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Talanov and Sofia rode in silence for a while, each lost in thought. They were heading in a southerly direction, toward the Mediterranean Highway, which ran east-west and paralleled the Mediterranean coast. They stopped for another red light. On their left was a small downtown precinct. Talanov could see cafés, shops and some modest office buildings. The area was landscaped and pretty. A few structures were concrete and glass but most were classic Spanish, with whitewashed exteriors, red tile roofs, angled stairways and upstairs passageways.
The light changed to green and they began moving forward again. Traffic was getting heavy. At the next intersection, Talanov looked left. Midway along the block, a phalanx of police cars had cordoned off the street. There were officers in riot gear. Beyond them was a crowd of angry protesters. Some were throwing rocks and bottles. Others were thrusting placards into the air.
At the next intersection, Talanov saw more of the same: flashing lights and policemen in riot gear holding back protesters.
By the time they turned left onto the Mediterranean Highway a mile later, the pace of traffic had picked up again. A balmy crosswind carried the smells of fast food and the ocean. Cafés and restaurants were full. Long lines of partygoers stretched in front of nightclubs.
Within minutes, they had taken an exit off of the Mediterranean Highway and turned left over a bridge spanning the highway. Before long, they were parked in a quiet neighborhood three doors from the safe house. There had been a number of parking spaces along the narrow street but Talanov chose the one in a dark gap between two vintage streetlamps.
Talanov turned off the ignition and sat quietly for several minutes, the windows down, listening to the sounds of the night in order to formulate a baseline of what was normal and what was not. Aroused animals posed the greatest threat, in particular dogs, who could smell a person’s approach as acutely as they could hear it. And a barking dog almost always brought an owner to investigate.
Other sounds, however, afforded them cover: the hum of traffic; the faint drift of Spanish guitar; the rustling of palm fronds and several dogs already barking at the distant clamor of the protests.
“I’ll change clothes and then we’ll go,” Talanov said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping into the rear of the van.
“By the way, I saw through that little act,” Sofia said.
“What act was that?” asked Talanov, undoing his tie.
“About your Uncle Vov eating his dog.”
Sitting on a fender well inside the darkened van, Talanov laughed.
“You are laughing because I caught you,” she said.
“I’m laughing because you know every word of that story was true,” he replied, unbuttoning his shirt in the dim light from a street lamp shining in through the rear window.
“Says who?”
“Says you.”
Sitting in front with her elbow resting on the back of the seat, Sofia stared at Talanov for several seconds. “How could you possibly know that?”
“What I want to know is why you insist on playing these games,” he replied, removing his trousers and tossing them aside. “You knew the story was true and yet you tried to convince me otherwise. Why?”
Sofia saw the contours of his shoulders in the dim light. “How did you know I was faking it?” she asked.
Talanov pulled on his fatigues and zipped them up. After buckling on his utility belt, he slipped on his boots, took out his Makarov and checked that it was loaded.
“Tell me,” she said. “How did you know I was faking it?”
With his elbows resting on his knees, Talanov looked at the dark shape that was Sofia. Something was not right about her but he was not sure what it was. First it was her story about killing Grigory. Then it was her schoolgirl talk about chemistry and taking her to the edge. Then it was that wild tale about Moscow fearing him and how she wanted him to join her in some vague project or venture, specifically what she would not say. Was all of this a trap? Did Moscow fear him? Had they sent her to test his loyalty . . . to see if he could be bought?
“Tell me,” she said again, looking at him from the front seat. “Tell me how you knew I was testing you.”
“It wasn’t hard,” he replied, sticking the Makarov in his belt. “You’re a twenty-two year-old kid. You’re inexperienced, immature and way too obvious.”
Even though Talanov could not see the features of Sofia’s face in the darkness, in the ensuing moment of silence, he could sense her rising anger. And it was time to provoke that anger. To find out who she really was.
“You’re a garnish – a Barbie – that’s all,” he said. “So quit trying to prove yourself to be something more.”
It was an insult to say this and Talanov knew that. He also knew Sofia was a lot more than a Barbie. The question was how much more. Who was she, really?
There was only one way to find out and that was crack open her façade as an actor. To push her beyond tolerable limits.
“Stick to what you do best,” he added, “and that’s look pretty. It’s a lot safer, too. For everyone involved.”
“You are trying to make me angry.”
Talanov did not reply.
“I can shoot as good as you. I can kill as good as you. I think I have demonstrated that adequately.”
“A chimpanzee can pull a trigger. Pulling a trigger proves nothing other than how much of a liability you’ve become. I need assets on my team. People who are more than just a pretty face. Which you are not. Stay here. I’ll handle Gorev myself.”
When Talanov turned toward the rear of the van, Sofia vaulted the seat in one quick motion, like a gymnast, knees drawn to her chest until she cleared the headrest and extended both feet to the floor, bounding for his back, her hands like claws.
Talanov ducked left, came up behind Sofia and clamped a hand across the back of her neck, slamming her face-down onto the padded floorboard of the van. Sofia tried to kick free but Talanov’s knee in the middle of her back prevented her from moving.
“I forgot to add, gullible,” he said. “So, Miss-whoever-you-are, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here.”
“You’re hurting me!” Sofia cried out in a muffled voice, her face pressed into the mat.
“I’ll hurt you more unless you start talking.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Talanov pressed harder with his knee.
“All right! Can you at least let me up so that I can breathe?”
Talanov thought about it for a moment then let her up. She maneuvered into a sitting position on the other side of the van.
“Who sent you? Why are you here?” he asked, sitting on the fender well opposite her.
“I cannot believe you did that.”
Talanov responded with an impatient sigh.
“You provoked me,” she said. “You made me lash out.”
Talanov grabbed his duffel kit, rifled through it, and took out a roll of duct tape.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making sure you stay put,” he replied. He peeled off a long strip. It made a coarse ripping sound.
“You can’t do this!” she cried.
“Hard way or the easy way?” he asked.
Sofia scooted into the corner of the van, trying to get away. Talanov followed.
“First it was the chemistry you claimed we had,” he said, pausing on one knee, the tape ready. “Then it was an offer of money, advising me that Moscow has betrayed me, that others were growing rich from my labor, that we made such a good team and that you wanted me to join you in some vague enterprise that you would not divulge.”
Talanov heard voices and laughter outside but did not divert his eyes.
“Did Moscow send you to test me?” he demanded to the distant sound of hissing and cracking glass. “Is that what this is about?”
“Moscow did not send me,” Sofia explained, “but, yes, I have been testing you.”
“Why?”
“To see if you were as good as your reputation.”
“Why?”
Sofia maneuvered up onto her knees. “Because I do want you to come with me,” she said. “I know you cannot see my face, but you can hear the truth in my voice. I want you to come with me because there is money to be made – lots of it – for people like us. It is also true that Moscow has excluded you. The old ways are being questioned, Sasha, and the elite of Moscow know this. It is why they are lining their pockets. Kravenko’s advisor, Kozloff, is but one example and you know what he was like. But the time to act is now, before they know that we know . . . before they blame us for their failures.”
Kneeling in the rear of the empty van with the strip of duct tape in hand, Talanov had to admit Sofia made sense. The old ways were being questioned and men like Kozloff were lining their pockets. He may not agree with her solution – to become a mercenary – but her explanations at least mandated further investigation as to whether or not he had, in fact, been betrayed . . . and by whom.
“Once Gorev and his family have been returned to Sverdlovsk, I will look into this,” he said. “To determine how much corruption there is and how far it has spread.”
Sofia eased the duct tape aside and placed her hands on Talanov’s knees. “We need to act now. Tonight. You required me to trust you about Gorev, without revealing any details about where he was or how you planned to apprehend him. Even now, I still do not know the location of the American safe house. I could have gone behind your back and tried to locate it. But I did not. Why? Because I trusted you, and I still do. All I am asking right now is that you grant me the same consideration. That you place the same faith in me that I placed in you.”
Talanov did not reply.
“We are good together, Sasha,” Sofia continued. “Even if you do not permit yourself personal feelings – and I am still not sure that I believe you when you say this – you have to admit the efficiency of our partnership.”
With a sigh, Talanov wadded the strip of tape into a small ball and tossed it aside. “Three houses down,” he said, giving her the address and a description of the safe house just as a woman outside their van began shouting for a group of vándalos – hooligans – to leave her car alone.
Talanov looked out the rear window. In the faint light from a distant streetlamp, he could see an old woman scolding what looked to be a dozen young men. Short and squat and dressed in a plain black dress, the woman appeared to be in her sixties. The young men were in their twenties. One against twelve. An old woman against a mob carrying ball bats and knives.
“You mean, this piece of shit?” asked Paco. He rested his ball bat on his shoulder and patted the fender of an old car before stepping back to smash in the windshield. It collapsed inward onto the seat. A blanket of broken glass.
Talanov hated people ganging up on others. He always had. Even as a boy, he would stick up for the one being picked on. Maybe it was because he had never had anyone stand up for him when he was growing up. Whatever the explanation, something within him bristled when he saw the kind of harassment he was seeing now. And he sometimes suffered the consequences. He remembered getting kicked and beaten when he tried defending a girl whose name he never knew. Some older boys had been pushing her around. So he stepped in and they beat the stuffing out of him. Three against one. He didn’t stand a chance. Which didn’t matter. Not one bit. Some things were just not right, like a gang of boys picking on a girl.
Talanov reached for the door handle. Sofia stopped him. “Do not jeopardize our mission for an old woman,” she said.
“It’s one against twelve.”
“And we have our orders. The woman is useless. Of no importance.”
Talanov stared at Sofia for a long moment, then looked out the window again when he heard Paco smashing in the side windows of the woman’s car.
“Why do you do this?” the old woman cried.
“Because I can,” Paco replied.
“Please, I am a pensioner. I have worked hard all of my life.”
“You are a leech. A rich capitalist who deserves to be taught a lesson.”
The others whooped their agreement.
The old woman tried to run but Paco grabbed her. The woman begged to be left alone. Begged Paco not to hurt her.
Paco said, “And allow the leech to suck blood from others?” He shoved her into the arms of one of his friends, who began grappling for her buttons. The terrified woman tried fighting him off.
“Feisty for an old cow!” the man yelled with a laugh.
Moving in the darkness like a shadow, Talanov swung his hand like a hatchet and caught the man behind the ear. The man flapped his arms like a stunned chicken before the man flopped to the pavement. With one arm, Talanov scooped the old woman to safety before twisting the bat out of Paco’s hand and smashing it into the forehead of the man standing beside him.
“You!” Paco shouted as another of his friends hit the pavement. To the others: “Get him! He’s that Russian spy!”
The man across from Paco aimed his bat for Talanov’s head. Full swing, like he was knocking a homerun over the center field bleachers. People usually went for the head. Very few went for the knees. Going for the head means the other guy can duck. And Talanov did.
The bat smashed into the man’s face beside Paco, knocking out his front teeth and shattering his jaw. The man staggered backward, cursing and spitting before tripping over the curb and falling. The man swung again but Talanov responded with an uppercut swing of his own, his bat knocking the other man’s bat high into the air. It clubbed him in the chin on its way out into the darkness.
There were bats flying everywhere now and the man across from Talanov reared back with his. Talanov flung his bat underhanded into the man’s crotch. The man made a gagging sound and dropped to his knees before toppling facedown onto the street.
Grabbing Paco by the throat, Talanov slammed him against the side of the old woman’s car, where he jammed his Makarov between his eyes. In the light of the streetlamp, Talanov could see Paco’s eyes focused on the ominous black silencer pressed hard against his forehead.
Paco’s hand crawled slowly toward his pocket.
“Reach for that knife and I’ll break every one of your fingers,” Talanov said in fluent Spanish.
Paco moved his hand away.
“You really should find something better to do with your time,” Talanov growled. He twisted the gun back and forth. The tip of the silencer made an imprint on Paco’s forehead.
“My dolzhny idti,” Sofia said in Russian, telling him they needed to leave while keeping a careful eye on the others. Some were moaning on the ground. Some had climbed to their feet. All were eyeing him angrily.
Talanov knew she was right. Gorev would be arriving soon and he now had another problem: leading this mob away from their van and the safe house.
His impulsive decision to save an old woman had just put everything at risk.
