35

The Sacrifice

“Today may be the day,” Ward announced to Rone four mornings later.

“For the letter?”

“Could be. Meet me at the Ararat Restaurant at 4 Neglinnaya Street at five-thirty sharp.”

Ward waited until Rone left. He went to the drawer, took out a pair of rough leather gloves and pushed a gun into his belt.

Erika watched the fashion show at the GUM store until eleven-twenty. She was at the shoe counter exactly at the half hour.

“I’m Yorgi’s friend,” Ward said, inspecting a pair of, slippers next to her.

“What has happened to him?” she asked calmly.

“He was picked up this morning.”

“By whom?”

“We think it was your husband.”

“Oh no, dear God no.”

“We might still be able to do something,” he said without looking at her. “Wait ten minutes, then walk right along Gorki Street for three intersections. Take another right. In the middle of the block is an alley. Go in and wait at the end.”

Erika found the alley without trouble. She walked up the brick paving stones and waited in the doorway at the end. She leaned back against it as footsteps approached. The sound was fast and choppy. They ran quickly, then stopped, started again and once again stopped. There was a pause, then they started directly for her.

Erika looked up into the face of a dour Chinese.

“Where did he—” was all he uttered before falling forward with Ward’s knife in his back.

“This way,” Ward commanded, pushing Erika through the door. Ward pulled her quickly through the hallway and out onto the street. He opened a car door, shoved her in and slid in beside her.

“Can we go to your mother-in-law’s apartment?” he asked as they started off up the street.

“Can’t we talk here?”

“Look, little lady, if the colonel finds out about you and Yorgi, I think Moscow might be rather uncomfortable for you. We’ve got a lot of figuring to do. A car isn’t the place. Now what about that apartment?”

“All right,” said Erika uneasily.

Erika sat stiffly in the living room. Ward handed her a small bundle of clothing.

“These were Yorgi’s,” he told her. “I thought you might want them.”

“How was he caught?” she asked without emotion.

“We don’t know. He was just picked up off the street.”

“And how much does the colonel know?”

“He knows that you and Yorgi used this apartment.”

Erika stood up and paced the room, hugging her arms close to her. She lit a cigarette and looked out the window. Her back was to Ward as he slipped on the gloves. When she turned back toward him a fist drove into her face.

Ward carried her into the bedroom and tossed her on the bed. He ripped off her dress and underclothes. When Erika regained consciousness she saw him standing naked beside her. She tried to fight. She dug her nails into his back and drew blood. Ward knocked her unconscious again and raped her. After he had finished he raised the motionless body into a sitting position. He began beating her around the face and shoulders. He punched her arms and body and legs. Blood covered her face and torso. Then he strangled her.

Ward took off the gloves and tossed them on the floor. He bathed, dried himself, placed a linen towel on his back to stop the bleeding and dressed. He undid the bundle of clothing, neatly folded each piece and placed it in the dresser drawer. He slipped a card into her purse. On it was written “Yorgi” and an address.

He left the apartment and drove to the Leningradskaya Hotel. He gave the car to an attendant and began walking along Kalanchovskaya Street. He stopped to admire a baby in a pram. He pinched it on the cheeks, doffed his hat to the nurse and continued, sprightly, on his way. He began to whistle softly to himself.