She had, for all intents and purposes, dropped off the face of the earth, because even if they somehow knew she’d been taken to Russia, even the Russians had no real idea where Tarankov’s. train was located at any given time, nor did they seem to want to know.
In a little more than forty-eight hours, Tarankov would sweep into Moscow, mount the reviewing stand atop Lenin’s tomb and tell his countrymen, and the world, that he was the new supreme leader of Russia, and would by whatever means necessary restore the old Soviet Union to all of its past glory. Sometime during the speech her father would try to kill him, but at that moment he would get the shock of his life. He would see his own daughter standing beside the madman, and there was no predicting what he would do about it. She was sick with dread.
Chernov had told her all of that on the way out to the isolated spot where the camouflaged train was parked as if he were merely telling her about the weather, or about some sports team that was campaigning for a championship. What bothered her most was his easy confidence, and the obvious competence of the rugged-looking commandoes guarding the train. Nobody had maltreated her, or had even raised their voices. She’d been politely escorted to this compartment the moment she’d arrived. They’d given her a bottle of wine, a platter of breads, cheeses, pickles, herring and even caviar. A polite soldier showed her how to use the compact shower, asking that she conserve water because their tankage was limited, and supplied her with clean battle fatigues in her size, wool slippers, and a small kit containing a hair brash and a few basic toiletries.
For the first couple of hours, expecting to be summoned by Tarankov, she refused to eat or drink anything, or take a shower and change into the clean clothes. It was an act of defiance on her part that finally seemed futile as time passed and her isolation deepened. She’d tried to open the window, but even the blackout curtains were locked in place. She’d listened at the door, but all she could make out were the sounds of machinery running softly somewhere, and the distant undertones of male voices, the words indistinct and impossible to make out.
Around 11:00 by her watch, her hunger finally overcame her stubbornness and she finished half the bottle of wine and ate most of the quite good food on the tray. Afterward she’d taken a shower, washed her bra and panties and hung them up to dry, then got dressed in the fatigues and wool slippers. Well fed and freshly bathed, she’d shut out the lights, lay down on the cot and tried to go to sleep. But as dead tired as she was her mind refused to shut down, and she replayed the events since Riga over and over.
Something brushed her lips and she woke with a start, her heart accelerating. The corridor door was ajar and in the dim light she made out the narrow, thin-lipped features of a woman standing over her.
“I mean you no harm,” the woman said quietly in heavily accented English.
Elizabeth fumbled for the bedside light switch, flipped it on, then sat up.
The woman stepped back. She was slightly built with deep-set, expressive eyes, and medium-length blonde hair; She was dressed in UCLA sweats. A little color had come to her high cheeks and forehead.
“Who are you?” Elizabeth asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
“I’m Liesel Tarankov,” the woman said. Her eyes lowered slightly. “You’re not what we expected.”
Elizabeth looked down at the front of her fatigue shirt. The top three buttons were undone, exposing her bare breasts, and her stomach did a slow roll. She clutched her shirt together. “Get out you bitch,” she tried to shout, but she swallowed her words.
Liesel laughed. “I don’t think that you’re in any position to give orders, my dear.”
“When my father shows up—”
“By then it will be too late for you,” Liesel said. She reached back and closed the door.
“Are you a lesbian?”
“I haven’t had that pleasure since my college days. But seeing you on that bed like Sleeping Beauty, some of the old memories came back,” Liesel cocked her head to listen for something.
“I won’t be so easy.”
“Oh, come on, Elizabeth, you can’t tell me that you didn’t fool around in the dark at that school of yours in Switzerland.”
Elizabeth looked around for a suitable weapon, her eyes lighting on the half-full wine bottle. She lunged for it, but Liesel was too quick for her, snatching the bottle off the tray before she could reach it.
“I believe you’re going to be even more interesting than I imagined,” Liesel said, and she smiled with anticipation.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to scream.
“Please go ahead and cry out for help, you might learn something about the real world,”. Liesel said. “Washington and New York might be dangerous places for a young woman, but you can always call nine-one-one, yes? Help is just a telephone call away.” Liesel shook her head, her lips down-turned. “I’m so sorry little girl, but there is no nine-one-one for you here.”
“Then I’ll kill you.”
“You may try, but I’m older and more experienced. And before you tell me about the wonderful hand-to hand combat training you received at the CIA’s school, it is a lie. We have checked. You have received no training.”
“Maybe my father taught me,” Elizabeth shot back, for want of anything else to say. Nobody was coming to her rescue. She was going to have to work this out herself. One thing was certain in her mind, however, and that was if Liesel Tarankov touched her she was going to kill the woman.
“Your father was never home long enough to teach you anything. He couldn’t keep his wives, nor can he even manage to sustain a relationship with any of his whores.” Liesel chuckled. “Of course what can you expect of a man whose parents spied for us?”
The woman had picked the wrong topic. Although Elizabeth was still frightened, a calmness came over her.
“You’re nothing more than an ignorant slut, but then what can you expect from an East German,” Elizabeth said in Russian, and she was satisfied to see a slight reaction in Liesel’s eyes. “General Baranov had that story about my grandparents planted years ago, and by now everybody knows it for what it is, nothing more than a crude lie. I don’t even think Colonel Bykov, or should I say Leonid Chernov, believes it.”
Liesel gave her an appraising look. “Of course if you prefer, there are two hundred boys here who’ve been without a woman for months. They might not be so gentle.”
“What’s the trouble, are they tired of you already?”
Before Liesel could make a move, the door opened and Yevgenni Tarankov stuck his head in.
“Here you are,” he said.
It took a moment for Elizabeth to recognize him, because he was older looking than in the photographs she’d studied, and it took a second longer for her to realize that he seemed slightly vexed and realize that she could take advantage of the moment because Liesel looked guilty.
“If you mean to use me to lure my father here, I can understand that,” Elizabeth blurted.
Tarankov looked mildly at her.
“But if that includes your wife trying to rape me while I’m asleep, then your plan won’t work. Because she says that she’ll kill me if I resist.”
Liesel laughed out loud.
Elizabeth removed her hand from her fatigue shirt to show that it was unbuttoned, and then opened it to expose her breasts. “When I awoke she was kissing me and fondling my breasts. And believe me, I think I’m in big enough trouble as it is without imagining something like that.”
Tarankov’s forehead creased and his wide eyes narrowed.
Liesel looked from Elizabeth to her husband. “I don’t care what you believe, Zhennia, because now I don’t think either one of us will let the other fuck her.”
Liesel brushed past her husband and disappeared down the corridor, leaving him staring at Elizabeth.
Lefortovo
Chernov called a meeting in his office for 9:00 a.m., with Gresko and Petrovsky. It was dawn before every person and vehicle at the Dinamo Stadium flea market had been thoroughly checked out, and McGarvey had not turned up. The only news of any interest, at least to the Militia, was that twenty-seven arrests had been made for everything from illegal arms dealing to counterfeiting documents, and illegal financial transactions. Some of those who’d been picked up had been on the Militia’s most wanted list for two years or more. Before last night there’d never been the initiative to clean out the flea market. But if anyone had seen McGarvey, they weren’t talking.
“He was there, for maybe as long as an hour,” Chernov told them. “Which gave him plenty of time to buy
