13

Spaceships, Supermodels, and Other Theories

“Boris!” Beatrix cried. “No!”

Ania pressed her lips together. “We haven’t seen him for two days. And it’s not like him to disappear. So, you’ll excuse us for not being able to give you a tour tonight. We’ve got some searching to do.”

“Of course we don’t expect a tour,” JR said, horrified at the thought, and at the thought of poor Boris, locked up in a cage somewhere. Or worse. “Look, let me help. I … I don’t know the city, but … I want to help.” He pictured Boris’s old, scarred face and how it would light up when he talked about Russian history. They had to find him.

“We’ll all help.” Beatrix stepped forward.

“Count us in,” Robert added.

“But what about John?” Pie whispered. His eyes were practically the size of tennis balls.

Robert looked up at the sky, which was now completely dark. “He’ll be at work for another few hours at least. No worries.” He turned to Beatrix. “What about your human?”

“It takes an earthquake to wake that woman,” said Beatrix.

JR began to protest again, but Beatrix shot him a “don’t even think about it” look. He shut his mouth and turned back to Ania.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. No offence, but we really can’t afford to slow down.”

“We won’t slow you down!” JR protested. “I’m small but I’m fast. We’re all fast,” he added, although he had his doubts about Beatrix. Particularly if there were puddles.

Ania eyed him, obviously unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Look, Embassy, it’s nice of you to offer, but—”

“Our mum was a first-class search and rescue dog,” Robert told her. “Every time something important went missing, like a diamond ring or the TV remote, they’d call her in to find it.”

Ania eyed him, too, and JR wished he had something similar to offer. Jack Russells had been bred to chase foxes and hunt down barn rats. Which was helpful, but not nearly as impressive.

Ania looked at Fyodor, who shrugged.

“Okay,” she said. “I guess more eyes can’t hurt.” Then she glanced over at Beatrix, who was filing her nails on the sidewalk. “I guess.”

“Great! Where to first?” Robert asked.

“Red Square,” said Ania. “It’s the last place he was seen.”

“That was amazing!” Robert crowed as they emerged from the Ploshchad Revolutsii metro station. “I can’t believe we’ve never taken the metro before! What a way to get around! Right, Pie? Pie?” He glanced back at his brother, who was slowly slinking up the stairs.

“Amazing,” Pie wheezed. He looked like he was about to lose his dinner.

Beatrix stopped atop the stairs to smooth her whiskers. “Well,” she said. “That was an adventure. I can’t believe Johanna takes that train every day. It’s filthy.”

“But did you see those bronze statues?” Robert asked. He gave a low whistle. “This is one impressive city, Ania.”

“Yeah,” Ania said, studying a pair of policemen who stood nearby, eyeing people suspiciously. “It’s impressive, all right. I’m not sure about its officials, though. If they’re behind these disappearances …” She shook her head.

That reminded JR of what Katerina had said. “My human’s girlfriend said she heard a rumour that the city was going to control the strays,” he reported. “But she said that rumour comes up every few years or so.”

“It does,” Ania agreed. “But we’ve never seen dogs disappear like this. Right?” She turned to Fyodor, who nodded. “Okay, are we all here? Where’s the trembly one?”

“Here,” Pie whispered, still looking dizzy.

“Let’s split up and spread out around the square,” said Ania. “Ask any strays you see about Boris. We’ll meet back here in a few hours.” She surveyed the motley group. “I’ll take JR and Beatrix with me. Fyodor, you take the brothers.”

Pie looked relieved not to be separated from Robert. They headed toward the State Historical Museum, a red, castle-like building capped with a white roof and turrets. It stood across the square from St. Basil’s and glowed against the night sky.

“We’ll head for the Kremlin,” said Ania.

JR remembered Boris saying something about the Kremlin on their first trip to Red Square. He couldn’t remember why, but he was pretty sure it was an important place.

“The Kremlin is where the president of Russia lives,” Beatrix informed him as they wove through the crowd. “It’s like a small city in itself, with cathedrals and palaces and museums inside. And it’s encircled by a great wall that used to keep enemies out.”

“Right,” JR said, as if he already knew all this, while wishing he’d listened to Boris like Beatrix obviously had.

“Boris couldn’t get enough of this place,” Ania added. Her voice was scratchy, and JR looked up quickly at her. But she just looked away.

“This way,” she said once they reached the huge brick wall surrounding the Kremlin. “The main gate is Oksana’s territory. She might know something.”

They found the long-haired blond dog that JR had first seen at Headquarters sitting near the main gate, sniffing the pockets of some guards passing by. She stood up when Ania approached, and the two exchanged a polite, if not entirely friendly, sniff.

“Well?” asked Ania.

Oksana shook her head. “No sign of him. I’ve barely slept these last few nights.” She looked over and gave JR and Beatrix a quick once-over. She didn’t seem to recognize JR, and Ania didn’t bother to introduce them.

“But I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours,” Oksana went on.

Ania nodded. “About the camps.”

Oksana looked left and right, then lowered her voice. “And others, too. Like the super- model theory.”

JR and Beatrix exchanged a glance. The supermodel theory?

Ania sighed. “I’m not so sure about that one.” She turned to JR and Beatrix. “Have you heard of Malchik?”

They shook their heads.

“Malchik was a stray who used to live at the Mendeleyevskaya station,” Oksana said, sitting back on her haunches. “A very gentle dog, wouldn’t even hurt a cat.”

“Well, he might have hurt a cat,” Ania cut in. “I mean, come on. It’s a cat.”

Oksana frowned and tossed her hair. “Anyway. One day Malchik was on the metro, minding his own business, and a beautiful young supermodel with a yappy little dog came on. You know the type.” She looked over at Beatrix, then looked away quickly.

Beatrix gasped. “Yappy! Keeshonds are not yappy! Assertive, yes. Communicative, absolutely. But yappy—”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” JR cut in before Beatrix could go full terrier on Oksana. She glared at him, then grumbled something nasty under her breath.

Oksana sniffed. Ania gave her a tired look.

“Anyway, the dog was barking at Malchik,” Oksana continued, “so Malchik barked back. And the woman opened up her backpack, took out a knife, and stabbed him.”

JR and Beatrix jumped back, as if Oksana herself had drawn a knife out of her long hair.

“Yes,” Oksana said darkly. “She killed him right there on the metro. And the Muscovites were so outraged that they raised enough money to build a bronze sculpture of Malchik.”

“It stands in the Mendeleyevskaya station,” Ania added. “Humans rub his nose for good luck as they pass.”

“Like the dog in Ploshchad Revolutsii,” JR said, feeling a bit dizzy. It was one of the strangest stories he’d ever heard.

“So rumour has it that the supermodels are at it again, and that they’re behind the disappearing dogs,” Oksana went on. “Possibly, they want to make them into fur coats.” She tossed her hair. “Which puts some of us in particular danger.”

“Not with that mop, you’re not,” Beatrix muttered under her breath, and JR gave her a “be nice” look.

Ania scratched her ear with her hind leg. “I don’t know about that theory. Boris doesn’t have nice fur at all.”

Oksana shrugged again. “Maybe not, but do you have a better explanation?”

Ania admitted she didn’t. They thanked Oksana and moved on.

“Sounds far-fetched to me,” Beatrix sniffed as they walked off.

“I hope so,” said Ania.

“Me too.” JR shivered at the thought of a knifewielding supermodel.

“This way.” Ania led them farther into the Kremlin grounds, along a wide street and past a white cathedral topped with gleaming gold domes. Eventually, they came to a park lined with bare trees and well-trimmed shrubs. Even in the darkness, JR could tell that it was much nicer than the park near their apartment.

“Ania!”

They all turned to see a familiar husky-type dog trotting their way.

“Sasha!” Ania called, and the relief in her voice made JR’s stomach turn sour again. Why couldn’t he have that effect on her?

He felt Beatrix’s eyes on him and turned to see her giving him an amused look, as if she could tell just what JR was thinking. He looked away.

“You remember JR,” Ania was saying to Sasha.

“Of course.” The big dog nodded at him. Then he turned to Beatrix. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Sasha.”

“Beatrix. From the Dutch Embassy.”

Sasha bowed. “Welcome to Moscow, Beatrix. I’m sorry we have to meet under such perplexing circumstances.”

Beatrix nodded in return. Then she leaned over to JR and whispered, “He has very good etiquette for a stray. Handsome, too. I like him.”

JR rolled his eyes.

“No sign of him, then?” Sasha asked Ania.

“Nothing. What’ve you heard?”

Sasha flicked an ear. “Nothing good. The control camp theory. The supermodel theory. The spaceship theory.”

“The spaceship theory?” said JR. “What’s that?”

“Another weird one,” said Ania. “You’ve heard of Laika?”

Again, Beatrix and JR shook their heads.

“She was the first animal in space,” said Ania. “Years ago, when the Russians and the Americans were competing to be the first humans in space, some scientists thought it would be a good idea to send up a dog first. Just in case it was too dangerous for a human.” She curled her top lip. “So they found a stray. They figured that since she didn’t have a human, they had a right to shoot her up to the stars. She died not long after takeoff.”

“And now some dogs are worried that the disappearing strays are being sent into space,” Sasha finished.

JR and Beatrix exchanged a look. The spaceship theory was even stranger and more disturbing than the supermodel theory.

They said goodbye to Sasha and continued on, searching the Kremlin for any sign of Boris. But they found nothing, and no strays they met could tell them anything they didn’t already know.

Eventually, they dragged themselves back to the Ploshchad Revolutsii metro station. Conversation had long since run out, and everyone walked in silence, heads low to the ground.

“Any luck?” Robert came trotting up to them.

“Nothing,” JR told him. “You?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s trouble,” Fyodor grumbled, joining them.

“Yeah, it’s—” Robert began, then suddenly stopped. “Hey, wait. Where’s Pie?”

“Pie?” Ania looked around. “Fyodor, where’s Pie?”

“Pie?” Fyodor repeated, turning to Robert. “Wasn’t he here a minute ago?”

“Yeah! Pie!” Robert barked, spinning in a circle. “Pie!”

“He must be around somewhere,” said Beatrix. “Pie,” she called. “Where are you?”

But an entire hour of searching couldn’t turn up any trace of Pie. No dog in Red Square had seen, heard, or smelled the timid grey and white shepherd.

Pie, too, had disappeared.