Chernov took McGarvey’s photograph out of his jacket pocket and gave it to the guard.
“Ah, the Belgian gentleman. He was here, visiting Lenin, about three weeks ago, I think. Name is Allain, if my memory serves” The guard looked up. “What’s he done?”
Chernov fought to keep his temper in check.
“There must be a thousand people visiting here every day, many of them foreigners, and yet you can recall this one?”
The guard shifted his stance. “He wasn’t like most of them. He was respectful. He even brought flowers.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Just a few words,” the guard responded diffidently, suspecting that he was in trouble. “But he seemed genuinely interested.”
“So he came to visit the tomb, he dropped off some flowers, you and he had a little chat, and then he left. Is that correct?”
“No, sir. He wanted to come up here so that he could stand where so many … great men had stood.”
“You brought him here?” Chernov demanded harshly.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said miserably. “But he only stayed for a minute.”
“What did he do while he was up here?”
The guard shrugged. “Why, the same thing you did, sir. First he looked down at the square, and then he looked back up at the Kremlin wall.”
“Do you know how to use your gun?”
The guard looked down at the Makarov pistol in its holster at his side. “Yes, sir.”
“The next time you see your gentleman, I want you to shoot him. Don’t ask any questions. Don’t stop to chat, or admire the scenery, just shoot him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chernov raced back to his car, and got on the phone to the Kremlin locator to find Kabatov’s chief of security, General Korzhakov, in his car heading home.
“The son of a bitch was carrying a KGB general’s uniform. He’s going to try for a clear shot at Tarankov from inside the Kremlin, and make his escape in the confusion.”
“That’s inventive,” Korzhakov said. “But he’s not going to last until June in the sewers.”
“I want security in and around the Kremlin tightened up.”.
“After we get through today’s nonsense I’ll review our procedures with you—”
“Do it tonight, General.”
The line was dead for a moment.
“Tarankov wouldn’t dare show his face in Moscow now.”
“Just do it.”
“Where are you getting your information?” Korzhakov demanded angrily.
“It’s common knowledge on the street, General. I’m not saying that Tarankov will show up, but a lot of people believe he will. Maybe McGarvey does too.”
“You have a point, Bykov,” Korzhakov said. “I’m turning around now. I’ll be back in my office in a half hour.”
Aboard Tarankov’s Train
Sometime after midnight, by Elizabeth’s reckoning, she finally managed to work a corner of the window’s blackout shade loose so she could look outside. But it was pitch black and there was nothing to see except some woods across a narrow clearing.
In the thirty-six hours since Liesel had tried to molest her, she’d been left on her own. Except for the pleasant soldier bringing her meals at 8:00 a.m.” noon, and 8:00 p.m.” nothing had happened and she was half- crazy with fear and boredom.
She sat back disappointed, then got up and pulled down the tiny sink so that she could splash some water on her face. Her eyes in the mirror were bloodshot because she’d not been able to get any sleep since the incident with Liesel. Nor had she allowed herself to get undressed so that she could take a shower. She was worried that Liesel would return and catch her in a vulnerable position. During the day it had been easier for her, because there’d been a great deal of activity in and around the train. She’d heard machinery running, men talking and laughing, and a constant stream of footsteps past her door. Once she’d heard a woman’s voice raised either in laughter or in a shout, she’d not been able to tell which. But she thought it must have been Liesel, because she didn’t think there would be any other women aboard.
She’d thought that perhaps they were getting ready to move out, but by the time her evening meal was delivered the activity had all but ceased, and they’d gone nowhere.
Drying her face, she went to the door to listen, but there were no sounds. She knew that she was in the last car of the train, but other than this compartment she had no idea what was in the car or who shared it with her.
She tried the knob as she had several times before, this time it turned easily in her hand, and the door opened a crack. She froze, her stomach doing a slow roll. She reached over and flipped off the lights, plunging the compartment into darkness.
Guards would be posted outside, but they’d be watching for someone to come toward the train, not get away. If she could reach the woods she thought she might have a good chance of getting several miles before she was missed. By then she didn’t think they’d come after her.
Girding herself for the dash she opened the door. Tarankov was standing there, an intent look on his face. She knew why he had come, just as she knew that there was probably nothing she could do to prevent it. She was alone, and her luck had just run out.
“Were you going somewhere?” Tarankov asked. “Not such a good idea having you running around the countryside at this hour of the morning.”
Elizabeth stepped back and he entered the compartment, switched on the light, and closed the door.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice dry in her throat.
“I think you know.”,
“I’ll fight you, and you might even have to kill me. If that happened I wouldn’t be much use as bait.”
“Your father wouldn’t find out about that until it was too late for nun,” Tarankov said quietly. “They almost had him tonight in Moscow. He was wounded, and now he’s trying to hide in the sewers.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Leonid wanted me to send an impersonator to make my speech in Red Square, in case your father got through. But I don’t think that’s necessary any longer.” Tarankov smiled. “I don’t think you’ll be needed at my side on the reviewing stand either. So it makes no difference if you’re damaged tonight.”
“I’ll tell your wife—”
“She thinks I’m a god,” Tarankov cut in. “So will you after tonight.”
Elizabeth lunged at him, but he easily stepped aside and backhanded her in the side of her head with so much force she was knocked across the compartment onto the narrow cot, spots and pinwheels of lights flashing in front of her eyes.
He ripped open her fatigue shut, and pawed her breasts, the pain of the assault real but so distant she was Unable to defend herself for the moment.
He tore the front of her trousers open and pulled them down around her ankles, and off, then spread her legs and opened his trousers and pulled them down, his erect penis leaping out.
“No,” she cried, trying to fight him off as she regained consciousness. “Oh, God no. Please, no!”
The compartment door slammed open, and Tarankov reared back as his wife stormed in, a big semiautomatic pistol in her hand.
“I thought I’d find you here, you rotten prick,” she screeched, waving the gun around. *
Tarankov got to his feet, and calmly pulled his trousers up. “Well, Schatzle, you were right about one thing: Neither of us will get to fuck her.”
“Not until after you’re in the Kremlin, you mean,” said Liesel, who was not mollified.
Tarankov moved away from the cot as Liesel came closer, pointing the pistol first at him, and then at Elizabeth. The woman had been drinking, and her face was flushed and she was unsteady on her feet. But she was
