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Thorne looked at the display. Anya. He made the connection.
"I'm in big trouble, you have to help me."
Her words came out in a rush.
"Wait, slow down. What happened?"
"You have to help me. He's dead."
"Who's dead?"
"Stepanov. I killed him."
He could hear the fear in her voice.
"Okay. You're all right, try to stay calm. Where are you now?"
"In his apartment. I don't know what to do."
"Where's the apartment?"
"On Ostozhenka Street."
"Where?"
She gave him the address.
"All right, listen. Stay where you are. I'll get there as soon as I can. Are there guards?"
"There's a guard in the lobby."
"Okay. Stay in the apartment. Don't go anywhere. I'll call when I'm outside."
"All right."
He hung up and entered the address in the GPS on his phone
He was still dressed, except for his shoes. It was nearing midnight on Friday, and Moscow was known for its nightlife. Things were just starting to get warmed up in the city. No one would think it odd if he went out looking for distraction.
A blown operation produced its own mindset. He began thinking about actions to take, possible scenarios. It didn't matter why Anya had killed Stepanov. There'd be time later to find out why. What mattered was that he had to get her out, first from Stepanov's apartment, then out of the country.
His mind ticked over possibilities. He needed transportation. He couldn't take a cab to the apartment, pick her up, head to an airport. The cabs were all tracked by the FSB. Besides, a flight out of the country wasn't happening. There were few flights at this time of night, and even if there were, she might not have a passport. If she did, she probably didn't have it with her. Besides, a plane could be called back or met at its destination.
He had to get her out of Moscow. He remembered his conversation with Jenna earlier in the day. Now speculation had turned into reality. As soon as Stepanov's body was discovered, the Russians would shut down all the obvious routes of escape. Like the cabs, rental vehicles were tracked by the FSB. A foreigner renting would be flagged immediately. He needed a car, but a rental was out.
He'd have to steal one.
He left everything in his room except his passports and money. It would take them a while to realize he was missing. He waited for the elevator. When it came, he took it to the lobby and left the hotel.
Parking for guests at the Metropole was in a small, guarded lot. He wasn't going to find something there. He walked away from the broad intersection where the Metropole and Bolshoi faced each other. He kept walking until he found a street where people were allowed to park. He was in operational mode, paranoid, his adrenaline pumping. It made him feel alive. It was a part of the job he loved and hated at the same time, the feeling of walking the edge of the razor.
The street felt clean. No one had followed him from the hotel. He turned a corner onto a residential block, looking for the right kind of car. He saw a white Lada parked in a shadowed area between streetlights, a car that wouldn't stand out. There were a lot of white Ladas in Russia. He took a pick from inside his wallet and worked the door lock. Thirty seconds later, he was inside the car. Thirty seconds after that, the engine started.
I'm getting good at this.
He headed for Stepanov's building. As he drove, he took out his phone and called Jenna. Moscow was seven hours ahead of the East Coast. It was late Friday afternoon in Washington. She'd still be in her office.
"Mike. I was just thinking of you."
"We have a problem. OPERA killed Stepanov."
"What? Tell me you're not serious."
"I wish. She's blown. I'm on my way to get her. Then I'm going to get her out of the country."
"What happened?"
"I don't know yet. When I do, I'll call."
"Carlson is going to have a cow," Jenna said.
"Yeah, well, that's how it goes. He can deal with it."
"What's your plan?"
"I'm making it up on the fly. Remember what we talked about earlier? Estonia and Finland look like the best bet."
"The ferry from Tallinn?"
"I don't like it, but I don't see any better options."
"By the time you reach the Estonian border, they'll be looking for her."
"Do you have a better idea?"
"Not at the moment. What do you need?"
"Do we have a safe house in Tallinn?"
"We used to. I don't know if it's still there. I'll find out."
"I'll need a passport for her. Clothes, ID. Something to disguise her looks. You know the drill. Find me a safe house, or at least a way to get everything to me."
"How are you traveling?"
"I hot wired a car. It will do for now."
"Jesus, Mike."
"Just another day at the office."
"I'd better get on this," Jenna said.
"I'll keep you posted."
"Mike. Don't get yourself killed."
"Not a chance."
He was nearing Stepanov's block.
"Gotta go."
He hung up.
He turned onto Ostozhenka Street. A Lada was common as dirt in Russia, popular and cheap, but you didn't see them waiting in front of Stepanov's building. Thorne saw the security guard sitting behind a desk in the lobby as he drove by. He was reading a newspaper. There would be cameras in the lobby as well.
He continued past the building, turned a corner, and found a place to pull over.
No way he was getting into that building. She had to come out.
He called her.
"It's me," he said. "I'm parked outside."
"I'm frightened."
"I know. Anya."
"Yes?"
"It's important to act naturally. Does the guard know you? Do you say good night to him when you leave?"
"Yes. His name is Boris."
"Do what you always do. Say good night, smile. When you come out of the building, go to your left, then left again at the next street. I'm in a white Lada, about a third of the way down the block, on the right."
"White Lada."
He had to keep her focused.
"Anya."
"Yes."
"I'm here," Thorne said. "Go."
He hung up.
After ten long minutes he saw her coming down the street. He leaned over and opened the passenger door. Anya was dressed in dark slacks, low heeled shoes, a summer jacket, a blue blouse. She looked beautiful, even with the stress showing on her face.
Anya got in the car and shut the door. She gripped his hand. He felt her vibrating. He looked at her face and touched her cheek where Stepanov had struck her.
"Your face is red, here. Are you all right?"
"It is nothing. He hit me."
Thorne touched two ignition wires together. The engine started. He pulled away from the curb.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Away from here. Finland."
Thorne remembered her saying she wouldn't leave Russia without her mother. He waited for her objection. She surprised him.
"Whatever you say."
"You don't have a problem leaving Russia? You told me before you wouldn't go without your mother."
Anya looked out the window.
"My mother is dead."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"She had a heart attack."
"I'm sorry," Thorne said again.
She turned back to him. "So you see, there is nothing to keep me here now."
"What happened?" Thorne said. "Why did you kill Stepanov?"
"His computer was on. He caught me looking at it. He called me a traitor. Then he knocked me down. That's when I killed him."
"How?"
"I hit him with a lamp. He had picked up his phone. I would have been arrested."
She rummaged in her purse and brought out a gun.
"I have this," she said.
"You carry a pistol?"
"No. It was his. It was hanging on a chair and fell on the floor next to me. I thought you might need it."
She handed it to him. It was a Grach, 9x62 mm, standard military issue.
"The safety is on," she said.
Thorne put the pistol in his jacket pocket.
"Most of us do not carry a weapon every day. Yuri liked to wear it to demonstrate his rank and power."
"Yuri?"
"Stepanov. He made me call him that. The pig. I'm glad he's dead."
"Are you sure he's dead?"
"He is very dead."
"Do you have your phone?"
"Yes."
"Take off the back. Then take out the card and break it."
She got the back off the phone and broke the card.
"Toss the pieces out the window. Then the rest of the phone."
She did as he asked. The pieces bounced off the pavement.
Thorne came to Prechestenka Boulevard and turned left. In a few minutes he reached the ring road that circled Moscow and turned north. It would connect with one of the two highways leading toward St. Petersburg and Estonia.
"How long do we have before someone finds him?" he asked.
"Not long. Six or seven hours, I don't think more. When he doesn't come down, his driver will go up to see why he is late."
"It could be worse. What was on the computer?"
"A file. I only had time to read the first page. They are going to launch a first strike against your country."
His adrenaline spiked. He took a deep breath and looked over at her.
"You're sure of that?"
"Yes."
"Too bad you couldn't read the whole thing."
She reached into the purse.
"It was not necessary." She held up a thumb drive. "I copied the file before I left."