They got back in the car. Marrano kept the lights off and drove close to the cliff wall, staying as far as he could from the sight line below them. When they were safely around a curve, he turned the lights back on. “Is it getting narrower, here?”
“A little, maybe.”
The Aprilia climbed for a few minutes, the road swung away from the river, then descended, Marrano pumping the brakes as the sedan whined in first gear. In the sky ahead of them, a white flicker, followed by a zigzag flash against the clouds and a long, low roll of thunder as the rain intensified. “Spring storm,” Marrano said. The wiper squeaked as it cycled back and forth. “Must get that fixed,” he said.
2:00. 2:15. Hard work for Marrano, leaning over the wheel and squinting into the rain, shifting back and forth between second and third gears. The engine didn’t seem to like either one and, as it labored, Serebin watched the needle on the temperature gauge.
“Road’s not meant for cars,” Marrano said.
“Horse and carriage.”
“Yes. Make a note of that, would you. For next time.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
A few minutes later, Marrano said, “What was that?”
The road curved, hanging on the side of a mountain, and he’d seen a light, thought he had, somewhere ahead where, for a moment, a distant section of the road came into view.
“Some kind of light,” Serebin said.
“Another car?”
“Yes, maybe.” But on reflection he didn’t think so. “Was it fire?”
Marrano had to slow down as the road drifted to the left, then narrowed to the width of a single car. “We’re back on the river,” he said. Barely crawling, they approached a sharp corner to the right, then back to the left. On the other side, an army roadblock.
In the flickering light of pitch pine torches driven into crevices in the rock, a squad of soldiers, most of them trying to shelter in a hollow at the foot of the cliff, and a command car with a canvas top, parked against the cliff wall. Marrano managed to get the Aprilia around it with inches to spare, then stopped in front of a barrier-a pole laid across two x-shaped sawhorses made of cut logs.
Marrano unbuckled his briefcase, on the floor by the gearshift, and found what he was after just as an officer, water streaming down his rubber cape, stepped into the headlights and held up a hand.
Marrano rolled down the window. “Yes, sir?”
The officer came around to the driver’s window and peered into the car. He was young and vain and very pleased with himself, stared first at Marrano, then at Serebin, and said, “Passports.”
Marrano took his passport from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the officer. “He doesn’t have one,” he said casually, nodding at Serebin.
“Why not?”
“He’s coming from the Bucovina. The Russians took it away.”
Serebin got just enough of this-the USSR had occupied the province a few months earlier.
Not an answer the officer expected. “He’ll have to wait, then. You can go ahead.”
“He can’t wait, sir. It’s his wife, she’s giving birth in Belgrade.”
“Too bad.” He looked directly at Serebin and said, “You. Get out of the car.”
“His wife, sir,” Marrano said. “Please, she needs him by her side, she’s not well.”
The officer’s mouth grew sulky. “Get out,” he said, flipping his rain cape aside and resting a hand on the flap of his holster.
Marrano held his fist just below the edge of the window, where only the officer could see it, paused a moment for effect, then uncurled his fingers. Four gold coins gleamed in the torchlight. The officer stared, transfixed. This was a fortune. He reached through the window, took the coins, and put them somewhere beneath his cape. Then he stood up straight. “Now get out,” he said. “Both of you.”
Serebin was watching Marrano’s left foot, where it pressed the clutch pedal against the floorboard. It rose- quickly, but under control-as his other foot stepped on the gas. There was a soft thump-the officer sideswiped by the car, then Marrano drove full speed into the pole. Didn’t work-the sawhorses slid backwards, so Marrano jammed the accelerator to the floor, the engine howled as the tires spun on wet rock, one of the sawhorses tipped on its back and the other disappeared over the edge of the road. The car leaped forward, bouncing over the pole, past a soldier’s white face, his mouth open wide with surprise. Marrano hammered his hand against a knob on the dashboard and the lights went out. Something pinged against the trunk, something else made a spiderweb in the rear window.
Maybe Marrano could see ahead of them, Serebin couldn’t. Only rain and the dark bulk of the cliff flying by on the right. Marrano speed-shifted, lost the road, and Serebin’s side of the car went scraping along the rock. Marrano jerked the wheel, the car fishtailed and slid toward the outer edge of the road, then he took it back the other way, the right front fender caught the cliff, a headlight ring flew up in the air, and the car straightened out.
The road twisted, cornered, switched back on itself, rain streamed across the black windshield. Marrano, hands in a death grip on the wheel, powered through every turn, worked mostly in second gear, slammed his foot on the brake until the rear wheels began to slide, then accelerated out of the skid.
Then, on a long, even climb, the car lit up-a pair of headlights behind them, glaring yellow beams that sparkled on the fractured glass in the back window. Marrano ducked, grabbed Serebin by the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him down. A stone chip hit Serebin’s door and he said, “They’re shooting at us.”
The car swerved violently, Marrano fought the wheel and said, “Tire.” The headlights moved closer, the car wobbled on the flat tire, ground it off, then bounced along on the rim. “It’s over,” Marrano said. They were sideways for a moment, then off again as the back window blew in.
“Now,” Serebin said. “Go ahead.”
Marrano said shit and turned left.
In the air, the silence went on for a long time. Serebin’s mind was empty, or maybe just a name, as though it were the first word of an apology.
Then they hit some saplings, which bowed before they broke, then brush, then earth; then a sudden drop that stood the car on its front end. It stayed there for a moment, canted over in slow motion, and came to rest upside down. Serebin wound up sprawled across the roof, facing the windshield, where two red impact marks pocked the glass. He felt the blood, seeping from his hairline, then smelled gasoline, kicked savagely at the door, which was already open, and slid himself out on the ground. He crawled around the car, found the driver’s side door jammed shut, reached through the broken window, and cranked it up-with the car on its roof-until it was out of the way. Marrano’s foot was caught in the steering wheel, Serebin got him loose, then hauled him out through the open window. This took some time, because only one hand worked, his wrist either broken or sprained.
He could see the lights of the command car, parked up on the road, and he could hear voices. Excited, he thought. Somebody had a flashlight, up there, and tried to find the sedan. “Briefcase,” Marrano said.
“Can you walk?”
Marrano mumbled something he couldn’t hear.
From the opposite shore, thunder, but not close, the storm moving west, the rain a light, steady beat on the river. Serebin leaned into the car and searched for the briefcase, finally found it pinned between the floor and the brake pedal, which had been bent on its side. He took out a small bag of gold coins and slid the revolver in his belt.
Some of the soldiers were now working their way down the hill-the flashlight, masked by a hand, was still clearly visible. Somebody fell, somebody swore, somebody whispered angrily. Serebin drew the revolver and thumbed the safety off. Turned around and took a good long look at the river, perhaps forty feet away. He put the safety back on, got his good hand under Marrano’s arm, and began to drag him toward the water.
Plenty of driftwood logs on the shore, all sizes. Serebin got one of them launched, draped Marrano over it, held on and kicked, carefully keeping his feet well below the surface, until he felt the pull of the current. Back on the hillside, the search party was getting near the car. Serebin hung on to the log by looping his arm around it, kept his good hand on Marrano.
On shore, they’d apparently reached the car, and there was a loud conversation with somebody up on the road. Search the woods. Looking down the river, Serebin saw a low shape ahead of them, some kind of promontory
