XXII

There were no Americans staying at the first hotel, nor had there been any in the past month. Yuri followed Vanya and Dima to the next hotel and then, after an argument that ended when they shoved each other and fell, to the next. Yuri never said he would stay, but he made no move to go, either. Instead, he walked slumped forward, sulking. They made their way through Riga in the shadows, terrified someone would stop and ask for their papers or why they were away from their unit. At first Yuri had whispered he was worried Dima might turn them in, but Dima seemed as keen to stay hidden as the two soldiers.

At one point late in the day, Dima took Vanya and Yuri down a narrow, older street lined with restaurants. It smelled like fried onions and boiled meat. “Americans used to congregate here,” he said. But now it was empty.

“Stick to the hotels,” Yuri said.

They tried four more locations and still found nothing. No American, or man named Russell Clay, had ever even written for a reservation. Near sunset, in front of a row of dark houses, Dima crouched behind a hobbled wagon, in a pile of straw. He gestured for Vanya and Yuri to also take cover. An army unit in formation was turning the corner, marching toward them. Their boots stamped in unison, trampling cobblestones. A woman in the house behind them closed her shutters. Then came a new sound. Steel wheels slammed against stone—a tank. Vanya had only seen one before. The wheels were constructed of metal plates that rolled over gears. The inventor of this Russian model, born and schooled in Riga, called them caterpillar wheels. The sides were reinforced with steel so thick it was impenetrable.

“Impressive,” Dima whispered.

“Despicable,” Vanya said. “Science should be for progress, not killing.”

Dima, Vanya, and Yuri hurried forward to the next hotel, and the next. Vanya struggled not to lose hope. Near midnight, Dima’s deadline, they stood in an alley to catch their breath. Seagulls cawed. Candles flickered through windows, and the smell of boiled potatoes was thick. Dima looked tired. His beard no longer spiked. “Why risk your lives for an American?” Dima asked. “Does he study time?”

“Do you intend to turn us in for the reward? Is Kolya reporting us now?” Yuri asked.

“Can’t you see, he would have already turned us in if that was his aim,” Vanya said. Yuri looked away, sucked on his cigarette. His cheeks turned concave as the tobacco singed.

“Doctor.” Dima grinned. “Your brother has a point. If I turned you in, how would I get such nice boots and binoculars?” He paused. “Where’d you learn to fight?”

“I can’t fight,” Yuri said.

“That’s a lie. I saw you at the docks. Kolya couldn’t have hit you if you hadn’t let him. Why? Where are you from?”

“Zhytomyr.”

“Aha. That city has a reputation.”

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Yuri said.

“Then tell me this, why do you two stick together? I can’t figure it out. All you do is disagree, and yet you fight for one another. I know you’re not brothers by blood.”

“He’s engaged to my sister,” Vanya said. “They work together at the hospital.”

“A nurse and a doctor, a storybook tale,” Dima said. “Now I see.”

“My sister’s not a nurse.”

“She’s a doctor, my student. She works under me at the hospital.”

“All women are better under us, no?” Dima winked.

Yuri ignored him. “How do we know you won’t turn us in?” he asked again.

“He wants his boots and—” Vanya started.

“I told you, I have a business proposal,” Dima interrupted.

“Besides,” Vanya said. “He’s been seen with us. All day. If we’re caught, the czar’s men’ll hang him for helping. You realize that, Dima?”

“I’m aware,” Dima said. His gold tooth glistened as a truck hauling coal dragged past. “Come, to the next hotel.”