| |
The weather was good, the sun shining, and Presnensky Park was crowded. People strolled about or sat on the grass. Anya walked along the paths until she came to the chess tables. She didn't see Professor Sokolov at any of them. She sat on a bench and waited for him to show up.
It felt normal to sit on a park bench on a warm day, listening to the sounds of people laughing and having a good time. There hadn't been a lot of normal in her life, lately. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, soaking in the light and warmth, letting her mind drift.
Her head dropped forward and she snapped alert. She looked at her watch. She'd been zoning out for almost twenty minutes. She looked around at the chess tables. Sokolov still had not appeared. It was unusual for him. He never missed Sunday chess in the park, if the weather permitted. For her old professor, it was a ritual that might as well have been graven in stone. She hoped he wasn't ill.
She waited another half an hour, then decided to go to the Black Queen Café and see if he was there. It was the only other place she could think of where she might find him. She realized she didn't know where he lived. It hadn't occurred to her to ask, when she'd last seen him. Her mind had been too preoccupied with her need to get a message to the American Embassy.
He wasn't in the café. She went to the counter and ordered a coffee. A heavyset man with a thick mustache was working the espresso machine, the same man she'd seen the last time she'd been there. He was probably the owner.
"Excuse me," she said. "Do you know Professor Sokolov?"
He wiped his hands on a towel. He looked at her, then back at the machine.
"Why do you want to know?"
"He's a friend. Usually he plays chess in the park on a Sunday, but he's not there. I remembered that he likes to come here."
The man placed her coffee on the counter in front of her.
"You were here with him not long ago."
"That's right."
"A friend, you say."
"Yes."
There was something odd in the way the man was looking at her. He looked around the room. No one was near enough to overhear their conversation.
"You will not find him here," the man said.
He began wiping the counter with the towel.
"Do you know where he is?" Anya asked.
"He's been arrested."
Anya felt a sudden rush of adrenaline that left her weak in the knees. Her heart began pounding.
"What? No, that can't be. Why?"
The man shrugged.
"Who knows? He was here, having a game. Two men came in. I saw them show him ID. Then they took him away. He hasn't been back since."
"What kind of ID?"
"GRU. You should leave now. I don't want any trouble."
"You are sure it was GRU?"
"I was in the Army. I know what their IDs look like."
"Did they say anything?"
"One of them said the major wanted to talk with him."
She looked at her coffee, untouched.
"Please, go now. I don't want any trouble. Don't come back."
The man turned his back to her and began cleaning the gleaming espresso machine with his towel.
She put money on the counter to pay for the coffee and left the café. She walked back toward the park. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Sokolov would be sitting at one of the chess tables. But when she got there, he wasn't in sight. She sat down on the same bench as before. What had the café owner said? When Sokolov was arrested, he'd overheard them say the major wanted to talk to him. What major?
Petrov!
The thought sent another rush of adrenaline whispering through her veins. Her intuition told her she was right.
It has to be him, that cold bastard. He's GRU. He doesn't like me. He probably knows about Stepanov and me. He could have followed me, hoping for something to tell his bosses. If he did, he saw me meet Vlas.
She didn't like what she was thinking. If Sokolov had been arrested, it might have something to do with her. It might not, but Anya didn't believe in coincidences. She was sure he hadn't told them about the message to the embassy, or she would have been picked up by now. She would not be sitting here in the sun on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
If Petrov was behind Sokolov's arrest, everything was now much more complicated. She looked around the park, filled with people. Was she being followed? Anyone could be watching her, anyone at all. She'd never see them. How could she hope to contact the Americans if she was being watched? Michael had said to always assume she was being watched. She'd forgotten that. Maybe she'd made a mistake by going to the café, but if she hadn't gone, she wouldn't know Vlas had been arrested.
Anya had few friends, but she considered Sokolov one of them. He was a kind, brilliant man. She had to do something.
There was no point in waiting in the park any longer. She got up from the bench and began walking. She paused at a fountain and glanced behind her as she drank. A man quickly turned his head to look in the other direction. He'd been lingering near the chess tables when she'd been waiting on the bench.
Fear bloomed in her chest, then, anger. She wanted to walk up to the man and confront him, but she smothered the impulse. That would only make them more suspicious of her. Why would she think she was being followed if she were innocent of any wrongdoing?
She entered the Metro and caught another glimpse of the man behind her. So, not simple paranoia. Without Sokolov, the link to the embassy was broken. She'd have to call the number Michael had given her. She'd use one of the cheap phones she'd purchased in Finland.
She waited for the train to arrive, a plan beginning to form in her mind.