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Bixler instinctively went for her pistol but froze with her fingertip just touching the butt when she saw the long, thick silencer of Talanov’s black nine-millimeter Makarov aimed directly at her chest. With him was Sofia, who stepped in front of the open door and aimed her Makarov at Carmen and Alejandro. Both of them were dressed in black shirts, black combat fatigues, and rubber-soled boots.
Bixler slowly raised her hands. “But you you’re supposed to be—” she began just as another police car raced past.
“Inside,” commanded Talanov.
Bixler noticed several scuff marks and rips on Talanov’s fatigues, as if he had been in a fight.
After herding everyone into the house, Talanov shut the door and motioned for Sofia to search the rest of the house. Sofia placed her aluminum briefcase on the floor and crept quickly down the hallway, leading with her pistol, moving silently from room to room while Talanov directed everyone into the living room and told them to sit in front of the fireplace. On each side of the fireplace were built-in bookcases and cabinets. Couches and stuffed chairs were positioned against the walls, with a colorful, mosaic-tiled coffee table in between.
When she sat, Bixler saw Talanov using the back of his hand to blot a cut on the side of his forehead. There had been no cut there before, she thought, recalling the CCTV footage.
Talanov saw Bixler studying him.
“For the record,” he said, his eyes combing the group, “we are not here to hurt anyone, so I hope none of you attempts to interfere. If you do, these Makarovs are loaded with cartridges that can penetrate four-millimeter-thick titanium body armor, which none of you is wearing. In other words, you would not survive. Nor would anyone hear the shots. Our suppressors would reduce the muzzle noise to roughly that of a hairdryer.” He looked each person directly in the eye to make sure they understood. He then directed his attention back to Gorev. “Dr. Gorev, my name is Colonel Aleksandr Talanov of the KGB. I am here to escort you and your family back to the Soviet Union. If you cooperate, I will make sure your family is not executed. Everything hinges on your good behavior. Do I make myself clear?”
A terrified Gorev looked over at Bixler.
“Agent Bixler will be unable to assist you,” Talanov continued. “In fact, Agent Bixler is now your enemy, as her orders will be to kill you and your family now that we are stopping your defection.”
“That’s a lie!” yelled Bixler. “You’ve been sent here to kill him.”
“I’ve been sent here to bring him home.”
“And if he refuses, what then? Does he have any say in the matter?”
“Dr. Gorev does not realize the consequences of what he has done, as you no doubt have neglected to inform him about crime in America and how his daughter is one hundred times more likely to be raped or shot there than she is in the Soviet Union.”
Talanov glanced at Noya and saw her deep brown eyes staring up at him. Her long brown hair was hanging loose about her face and she was sitting between her mother and father. Her eyes seemed to hold his, not letting go, so he shifted his focus back to Gorev.
“Do you realize, Doctor,” he said, “that you will be discarded like an empty wrapper once the Americans have stolen what they want?”
Said Bixler, “Then why don’t you tell us why everybody in the world wants to live in the United States. Why is that, Colonel? Why is it no one defects to the Soviet Union?”
“Do you see Americans helping poor people defect?” replied Talanov, his eyes still on Gorev. “Or do they only help people like you from whom they can steal information? Ever wonder where their so-called humanitarian aid goes? It goes to oil-rich countries they can then plunder in return. That is how they work, doctor, and you and your family will be discarded once they are finished.”
When a worried look appeared on Gorev’s face, Talanov shifted his attention to Bixler. “You do not take care of your citizens,” he said. “Look at your slums. At the gangs who fight and kill over pairs of shoes. At the homeless people living under bridges and in cardboard boxes.”
“And you think imprisoning them behind an Iron Curtain is better? Sure, we’ve got problems. Freedom is messy. But it sure beats the hell out of tyranny.”
“Messy? Is that what you call living every day in fear of violence?”
“I wonder which of us Dr. Gorev is afraid of right now? Why don’t you ask him, Colonel? Hear what he has to say. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of what you might learn.”
“I am not here to debate the matter,” said Talanov. “Dr. Gorev is an important person in our medical research programs.”
“What kind of research might that be?”
“Stand up and get ready to leave,” commanded Talanov, motioning Gorev and his family to their feet.
After a tense moment of hesitation, Gorev and his family reluctantly stood. They were starting for the door when Sofia entered the room.
“Remain where you are!” she commanded, waving them back.
Gorev and his family stopped.
“What’s going on?” asked Talanov.
“Change of plans,” she replied.
Talanov took Sofia aside. “What are you talking about?” he said in a lowered voice.
“Your aluminum briefcase, pocket on the left. In it you will find the letter I placed there from Walter Kravenko, who has of this moment placed me in charge.”
Talanov stared hard at Sofia.
“The letter explains everything,” she said, stepping around him and keeping the group covered with her pistol, her eyes roaming from face to face, reading every expression.
“I am not interested in reading a letter,” he replied. “I’m interested in you telling me what the hell is going on.”
Sofia glanced over at Talanov and smiled. It was a soft, tranquil expression that lasted a brief moment before she aimed her Makarov and pulled the trigger, the pistol spitting four quick rounds into the heads of Gorev’s mother and father. With her smile still in place, Sofia watched them collapse to the floor before turning to see Talanov pointing his Makarov at her head.
“Perhaps now you will read the letter,” Sofia remarked.
When Talanov lowered his gun she stepped over and smashed the butt of her pistol against Gorev’s forehead when he began to wail at the sight of his dead parents lying in two bloody heaps on the floor. Anna tried catching her husband, to keep him from falling, but toppled with him to the floor, where she did her best not to cry while working her way out from under him. She then scrambled around and lifted his head into her lap, where she used the bottom of her dress to gently blot the gash on his head.
“If any of the rest of you makes even the slightest noise, I will kill you,” Sofia remarked, glaring first at Bixler and Pilgrim, then Franco, then Alejandro and Carmen as they looked up at her with terrified expressions.
Terrified expressions were good, thought Sofia. Terror kept people in line.
Talanov grabbed his briefcase but paused when he saw Noya sitting calmly beside her father, looking vacantly at the bodies of her dead grandparents. She noticed him staring at her before looking dispassionately at the pool of blood spreading across the tiles.
What kind of a kid just sits there like that? Adults are the ones who are supposed to be the realists and pessimists. The ones burdened by life. Not kids. When they’re not giggling and squirming, kids are supposed to be up and down, all over the place with their emotions: afraid, angry, shocked. Some kind of imposed control on all that natural energy and immaturity. They’re supposed to be . . . something. Not nothing. What kind of a kid shows nothing? The kind of kid who knows her fate has been sealed, that’s who.
With pinched lips, Talanov clicked open his briefcase, found the letter and in less than a minute had read how Sofia Dubinina was now the agent in charge of returning Gorev and his family to the Soviet Union. She was further commissioned to use any means necessary, including Department Thirteen protocols, to assist her with those duties.
Department Thirteen protocols.
Wet work.
Assassination.
No wonder Sofia had no file. She wasn’t a novice. She was an assassin with Department Thirteen, which meant she was beyond scrutiny by everyone except the highest echelons within the KGB.
Talanov stared at the letter for nearly as long as it had taken him to read it.
“Let a man think he is in charge and you can lead him like a dog on a leash until it is time to reveal what is really going on,” Sofia remarked, looking at Talanov with a drilling stare until Talanov averted his eyes, a sign of submission to the new orders he had just received. Addressing the group, she said, “For the benefit of those who do not understand what has taken place, Colonel Talanov is no longer in charge. I am. Are there any questions?”
No one replied.
Talanov stuffed the letter in his pocket. “All right, then, what is the plan?” he asked.
“Need-to-know,” Sofia replied. She stared directly at Talanov to drive home her point about who was in charge.
“How did you find us?” asked Bixler.
“You have Colonel Talanov to thank for that,” answered Sofia. “He was the one who figured out where Dr. Gorev would defect.”
“And now that he’s done his job, you’re taking over, is that it?”
“Colonel Talanov’s role in this mission is finished.”
“Judging by the look on his face, I don’t reckon he saw this coming,” said Bixler with a laugh. “In fact, I’d say you managed to yank the rug right out from under him. So, how’d you give us the slip? Since you two are here, who’s back in your hotel room?” She looked at Talanov standing off by himself, lips pinched, seething.
Using her Makarov, Sofia pointed to Alejandro and Carmen. “You and you: drag those bodies into one of the bedrooms and shut the door. Then get back here and clean up this mess.”
“I can’t believe Moscow ordered these murders,” said Bixler, watching Sofia glare at Carmen, who was squeamish at having to pick up a bloody body.
“Move!” Sofia told Carmen, who tearfully took the arm of Gorev’s mother, apologized to Gorev and began dragging her out of the living room.
“We may be adversaries,” said Bixler, “but we’ve never gone around executing innocent people.”
Sofia told Carmen to hurry up or her husband would be hauling another corpse to the bedroom: hers.
Bixler said, “What gives you the right to do something like this?”
“This gun,” answered Sofia, aiming her Makarov at Bixler’s head. “It gives me the right to do whatever I wish.”
Bixler closed her eyes an instant before Talanov grabbed Sofia’s hand. Sofia tried wrenching free but Talanov’s grip was too strong. Sofia glared at Talanov, their eyes clashing, neither one backing down.
“Challenging my authority would be a very big mistake,” Sofia hissed.
“Shooting an American agent would be an even bigger one.”
The standoff continued for another few seconds. Finally, Sofia said, “All right, the American lives. Unless she provokes me again.”
Talanov looked hard at Bixler – a warning – just as Sofia tugged again and Talanov let go.
“Sit down and get out of my way,” commanded Sofia.
Talanov did not move.
“Would you like to read Kravenko’s letter again?” Sofia asked with a sneer. “Sit down, Colonel!”
Bixler watched Talanov lower his eyes and walk into the dining room, where he sat at the table and began rubbing the bridge of his nose.
How quickly things can change, she thought. Back in the casino, Talanov was in charge. Now he’s a dog on a leash. How quickly things can change.
