it."

"I am frightened, Michael. I didn't realize I would feel like this."

"I would be surprised if you weren't frightened, Colonel."

"Please, call me Anya."

She reached out and touched his arm. An electric shock rippled through him, as if her touch had fused them together. It startled him. Her green eyes opened wide.

"Oh," she said

Surprised, she took her hand away and stepped back.

What was that?

He forced himself to focus.

"When do you have to be back at the hotel?"

"Noon."

Thorne turned toward the entrance, observing each person who came in.

"We need to set up a way for you to get information to us, a way to communicate. How did you contact the embassy?"

"I have a friend who arranged it. I'm not sure how he did it. Your embassy is watched all the time, it is risky to go anywhere near it."

"Can you use the same method in the future?"

"I don't know. I would have to talk to my friend."

"See if it can be arranged. If that doesn't work, I'll think of something else."

"What if we need to meet?" Anya asked.

"It's best to avoid meeting in person, but sometimes it may be necessary. I want you to memorize a number. Can you do that?"

"Of course."

He recited a phone number and asked her to repeat it.

"Call that number if you need to make contact. Don't use your regular phone to call it. Buy a burner. Use cash."

"A burner?"

"A cheap, prepaid phone. You can pick one up while you're here. Use it once, then throw it away. Make sure no one sees you. From now on, always assume you're being watched. That way you're less likely to make a mistake. It's the safest way. "

"Then what? What do I do after I call?"

"When you call that number, someone will answer in Russian with the name of an Italian restaurant. Tell them you're sorry, you dialed the wrong number, and hang up. That's the signal you want a face-to-face meeting."

"Where should the meeting be?"

"Somewhere outdoors. Is there a place you like to go, somewhere you visit regularly?"

"There's a park I like to walk in, Izmailovsky Park. It's green, with lots of trails and trees."

"That's good. If you need to meet, call the number. Don't do it unless it's really important. You have Sundays off, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Go to the park on the Sunday after you call. Be there at nine in the morning and start walking. Someone will come. If you're there for two hours and no one shows up, go home. Then go to the park again the following Sunday. Okay?"

"Okay. It is a big park. I will sit near the Ferris wheel and begin walking when I see you."

Standing next to her, she felt like someone he'd known forever. Thorne wanted to reach out and hold her. It confused him.

"There's something you need to know," she said.

"Yes?"

"Something secret is being planned, something big. I think they are planning war. Maybe with America, I don't know. They have activated secret submarine units. Even I did not know about them, and I should."

"How do you know this?"

"General Stepanov had a file in his apartment. I looked at it."

"His apartment?"

"Stepanov has forced me to sleep with him. If I refuse him, he will destroy my career. He is one of the reasons I am doing this. He is a pig."

Thorne felt sudden anger toward Stepanov. It added to his feelings of confusion.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's the way of the world, no? You learn in Russia to do what is needed to survive."

"It takes courage to do what you're doing, Anya."

"I love my country. Our leaders have betrayed us. They must be held accountable. They are criminals. If they are not stopped, they will destroy everything."

"You haven't asked for anything. Do you want money?"

"Do not be insulting," Anya said.

"I didn't mean to insult you. It's standard practice to ask. Also, you need to know we'll get you out if something goes wrong."

"That will not be possible," she said. "I could not leave my mother. Besides, if something goes wrong there will probably not be time to get out."

"There are always signs," Thorne said. "You're smart. You'll see them. If you have even a hint someone's on to you, call the number. We'll pull you out."

"Not without my mother."

He looked at his watch.

"We've been here long enough. I'll go first."

"If a meeting is necessary in Moscow, I want you to come," Anya said.

She reached out to touch him again, resting her hand on his arm. This time, there was no shock. He looked into her eyes. He'd never seen eyes like that, that color of deep green. Something unspoken flashed between them. His heart began pounding. He found himself holding his breath.

"That might not be possible," he finally said.

"You will think me stubborn, but I will not meet with someone else. I do not trust your government any more than I trust my own. But I think you can be trusted."

"Anya..."

"It is, what you say, a condition of the deal."

"I'll have to talk to my superiors. They'll see it as a problem."

"Tell them it is necessary, or they will not hear from me again," she said. "Now I will leave first."

She turned and walked away. Halfway down the long aisle, she looked back at him.

Thorne watched her go. It felt like an absence, as if part of himself had gone with her.

He thought about the way she'd looked. Those green eyes. Vulnerable, but vulnerability with underlying steel. The way she'd taken charge at the end.

He'd never met a woman like her. No one had ever affected him like that. Not Ashley, not Jenna. Thinking of Jenna brought up feelings of guilt, as if he'd betrayed her by what had just happened with Anya.

But nothing had happened, had it?