Red Star Rising

He reached the closer of his two chosen telephone phone booths at 10:45, to find it occupied by a woman with a notepad and a heap of replenishing coin on the ledge in front of her and an increasingly fidgeting man waiting ahead of him. The milling crowd in which he’d so recently immersed himself for its concealing protection now became an obstructive, delaying interference.

When it came it wasn’t the tight-together pressure of people jamming him between them for a quick, agonizing knife thrust or the hard jab of a silenced pistol. It was a tug, a dip into his jacket pocket. He started to snatch toward whatever had been planted and he only just managed to turn it into the jerk of someone colliding into him, the hoarse-voiced telephone warning-don’t look or act surprised-echoing in his head as if he were hearing it at that moment. He didn’t stare about him, either, but forced himself on, leaking perspiration but not touching his pocket until just before he reached the intended telephone. The interior of Charlie’s pockets invariably resembled a schoolboy’s treasure pouch, which like so much else about the man was intentionally misleading. He was aware of everything in every space and immediately detected the folded piece of paper, taking it out as if it were a reminder, which it could easily have been, a telephone number which Charlie instantly recognized to be another street kiosk, that day’s date and a time: 1700. The numerals were written in a Russian hand.

It was five minutes before eleven, Charlie saw. He could get with time to spare to where he knew Natalia and Sasha would be. He needed time to calm himself, as well as a drink, to help. Probably two, to help even more.

And because he had that much time, Charlie chose again to fill it line-hopping across the Metro’s central-city spider’s web, the tradecraft dance subconsciously prompted by what he’d recognized during the preceding hour and now wanted more reassurance, fully confronting what he was contemplating. He’d lied to Natalia-again-and was about to lie further after promising he never would again: that, instead, he would always put her safety and Sasha’s safety before anything or anyone else. It was ridiculous for him never to accept the possibility of failure or to delude himself into thinking the car crash might have been a coincidence. Ridiculous, too, to believe he’d always be able to lose a surveillance tail and the possibility of another assassination attempt, an assassination attempt in which Natalia and Sasha might all too easily be caught up, and even die, with him. So why was he going on as he was, thinking more of himself-only of himself-and what he wanted instead of how he should be thinking, of what he should do if he loved them both as much as he insisted that he did? He didn’t have an answer. Not one that came even half close to justifying anything.

There was one thing he did know, from the Arbat experience. The hoarse-voiced woman’s apparent nervousness during the arranging telephone conversation might have been genuine but her claim not to be sure of a rendezvous definitely hadn’t been. She’d planned the Arbat as she’d planned everything else-the concealing crowd on the busiest day of the week, the protective watch for which she would have been in place long before ten to ensure she wasn’t risking a snatch squad, and the brush contact drop within a yard or two of the escaping Arbat Metro.

She was, Charlie recognized, a professional intelligence operative with the knowledge and ability of operational field-level tradecraft. And could so easily have been a killer, he reminded himself, refusing to push aside the self-accusation of cheating Natalia and their child. Everything was planned, he further reminded himself. He knew he was clean, that he wouldn’t be endangering them today. Just this one more time then, maybe the last-his only chance-to be with Sasha. He’d see them today, judge how the encounter went and then find the answer eluding him.

He scuffed on aching feet up the slightly inclined Kreschatik Square upon which he saw the line stretched at least twenty-five yards from the entrance of the McDonald’s, out into the square, and which didn’t appear to be moving. And then he saw Natalia close to its front, Sasha’s hand obediently in hers. He knew Natalia’d seen him virtually at the same moment, although she gave no indication of doing so. Neither did he, happy that the delay would give her all the time she needed to satisfy herself he had not been followed. If he had been, he would have been hit by now.

Natalia had secured a corner table, her large briefcase-sized valise securing a third seat, which would put Sasha between them. She’d already finished whatever she’d eaten and had her coffee cup before her. Sasha was still eating a hamburger, but her attention was upon one of the restaurant-supplied coloring books. Natalia gave him the briefest welcoming smile, moving her valise from the third chair, and said something to Sasha. At the counter he ordered the obvious. His McMuffin was soggy and the coffee was a gray color.

When Charlie reached the table Natalia said, “I told Sasha we might be meeting a friend.”

“Hello,” said the child. “I’m Sasha. What’s your name?”

Charlie looked inquiringly at Natalia, who shook her head. Charlie couldn’t think of an appropriate Russian transliteration and said, “Ivan,” sure it wasn’t a pseudonym he’d forget after the morning’s still hopeful expedition.

Natalia’s forehead creased as she raised her eyebrows at the name, smiling down at his choice of meal. “I guessed that’s what you’d order.”

“What else could it have been?” Charlie smiled back.

Sasha made an attention-gaining slurp, sucking at the straw in her cherry milkshake, and said, “Would you like me to color you a picture?”

“I’d like that very much,” said Charlie. How could it be like this? Small talk, easy words that ordinary people said in ordinary situations: he didn’t have to sift and scrape every word for a second or third or fourth meaning.

“You choose,” Sasha insisted. “An elephant or a giraffe or a lion? It will have to be one of those because they’re all I’ve got.”

“A giraffe, please,” said Charlie.

“You wouldn’t like a lion, instead?”

“All right, a lion.”

Sasha smiled. “The giraffe is for Mama and the elephant is for Igor. He’s my teacher at school and our friend.”

“I. .” started Charlie, stopping himself from saying he knew. “. . He’ll like that,” he finished. He’d seen Natalia’s wincing frown.

“How are things?” she asked, as Sasha began scribbling with her crayons.

“Confused.”

“You look terrible. Drained. Are you all right?”

“There’s a lot happening.” He was glad there was a wall behind him.

Natalia frowned again. “From what I’ve read and seen on television I believed it to be all over: I thought you’d be going back very soon?”

“Not yet.” Innocuous though the words sounded, they marked a change from neither ever discussing work with the other.

“It seems bad, for you?”

“It could be. I could be recalled.” Not instantly forgotten small talk after all. But she would have surely mentioned the embankment ambush if she’d known about it: rejected his even approaching them. Now he was lying by omission, he recognized.

“How would you feel about that?”

Natalia didn’t want small talk, either, Charlie accepted. “It could make a lot of things easier.”

“Could it? Really, I mean?”

“I think so. And I have thought about it, very seriously thought about it.” He’d done the right thing by keeping the meeting, despite all the deceit and soul-searching.

“So have I. Although not to the extent of your quitting.”

“It might not even be an option of my choosing.”

“You wouldn’t like that.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t,” Charlie agreed. “The circumstances, I mean. Not the result.”

“What are you talking about?” unexpectedly demanded the child.

“Something a long way away,” said Natalia.

“Not here, you mean? Not in Moscow?”