The Russian Woman

Chapter 70

There were no more roadblocks. Red streaks in the sky hinted at the coming dawn as the sky began to lighten with the coming day. They were a little more than twenty kilometers south of Novogorod, the last city before Saint Petersburg.

Following the GPS, Thorne turned off the main highway and drove into the countryside.

"It's not far now," Thorne said.

They drove through flat farmland, low crops showing green in the fields. Thorne came to a narrow dirt track and turned, following it through the fields until they came to a bleak looking farmhouse. The land here was untended, choked with weeds. A sagging wooden barn and an outhouse stood behind the house. A rusty well pump with a long handle stuck up out of the ground.

Thorne drove to the barn and stopped, got out, pushed the barn door open, and got back in the car. He drove into the barn and shut down the car. The floor was dirt, the back piled up with rotting bales of hay next to an old van that looked like it had been there for years. A pile of firewood dusted with ancient cobwebs lay off to one side.

They got out. Thorne stretched, felt his joints aching. His old scars ached.

"Our home away from home. We'll be okay here for a while."

"They will stop at nothing to find us," Anya said.

"They're not going to find us."

They walked from the barn to the back of the house. The back door was locked, but he'd been told where to find the key. They entered through the kitchen. A thin film of dust covered every surface. Cobwebs decorated the corners of a low, beamed ceiling. The floor was covered with ancient linoleum and scattered with mouse droppings. A battered teakettle sat on top of a wood burning stove, next to a square sink of gray concrete.

There was a bucket in the sink, but no running water. Thorne remembered the pump in the yard outside. A neat pile of kindling and wood was placed next to the stove. A box of matches and several candles sat on a shelf above.

The rest of the house consisted of a front room and a small bedroom. The front door was barred with a plank. The bedroom contained a wooden platform covered with a thin mattress.

The front room featured a stone fireplace, a table, and four wooden chairs. A candle stub sat in a puddle of melted wax on the table. A dusty couch with curved legs and faded upholstery had been placed against one wall. Light coming into the room filtered through small windows covered with grime.

"This is what your CIA calls a safe house?" Anya said.

"At least we're out of sight. It hasn't been used for a while, that's obvious."

"How long will we stay here?"

"Long enough to figure out how to get across the border."

Anya went into the kitchen and began opening cabinets. She found a box of stale tea, along with two chipped mugs.

"There is tea, but no food."

"We still have some snacks in the car. I'm going to call in."

He entered Carlson's number. His phone showed a 60% charge. Carlson picked up.

"About time. What's your situation?"

"We're at the safe house. We were stopped on the M10, but OPERA talked us through it. She had to show her ID. They knew who she was because of all the publicity she's gotten. The cop even asked her for her autograph. It helped get us through, but now they know we went this way. The cops will report us. I had to use my Russian ID."

"You're in the middle of a real shit storm, Thorne. The Russians have gone ballistic. Security at every border point has been stepped up. The consensus here is that you head for Estonia. Once you get there, we'll pull you out."

"We're on our own until then?"

"An hour ago the Federation sealed the border tighter than a Swiss banker's asshole. You know what our situation is over there. They neutralized most of our assets years ago. There's no help to send and no way to get you out. You're going to have to improvise."

"Christ, Lewis."

"You need to get that information to us."

"Right now I'm looking out a window at an empty beet field. What do you suggest? A carrier pigeon?"

"You can't quit being a smartass, can you? If you'd handled OPERA differently, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"You've got a bad habit of blaming the messenger, Lewis. It's not me who's planning to nuke America."

"Find an Internet connection. Send us the info."

Carlson broke the connection. Thorne looked at his phone and considered throwing it across the room.

"Nobody's coming, are they?" Anya said. "They are not going to help us."

"They want us to go to Estonia. Once we're there, they'll extract us."

He began to pace back and forth past the table, where Anya sat on one of the chairs.

"They want me to find an Internet connection and send them whatever you've got on that drive. Do you think this attack is imminent? Like tomorrow or the next day?"

"I do not know. There are still critical supplies in transit. I do not think they will launch the attack without them."

"I don't like to admit it, but Lewis is right. We need to get your information to him. The closest Internet connection will be in Novgorod."

"You cannot use your phone to send this information?"

"No. I don't have an interface for the drive."

"Novgorod is too big a risk," Anya said. "They know we are on the road going north. They will be watching everywhere. Even if you find a connection, the Internet is controlled. There is an international firewall. They will suspect I have classified information. By now they have shut down all traffic out of the country. If you try, you will be arrested. You should believe me about this."

"You're a real optimist, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I am Russian."

"Are you familiar with Estonia?"

"I have not been there. Estonia is considered a problem since they joined NATO. Travel there is not encouraged for people like me."

"So you know nothing about the border."

"No."

"Great."

He took out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a map. I want to see roads to the border."

He didn't like what the map showed him. There was only one road leading to Estonia, beginning on the other side of Novgorod and leading to the city of Pskov. Past Pskov, it continued on to the border. The GPS showed a few gray lines that might be passable dirt roads. All but one of those petered out in the middle of nowhere. That one crossed through farmland, more or less parallel to the highway to Pskov, heading west toward Estonia. It stopped somewhere near the border.

Thorne considered what he'd do if he were the Russians. He'd place militia at every major intersection that could lead to the West. The turnoff to Pskov and Estonia was a natural place to set up a roadblock. They couldn't risk going that way. Hell, they couldn't risk staying on the highway.

Stepanov's body hadn't been found when they'd passed the checkpoint on the M10, but the next time they weren't going to talk their way through. Breaking through a roadblock guarded by soldiers armed with automatic weapons was not an option.

"I will make tea," Anya said.

She handed him the teakettle.

"Bring me some water, please. Fill the bucket."

He went outside to the well pump and tried the handle. It was rusted in place. He pushed hard and broke it free. The pump creaked and scraped as he worked the handle up and down. After a while he was rewarded with a gush of brown water. He kept pumping until the water ran clear, then filled the kettle and the bucket.

Thorne looked at the sky, where dark clouds were piling up in the north. Lightning flickered in the distance, followed seconds later by a distant rumble. The air felt leaden and smelled of rain. The effort of pumping the water had darkened his shirt with sweat.

Back in the kitchen, Anya had started a fire in the wood stove. She took the kettle and set it on top of the stove.

"Looks like weather moving in," he said.

"There can be storms this time of year. Sometimes, a lot of rain."

"That might help. Makes it harder to look for us."

"Tell me the truth," she said. "Do you really think we can get to Estonia?"

He looked at her. Her green eyes were fierce, intent.

"Tell me the truth," she said again.

"I don't know. It could be as easy as driving to the border on a back road and walking across. Best thing is to think we'll make it. We'll adapt to the situation as it changes. I'm good at improvising. It could be worse."

She nodded.

A few minutes later, they sat at the table drinking the tea. It was bitter, but it was hot. After the first sip, Thorne realized how tired he was. He looked over at Anya. There were deep shadows under her eyes.

"What is the plan?" she said

"We need sleep. We'll leave tonight after it gets dark. It's better if we move at night."

"What if there is a roadblock?"

"They'll concentrate on the highways and the border, but they can't be everywhere. My phone shows a track a few kilometers north of here, before Novgorod. It will get us close to the border."

"And then?"

"Then we walk. We'll deal with it when we get there."

He set his cup down on the table.

"You were an officer in your country's military?" she asked.

"Yes. A Captain."

She smiled at him. It made him happy to see her smile.

"I outrank you. That means you must answer my questions."

He laughed.

"You said before that you became a CIA spy because you wanted to help keep your country safe."

"That's right."

"I love my country. I hate what they are doing to it. I want you to understand that this is why I have betrayed my oath."

"I don't think you betrayed your oath, Anya. If it's anything like the one I took, you swore to defend your country and its leaders."

"Yes, that is so."

"That oath goes two ways. Your leaders are supposed to do what's best for the country, not push it into a war that guarantees its destruction. No matter what they think, they cannot prevent defeat if they attack. They're the ones who have broken the oath, not you. Keeping the oath means doing what is right for the country, not what you are told to do. You're doing the right thing."

"You are very good with words."

She yawned, covering her mouth.

"We have to rest," Thorne said. "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"The couch is too small," she said. "The bed is big enough for both of us, I think."

"Are you sure?"

"You are afraid to share a bed with me, American?"

"Michael. My name is Michael."

"You are afraid to share a bed with me, Michael?"

"No. It's just..."

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to seduce you. Besides, you are very tired. It would be a waste of time."

"Now wait a minute," he said.

She laughed.

"You should see your face."

Anya got up and went into the bedroom. Thorne followed her in. She lay down on the mattress.

"It is not too bad."

She patted the mattress next to her. A puff of dust rose into the air.

"Come."

He lay down next to her. There was enough room for the two of them, not enough for space between. He could feel her heat against him. She turned and put her arm across his chest.

"I am frightened," she said. "I don't want to die."

Her breath smelled of tea.

"I know."

"My father was senior officer in SVR. Sometimes he would be home drinking with his friends. They were cruel men, like him. They talked about people they arrested, what they had done to make them confess. They laughed about things I do not wish to remember, terrible things. I know what they do to traitors. I know what will happen to me if I am caught."

"You're not a traitor, Anya."

"In their eyes, I am."

"We're not going to get caught."

"Yes, but if we are, you must promise me something. Promise you will not let them take me alive."

"Anya..."

"You have the gun. Promise."

He looked at her.

"Promise."

"All right, I promise."

"You must mean it, Michael."

"I promise. If it comes down to it, I won't let them take you."

"Do you have a woman, back in America?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly? What does that mean?"

"There's a woman I work with. I like her, a lot. She's a friend. Sometimes we're together. Mostly, we're not."

"You are not married?"

"I was, once. It didn't last. No, I'm not married."

While they were talking, it had grown dark. A sudden glare of lightning lit the room, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the house. Rain began drumming on the roof. She reached over and touched his face.

"Remember, you promised not to let them take me."

"I won't let them take you," he said.

She was quiet for a minute.

"Michael."

"What?"

"I want you to make love to me."

He started to say something. She put her finger on his lips.

"Tomorrow we may be dead. Do not talk."

She kissed him.

"Anya...

"Sshh."

Then there was no point in talking.