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Even at nine in the morning, there were plenty of people in Izmailovsky Park. At one time it had been a private estate and hunting preserve belonging to the Czars. Now it was one of the largest parks in Moscow, with trails that meandered through hundreds of acres of forest.
Part of the park was given over to amusement rides. Anya bought an ice cream cone from a stand near the big Ferris wheel. She sat on a bench nearby eating her ice cream, watching a group of children playing nearby, thinking about how life had brought her to this point.
Her career had always been her priority, and now it was too late for children. None of her relationships had been the kind that turned into marriage and family. She didn't regret the choices she'd made, but sometimes she wished there was someone she could turn to in the middle of the night when she needed comfort. Someone she could share her life with.
Someone like Michael.
But he was an American spy. If it wasn't so impossible, it would almost be funny. The problem was that she wasn't laughing.
Anya finished the ice cream, took out a book, and began reading. If anyone was watching, it looked like a normal thing to do. Her mind filled with random thoughts. Would Michael come? Was she being followed? Would she be arrested? After a long half hour turning pages, she couldn't remember anything she'd read.
She felt his presence before she saw him. Michael walked by. She waited until he was some distance away, then got up and followed him.
He led her past a large pond visible through the trees, then turned off the paved path onto a trail that led into the forest. The trees were exploding with green after the harsh winter. Sounds faded as they went farther into the forest. Streamers of light filtered down through the branches. They had only the sounds of the birds for company. Her steps felt soft on the dirt path.
Usually when she walked in the forest, it calmed her. Not today. Today, her heart was pounding. She couldn't help looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind.
Michael left the path and disappeared into the trees. She looked for him.
"Over here," Thorne said, his voice quiet.
"I might have been followed," she said as she came up to him.
"Don't worry, you weren't. We made sure of that. Are you all right?"
"Now that you're here, I'm fine."
She stepped close to him. He could smell her scent, a subtle musk that set his heart beating. The world disappeared. All he could see was her face.
"You have beautiful eyes," he said.
"So do you."
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
"I thought today would never get here."
He touched her face. She leaned close. The first kiss was gentle, soft.
"Michael," she said.
"This is crazy."
"I know."
"I don't care."
"I don't, either."
The second kiss was deeper, longer. They broke away and Anya stepped back, flushed.
"I wish we were somewhere else. Somewhere private," she said.
"So do I, but we're not. We can't stay here long."
"I know."
He forced himself to concentrate.
"Why did you want to meet?"
She took a breath and made herself think of what she wanted to tell him.
"Two days ago, the high command met with Tarasov to discuss the blockade. I know this because General Stepanov had to leave word where he would be. I know these people. They will never accept or agree to American demands. In my work I see everything. All of our serviceable submarines are now at sea. That is very unusual. I think war is coming."
"Can you find out what they are doing?"
"I will try, but I cannot guarantee it. I asked Stepanov, but he doesn't like it when I ask him for details. "
"Be careful, Anya. You mustn't make him suspicious."
"Don't worry. I told him I was just curious."
Anya shifted gears.
"What have you done about Petrov?"
"We're working on it."
"I want to know where Professor Sokolov is being held. Can you help him?"
"Anya..."
She looked at him and read what he was going to say.
"He's dead, isn't he? Those bastards."
"I'm sorry. For what it's worth, they probably didn't mean to kill him. He had a heart attack while he was being interrogated."
"Who was it?"
"GRU. A colonel named Ivanov."
"I know who he is. Petrov works for him. I am sure he suspects me of something."
"We're working on it," Thorne said again.
"What good am I doing, Michael? If I hadn't asked Vlas to help me, he'd still be alive. All I've accomplished is to get him killed."
"It's not your fault, Anya."
She snapped at him.
"No? What do you know about it? Do you have any idea what it's like to know someone is always watching, waiting for you to make a mistake?"
"Actually, I do," Thorne said. "It's the kind of world we live in now. There are always people who want to control everything, who care about nothing except power. We have them in America like you do here, only it's usually not as obvious."
"It is not the same."
"Anya, what you're doing is important. You said you think war is coming. If you're right, you're the best chance to prevent it from happening. If we know what they're doing, we can try to stop them before it starts."
She took a deep breath, calming herself.
"Perhaps."
"No perhaps about it. You're next to Stepanov. He's a key player."
"He is a pig."
"Yes, but a very important pig. Maybe we can turn him into bacon."
She smiled. "You make a joke."
"I'm only half joking."
"I need to go back," Anya said. "I don't like to leave my mother alone for too long."
"My bosses want me to give you a transmitter."
"No. I won't take it."
"I told them you would say that. You can use the number I gave you before to reach us."
"I do not want to call and talk to someone I don't know."
"Okay. I'll give you my number. It's secure. If I don't answer, call again in a little while. If it's an emergency and I don't answer, call the number you used before."
He gave her his number and had her repeat it.
"I'm nearby, over the border in Finland," he said. "If you need me, I can be here within hours, but it's better to keep our meetings at a minimum."
"I understand. I won't ask for a meeting again unless it's really important."
"There's an old Roman tomb with an inscription carved on it," Thorne said. "I think of it when things get difficult."
She looked at him, curious.
"What does it say, this inscription?"
"It says, 'Don't let the bastards wear you down.'"
She laughed. It made him smile, to see her happy.
"Maybe this Roman was really a Russian."
"Maybe."
"I should go now," she said.
"I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to." She looked at him. "How can this be? These feelings?"
He stepped close and kissed her.
"I don't know, but they're real. I know that."
"I should go," she said again.
"Tell me the number," he said.
She repeated it to him.
"Please, Anya. Be careful."
"I will."
They kissed. It vibrated through his body, a kiss he didn't want to end. After what seemed like a long time, she pulled back.
"Goodbye, Michael."
He watched her walk away through the trees, thinking about the kiss and the sound of her laugh. The kiss had shaken him. It told him it was too late to back away.
As far back as he could remember, he'd been told Russia was an enemy. You didn't fall in love with the enemy. It went against everything he'd ever been taught. How could this be happening?
He thought about that first, electric touch in the Cathedral in Helsinki, the sensation that he'd known her forever. He decided it must have started then. It wasn't quite love at first sight, but it was damn close.
He began walking back to the main path through the park, thinking about her. Anya was beautiful, but that wasn't why he felt this way. Physical attraction was a lousy basis for relationship. It might get your attention, but it would never be enough on its own. Ashley had taught him that.
About the only thing he and Anya had in common was love of country. He wasn't ashamed to say he loved America, in spite of its flaws. It was what drove him, gave him meaning. It was why he'd made a choice to stand against her enemies. It kept him working at Langley, in spite of people like Carlson. He supposed that made him a patriot. Some would say that was corny, but he didn't give a shit what they thought.
Governments and politicians came and went, but the country survived them. It was the land that mattered, the people.
Anya felt the same way about Russia. Her people would call her a traitor, but if her beloved Motherland could speak, he figured it would thank her.
In a way they were mirror images of each other, ideal partners. It didn't explain why he wanted to be with her, but it gave him the excuse he needed to forget she was supposed to be the enemy.
Once he was out of the park, Thorne caught a taxi to the airport.