Anya lay on the cot staring through the small hole in the door at the light in the hallway. Either those involved in her captivity were incompetent, or they thought she had no information to offer. Otherwise, her cell would be well illuminated and there would be noise. Loud music, perhaps. Anything to keep her from resting quietly.
Or perhaps not. Light and music cost money. Perhaps they simply didn’t have the resources.
They didn’t intend to interrogate her, not yet. That meant her captivity was intended as much to send a message as for any other purpose.
To who, though? To her father? Surely not. He was as loyal to the party as ever.
Except…
Except unless Anya was greatly mistaken, her father had told her that he planned to cause a power outage at this prison to give Anya a chance to escape. She couldn’t believe that he would do something like this for her, that he would release her at risk to himself.
He must have another reason. Did he think she would lead him to Tyler? Did he intend to kill Tyler to punish him for taking his daughter away?
That seemed utterly far-fetched. For all of his ability, Tyler hadn’t yet done anything to harm the Soviet Union. In fact, oddly enough, their efforts to advance the cause of the United States had also advanced the interests of the Soviet Union. Nikolai might hate Tyler with a passion, but as long as he was useful to the Party, he would tolerate any manner of affront from him.
So, she must still be considered useful to the Party. At least, Nikolai must think so. She had also acted coincidentally in the Party’s interests even while ostensibly acting as a CIA double agent, so he must believe that she was more useful to the Party free and working with the CIA than working against them.
But he had captured her in the first place. If he thought her more useful outside, then why did he bring her in?
She sighed and decided she wouldn’t dwell on this right now. She wouldn’t get any answers, so wracking her brain for what wasn’t there wouldn’t help.
Besides, if he really only meant to bring her a blanket, she would be grateful for that. Her captors had stripped her down to her shirt and underwear. No doubt if she were anyone else, they would have gone farther, but even disgraced, the daughter of a member of the Council of Ministers was not to be used as a plaything.
It was foolish of them even to go this far. Her state of undress would help her in the short term. Her body would distract the men from her fists if she did find an opportunity to escape. It would be a problem when she got outside of the prison, though, especially the lack of shoes. The cold outside was beyond chilling. People died every year, freezing in the streets. She would need to find clothes quickly.
She rolled onto her side and slid her hand under the folded wool blanket that served as her pillow. Her fingers closed over the improvised lockpick. If the power did go out, she would need to move quickly. She would be among the first prisoners accounted for, and she needed to at least be out of her cell before the guards reached her.
And then the light disappeared, and the cell submerged into complete darkness. Simultaneously, the world grew desperately silent. Anya realized all of the machinery was off. She hadn't consciously registered the hum of the generator and the whine of the electric pumps for the boiler until they were silent.
Power outage. Nikolai had meant his warning. Her heart leapt, but she stifled her emotions for now. She needed to move.
Anya rolled from the bed and padded quickly to the door. Her footsteps seemed to echo loudly, amplified by the eerie silence around her.
Anya wished for a moment that Nikolai had sent someone to help her escape from her cell. Perhaps he could have bribed a guard to leave some keys within reach.
Well, it wasn’t unlike Nikolai Federov’s personality to expect her to escape the cell without help. He was probably disappointed she hadn’t escaped already.
As she slipped the pick into the lock and the second as well, she saw a beam of light. That was good. She would need a flashlight from the guards, and this one wouldn’t reach her until she was already out of her cell.
She heard the lock click, and it seemed thunderous to her. The lock was old and would open easily, but the noise frustrated her. So, she called in Russian, "What's wrong with the lights? Turn them on!" to hide the next clicks.
“Zatknis', shlyukha!” One of the men called back as she cracked the door open and slipped out. Shut up, whore.
She smiled as she slid along the wall toward them. She’d played the whore several times over the course of her career. Nearly every man who enjoyed her in that role ended up dead. The man who called her a whore would die as well, but he wouldn’t have the chance to enjoy her as those other men had.
She saw the light beam sweeping and lowered herself to a crouch but kept running. Two men. Still two. The beam flashed over one face. Young. Stupid. She rushed forward, keeping low and lifted herself up at the last second, pulling his shirt up and thrusting the lockpick into him with all her might. The makeshift weapon wasn't life-threatening, but it caused pain, a lot of pain.
The man screamed and jerked backward, dropping his flashlight. His compatriot asked what was wrong rather than readying himself. Stupid, and probably just as young as his fellow. The bullet from the first man’s gun entered under the second guard’s chin and exploded from the back of his head. Anya wondered if the man had time to know he was dead before his spirit fled his body.
She lifted the flashlight from the ground and pointed it at the guard whimpering there. The lockpick was deep enough she thought it might actually have done some real damage. “How many other guards are on duty tonight?” she asked.
The man tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling choke. So, she had killed him after all. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about him calling for help.
She pressed the gun to his temple and fired once to put him out of his misery. The gunshot was only barely muffled by his skull, but she could hear shouting and fighting as the riots began and knew that no one could have heard.
Still, she must be swift. When these two didn’t report back, others would come.
Nikolai had said that Lenin’s vision was the key to freedom. He had said that while staring hard at the picture of Lenin in the hallway between her cell and the interrogation room.
She kept the flashlight beam covered with her hand until she reached the picture, then uncovered it just enough to locate his eyes. She thrust her fingers through the painting. They collided with the wall, and she winced in pain, but when they closed around a car key taped to the back of the painting, her heart leapt.
How had he hidden a key there? Had he bribed one of the guards after all? She hoped it wasn’t one of the men she had killed.
She heard shouting and turned to see more flashlight beams dancing off of the far corner of the hallway. She needed to hurry.
She rushed toward the front of the prison. More flashlight beams tracked across the field that separated the wall from the cell block, but the field was broad, and the guards were overwhelmed by the rioting prisoners. She was able to easily dodge the searching beams and reach the wall.
Her father claimed she didn’t understand true suffering, so when the razor wire at the top of the wall cut into her skin, and she didn’t flinch at all despite the pain, she felt a moment of triumph. Her wounds would need to be addressed, but they were superficial, so she could bind them once she had escaped.
He mentioned that Dmitry had parked by the river. The Moskva ran just behind the prison, but she doubted Nikolai would leave the car there for her. He had probably parked it further in the woods. She shined her flashlight when she was covered by the trees.
She quickly covered it when she heard barking. The prison guards had released the dogs.
She had little time. Her feet were already freezing, but the dogs were a more immediate threat. They didn’t need light to find her, and if they reached her before she could get to the car, then this was all for nothing.
She saw a shadow and risked opening her flashlight beam again. When she saw the car, she sighed with relief. It was a GAZ-67B, not a comfortable vehicle by any means, but sturdy and rugged. Most importantly, it had four-wheel drive, meaning it would allow Anya to drive on rough backroads and avoid the chance of being recognized in public.
The dogs were close now. She began to see flashlight beams bouncing off the trees. She needed to move.
She jumped into the car and found a change of clothing, a coat, a blanket and best of all, fur-lined boots. She couldn’t honestly say she loved her father, but the gratitude she had for him in that moment was almost as strong as love.
She started the motor and drove the car through the forest. She kept the car's headlights off, briefly using her flashlight beam to map the route ahead. She drove like this until she heard the barking of the dogs fade, then she turned the car’s headlights on and accelerated to perhaps ten kilometers per hour, not fast, but as fast as she dared while driving through the forest at night.
Eventually, the noises of the prison riots faded entirely. She turned away from the river and made her way back to the road. This road was paved, and she would need to be off of it before daylight, but she could take it out of Moscow and into the rural land beyond. Any response would come from the other direction, so she wasn’t worried about being caught at night.
She drove until her toes began to go numb, then stopped and quickly changed. The clothing her father provided was utilitarian and not particularly well-fitted, but it was warm, and the ill fit would work to her favor. Even at forty-one, she was a strikingly beautiful woman with long, radiant blonde hair and eyes the color of a summer sky.
She smiled softly. Tyler had told her that. That silly, foolish, beautiful boy.
She would see him again. Soon.
The point was that people stared at beautiful women, and she didn’t want to be stared at. She wanted to leave the Soviet Union as soon as possible.
She would head North. The journey would be more difficult, but that meant fewer people would look for her. She would drive to Finland, then take a commercial flight to Munich. From there, she would make her way by car to Passau, to the small private airfield that served as the CIA Europe Headquarters.
She grinned as she imagined the look on Tyler’s face when he first saw her. The surprise and disbelief. The joy. Maybe she would tease him a little for leaving her behind. Not too harshly. He was such a sensitive man.
But she would only tease him until she could get him alone. Then, she would remind him in every way she could how much she loved him.
She finished dressing, got behind her car and resumed her journey. Questions lingered in her mind about Nikolai’s real intentions and whether or not she could trust his aid, but for now, she decided to allow herself her joy in freedom.