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In spite of Sofia’s animated protest to such a ludicrous plan, Talanov knew her answer before she finally and reluctantly agreed. As promised, he was waiting for her in front of the Barcelona airport when she arrived on Thursday. He knew the polite gesture would have been to meet her at the gate. But what fun would there have been in that? So he waited in the loading zone so that he could see her face when she
came out the door and saw him in the Ferrari.
As expected, she gave him the “Party scowl,” as he liked to call the disapproving glare given by loyal Communists to flagrant examples of Western decadence.
So Talanov jumped out in his white tennis shorts, tank-top and canvas deck shoes, paused briefly to frown at her starched teal-colored worker’s dress and clunky black shoes before giving her an effusive hug while pedestrian traffic flowed around them. When Sofia did not return the hug, he lifted her off the sidewalk and gave her a happy twirl, whispering that all of this affection was for the benefit of the two cars of Guardia Civil agents parked nearby, both in Peugeots, one at five o’clock and the other at two. When Talanov lowered Sofia gently back onto the sidewalk, she instinctively turned to look.
Talanov stopped her by taking her face in his hands and giving her a long deep kiss. The wide-eyed Sofia stiffened just as Talanov gave her another twirling hug in order to again whisper in her ear.”Don’t let them know that we know,” he said.
“Of course, Colonel. I didn’t think.”
“And it’s Sasha, not Colonel,” he said, releasing her. With a sparkling smile, he sprang over to open her car door before ushering her down into the tan leather passenger seat. “By the way, that kiss was for them, not me,” he said with a mischievous grin.
Sofia shook her head but could not help smiling.
A skycap approached carrying Sofia’s brown leather suitcase. Scuffed from years of use, it had a tarnished clasp and worn straps in a contrasting color. When the skycap asked Talanov where he should put the bag, Talanov slipped the man fifty dollars and nodded discreetly toward a large trashcan.
Jumping behind the wheel, Talanov fired up the Ferrari and was peeling away from the curb before Sofia realized they did not have her bag.
“My suitcase, we’ve got to go back!”
“Too late,” Talanov replied, glancing in the side mirror before accelerating quickly into the traffic.
“What are you doing?” she cried, craning around to see the skycap empty her belongings into one of the large receptacles in front of the terminal.
“Taking you shopping,” he answered over the roar of jet engines from the runway.
“I have plenty of clothing.”
“Not anymore.”
Heading south along the highway, which curved west along the coast to become Autovia de Castelldefels, Talanov allowed Sofia to shout and pound on the dashboard while darting in and out of traffic, the wind blowing his aviator hairstyle – long on top, parted and combed with short back and sides – his laughing eyes constantly on the rearview mirror, where the two Peugeots soon faded from sight.
Once it was safe, Talanov downshifted in order to make a sharp turn off the highway, shot along a side street and through several roundabouts before speeding right up a short ramp onto another highway that took them northeast, toward the city. A range of hills paralleled them in the distance to their left. The hills were dotted with gleaming villages set among the trees. Far off to the right, beyond the red tile rooftops and palm trees, were the glistening waters of the Mediterranean, while directly ahead lay the eclectic geometry of downtown Barcelona, where the crafted spires, domes and ornate facades of the past competed with the more utilitarian emphasis of the present.
Leaving the highway, they passed the Plaça Reial, a large 19th Century plaza in the Gothic Quarter known for its nightclubs and restaurants. Turning down a narrow street, they cut through a residential area of flats before turning onto a wide boulevard, where they parked. Across the street was an expensive clothing store, and next to it a beauty salon.
The department store and salon were two of several businesses located in an ornate five-story building. A façade of arches fronted the street, and behind the arches was a covered walkway, where the stores could be accessed along a tiled sidewalk. A row of offices was situated on the floor above, with dozens of residential flats occupying the remaining three floors. The windows of the flats were decorated with tiny wrought iron balconies. Most of the balconies featured flower boxes spilling over with ferns or geraniums.
Sofia had settled into an angry pout by now, and after grabbing a stylish aluminum briefcase from behind the seat, Talanov had to virtually drag her across the street, dashing with her at one point to avoid being hit by a car, which then slowed so the driver could whistle. Once they were safely on the other side, Sofia paused in front of a department store window and looked disapprovingly at the mannequins dressed in glittering party dresses. “Your plan is to – what – dress me up like an American Barbie doll?”
“Communist Barbie had one dress and a uniform, and thankfully we got rid of those. If it makes you feel any better, you can turn everything in to the State once this is over.”
“You did not have the right to throw my suitcase away.”
“Technically, the skycap threw it away,” Talanov replied. With a roar of disgust, Sofia stormed away. With a laugh, Talanov raced after her. “Will you slow down and wait a minute?” he said, grabbing her by the hand. Sofia yanked away but Talanov grabbed her again, this time not letting go. “All right, I may have overstepped back at the airport,” he said.
“May have? What if my passport had been in there?”
“No one carries a passport inside a suitcase. Besides, I saw how closely you guarded your purse. The way you wore the strap across your chest and clutched the bag itself with one hand, even inside the car. Everything of value is inside that purse.”
“There could have been something else.”
“But there wasn’t. Look, I promise I’ll make it up to you. In fact, that’s why we’re here.”
Noticing several people looking their way, Sofia led Talanov by the hand to a quieter spot near a tiled stone bench. The bench was located near a planter containing flowers and a tree.
“It’s not just the suitcase,” she said.
“Then what?”
Sofia motioned for him to sit. “Kravenko called me into his office before I left,” she said, sitting beside him, “asking if I knew what you were doing. He said the KGB had intercepted several intelligence reports, saying you had been spotted in a number of casinos. Other reports said you had been seen in various expensive restaurants. You have already tested Kravenko’s patience by insisting that we travel openly aboard a commercial aircraft. But this—” she gestured toward the Ferrari then at the department store “—this is beyond comprehension. Traveling publicly is one thing. Screaming for attention is another. You put everything at risk with this flamboyant behavior.”
“That’s being a little dramatic.”
“We are in a Ferrari, Colonel. You are attracting more attention right now than the Rolling Stones. How did you manage to get hold of a Ferrari, anyway? And how the hell did you get the KGB to pay for it? I presume they are paying and that you didn’t steal it?”
Talanov smiled and took Sofia by the hand. “Don’t you see?” he said. “If this is how you are thinking – how Kravenko is thinking – then this is how everyone is thinking, including the Americans. No one sees the design.”
“I don’t see the design. Neither does Kravenko. And even though you say this is a good thing, the fact that he does not understand means he may well order us back home.”
“He won’t.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because to pull us now means he will lose Gorev and all we’ve spent on this mission. He cannot afford to do that.”
“What if he sends in replacements?”
“A handover like that not only takes time, it wastes time, and it’s an admission that he was wrong. He can’t afford that, either. Kravenko would rather lose Gorev and lay the blame squarely on us than admit he made a mistake. A scapegoat is better than a confession any day, and he can always send a team later to kill Gorev in America. We have agents there right now. Which means even though he may not understand or even like what I am doing, he will allow us the rope we need either to hang ourselves or bring Gorev back alive, one or the other.”
“If you are trying to allay my fears you are doing a terrible job.”
With a laugh, Talanov stood and offered his hand. “Come, we have shopping to do. It’s already Thursday and Gorev will be here on Sunday.”
“What do we do until then?”
“Have the time of our lives.”
“You make me nervous talking like that.”
“It’s part of the smokescreen, my dear. It’s what magicians do all the time. They distract you from what’s happening on one hand with a dazzling display on the other. And that’s precisely why we need you to dazzle.”
