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Most traffic going from Moscow to Saint Petersburg used the M11 Expressway, a fast road with a gauntlet of toll booths and cameras. Thorne took the turnoff for the M10 North instead. The M10 was the old route, with only two lanes. It would take longer, but there were no toll booths.
When he was on the highway and out of Moscow, Thorne called Jenna again.
"I'm out of Moscow."
"Mike, Kramer is disavowing you. Davidson's telling everyone I told you so. Carlson is pissed because you weren't authorized to extract her. He thinks you're probably sleeping with her. You're not sleeping with her, are you?"
"No, Jenna, I'm not sleeping with her. You told them what OPERA did?"
"Yes. It didn't make any difference. Davidson doesn't believe her story. He thinks it was some kind of lover's quarrel."
"I don't believe this."
"They don't want to help you. They're afraid of creating an international incident. Not to mention that you don't officially exist."
"Jenna, they're making a mistake playing these political games. They don't have the full story. It's not only about getting us out. The Russians are going to launch a first strike. OPERA has proof. Stepanov caught her looking at the plan. That's why she had to kill him. Tell them that. That ought to get them off their asses."
"Are you serious? A first strike?"
"That's right."
"When?"
Thorne turned to Anya.
"When is this operation supposed to happen?" he asked.
"I don't know. Soon. Requisitions for supplies have been heavy."
"She doesn't know. She says soon. She says they've been building up supplies."
"Shit."
"Exactly."
"All right. I'll tell them."
"Someone will find Stepanov in a few hours. I need backup. Call when you have something for me."
Thorne broke the connection.
"You are angry," Anya said.
"It's nothing."
Lights from a Lukoil gas station showed up ahead. He looked at the fuel gauge.
"We need gas."
"I need a bathroom," she said.
"See if they have something to eat while you're inside. Anything will do. We won't stop again until we're close to Saint Petersburg."
He used a fake credit card to pay for the gas. She came out of the station with a bulging green plastic bag in her hand. He watched her walking toward the car and wanted her.
Christ, Thorne, keep your mind on staying alive.
She got back in the car, took a snack from the bag, and opened it.
"What did you get?" Thorne asked.
"They did not have any sandwiches. Try these. Sweet corn sticks. They are very good."
He ate one. It was crunchy and vaguely sweet. She opened one of the snacks for herself.
"Not bad. Did you get something to drink?"
She pulled out a can of Coca-Cola and opened it for him. He tasted the soda and looked at the can.
"This is different from what we get at home. Too sweet."
He pulled out of the gas station onto the empty highway.
"Where is your home?" she said.
"I have a house in Virginia, about a half hour drive from where I work. It's in the country. You'd like it."
"You are CIA, no?"
It was the first time she'd asked who he worked for.
"That's right."
"I was taught that CIA is a very bad organization," Anya said.
"For us, it is your intelligence agencies that are bad."
"Do you think there is any real difference? Between ours and yours?"
"I used to think so. Now, I'm not so sure."
"Why did you begin to work for them?"
"They recruited me."
"That is not an answer. I asked you why."
"I did two tours in Afghanistan. Civilian life looked pretty tame after that. I figured working for them wouldn't be boring, and I would be helping keep my country safe."
Anya nodded. "I understand. It is why I joined the military."
Thorne watched the pavement unfold in his headlights.
"It can't have been easy for you," he said. "A woman in your army."
"I do not think it would be easy for a woman in any army."
He watched the highway. Anya was silent. He looked over at her. She was staring at the night.
"Anya? Where did you go?"
His voice startled her. She'd been immersed in a memory.
"Sorry. I was thinking about when I reported to officer training, after the university. The first months were designed to weed out unsuitable candidates. They did not want officers who could not handle the stress. They made my life hell."
"But you got through it."
"I do not like to admit it, but they were right to do it that way. I hated it at the time, at least part of it, the part that stripped away my privacy. But I liked the physical part. The challenge, you know? To find out I could do these things I never would have dreamed I could do."
"I know what you mean. Our training is similar. It shows you what you're made of."
He reached over and took her hand.
"When I first saw you, I felt I had known you forever," she said. "I never felt like that before. It was a strange feeling."
"It was the same for me," he said.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"We Russians believe in fate. We have many words for it. The one I like means destiny. I think you and I have a destiny together. I think we were always meant to meet."
"I wish we'd met under different circumstances," Thorne said.
"I do also, but fate isn't like that, is it?"
"No."
"We will not be able to cross the border," she said. "I do not have my passport. Even if I did, traveling with a foreigner will cause great suspicion. We will be stopped."
"Don't think like that. I'm working on it."
"I do not think your CIA is happy with you."
"Why do you say that?"
"The way you were speaking on the phone. They are angry with you."
"They'll get over it. They have to help us. The information you have is too valuable for them to let you get caught."
She looked out the window at the Russian night rushing past.
"I had to kill him. I do not like what I have done."
The car hit a pothole, the shock jarring and harsh.
"You didn't have a choice," he said. "If you hadn't stopped him, you'd be sitting in a cell right now, instead of this comfortable, luxury vehicle."
Anya laughed. He liked the sound.
"I am not sorry he's dead. I didn't plan it. I was frightened. I didn't think about it, I hit him with a lamp. It was a very heavy lamp. I hit him on the head, as hard as I could. Then I hit him again. It bothers me."
"If it didn't bother you, I'd be worried about you. He would've had you tortured to find out what you knew. Like your friend, Sokolov."
"Poor Vlas. It is my fault he's dead."
"No, Anya, it's not. It's their fault, not yours. He knew what he was doing when he helped you."
"You are so sure of yourself. How do you stay so calm?"
"Don't believe everything you see. I've learned to put things in compartments when I need to."
"What do you mean?"
"Right now my job is to get us somewhere safe. That's the compartment I'm in, doing that. Worrying about getting caught is in a different compartment."
"You're not afraid?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid. That's in another compartment, the fear."
"I know what you are saying," Anya said. "This is something else we have in common."
"How so?"
"When I was a child, my father would get drunk. He was an angry, unhappy man. He would yell. He used to hit my mother. My brothers were both younger than I was. I thought I had to protect them from him, and I was very afraid. If I had let my fear control me, I could not have done that. So I pushed it away into another part of me until it was over."
"That's it, exactly. That's what we have to do now. Plenty of time to think about being afraid after we're safe."
His phone buzzed. Carlson.
"Lewis."
"Jenna says OPERA has the Russian plan for a first strike. Is that true?"
"Yes. It was on Stepanov's computer. She copied it to a USB drive "
"Thorne, if this turns out to be some bullshit story you made up to cover for her, you'll think Guantánamo is a beach resort compared to where I'm going to send you."
"You disappoint me, Lewis. Are you the done with the theatrics? Unless you're going to help, get the hell off the phone."
"All I'm saying, this better be the real deal."
"Lewis, I'm sitting next to someone who has the end of the world in her purse. Don't you think we should figure out how to get it out of her purse and onto the president's desk?"
"There's a safe house outside of Novgorod. It hasn't been used in years. Get there and we'll think of something."
He gave Thorne the coordinates.
"That's a start," Thorne said.
Carlson hung up.
"He doesn't believe me?" Anya said.
"Don't take it personally. It's hard for him to trust anyone. It's not in his nature."
"He is your boss? You are in trouble?"
Thorne laughed. "That's nothing new with him."
"This place we are going. We will be safe there?"
"Yes. At least for a while."
They came around a long curve in the highway. Militia cars and flashing lights blocked the highway ahead.
Thorne felt the hard shape of the gun in his pocket.
"If they're looking for us, we're screwed."
"It is probably a random check," Anya said. "They happen all the time. Let me do the talking."
There was no way to avoid the checkpoint. They'd already been seen. If he turned around and went the other way, they'd be after him in a second. Besides, there was nowhere to go, except back to Moscow. Thorne drove up and stopped behind an idling truck, while a man in militia uniform checked the driver's papers. An assault rifle was slung over his shoulder. He handed the papers back and waved the truck on, then signaled Thorne to pull forward and stop.
Thorne rolled down his window. The cop came over.
"Your papers, please."
Thorne handed over a Russian passport. The cop looked at it, then at Thorne. Off to the side, two other militiamen watched. Anya took her ID from her purse, waiting.
"You," he said to Anya. "Let me see your papers."
She held up her ministry ID with her picture on it.
"I am Colonel Anya Volkova," she said. "Perhaps you recognize me?"
The cop looked at the ID picture, then at her. He straightened.
"Yes, Colonel, I recognize you."
"Why has this checkpoint been established?"
"We are looking for a suspected terrorist."
"I am pleased to see your vigilance," Anya said. "It is unpleasant but necessary work."
"Excuse me, Colonel, but where are you going?"
"To Bull Island. You know it?"
"That is where the boarding school facility for female students is located."
"That is correct. Our future leaders are taught patriotism, social values and the foundations of motherhood there."
"Forgive me, Colonel, but why are you traveling so late at night?"
"We are going to conduct a surprise inspection of the facility. I want to arrive early to ensure they have no time to prepare. Sergeant, can I trust your discretion?"
"Of course, Colonel."
"There have been reports of illicit activities at the school. Sexual activities."
The guard looked shocked.
"No!"
"We intend to root out the perpetrators. They will regret betraying their trust."
Anya looked at her watch, then at the name tag on his uniform.
"May we proceed, Sergeant Novotsky? I wish to get there before classes begin."
By now one of the other men had come over and was standing next to the Sergeant. Thorne kept quiet. His hand rested on the pistol.
"May I ask a favor, Colonel?" the Sergeant said. "Could I have your autograph? You are an inspiration for my daughter."
Anna smiled at him. "Of course. It is my pleasure."
She opened her purse and took out a small notebook.
"Please make it out to Natasha," the Sergeant said.
Anya wrote a short note and signed it, then handed it over.
Novotsky handed Thorne's passport back to him. He stepped away from the car and saluted.
"You are free to go. Thank you, Colonel," he said.
"No, thank you, Sergeant. Your vigilance keeps us safe."
Thorne put the car in gear and drove away. He watched the rearview mirror until the flashing lights were gone.
"That was a great performance," he said. "He blushed when you hit him with that smile."
"You do not achieve much in Russia if you don't know how to play a role," she said.
"Do you want to go to America?" Thorne asked.
"I had not thought about it. Why?"
"Because if you go to Washington, you'll fit right in."