The Secret Speech

The Ilyushin took off, on course for a midair collision with the bomber. Either the Tupolev abandoned its descent or the two planes would crash. Konstantin called out:

— They’re not moving! We’ve got to land!

Leo gripped Konstantin’s hand, holding their course steady: if they crash-landed they’d be caught and shot. They had nothing to lose. The bomber crew did.

The Tupolev veered upward, a steep climb, just as the Ilyushin flew underneath, the tail fin skimming the bomber’s underbelly as the two planes passed each other. Ahead of them for the first time was clear sky. Konstantin smiled, the confounded smile of a man who couldn’t believe that he was alive.

Leo climbed out of his seat, joining Lazar in the back. Magadan was nothing more than a collection of lights in a vast darkness. This was the world that Leo had banished Lazar to — a wilderness that had been his home for the past seven years.

MOSCOW SAME DAY

RAISA SAT ON ELENA’S BED, watching her sleep. Since Fraera’s visit, Elena’s questioning had become more assertive, as if she sensed the situation had changed. Promises that Zoya’s return was imminent were no longer enough. She’d become immune to assurances, content for an hour or so before the effect faded and a deep unease returned.

The phone rang. Raisa hurried out, rushing to the receiver:

— Hello?

— Raisa, it’s Frol Panin. We’ve made radio contact with Leo. The plane is on its way. He’ll be in the city in less than five hours. Lazar is with him.

— You’ve contacted Fraera?

— Yes, we’re waiting to receive instructions for the exchange. You’ll want to meet Leo at the airport?

— Of course.

— I’ll have a car sent over when his plane is nearing. We’re almost there, Raisa. We almost have her.

Raisa hung up the receiver. She remained by the phone, pondering those words.

We almost have her.

Panin was talking about catching Fraera: he had little interest in her daughter. Despite Panin’s considerable charms, Raisa agreed with Leo’s assessment of his character: there was something cold about him.

Elena was standing in the hallway. Raisa stretched out her hand. Elena stepped forward. Guided into the kitchen, Raisa sat her down at the table. She warmed milk at the stove, tipping it into a mug. She put the mug down in front of Elena.

— Is Zoya coming home tonight?

— Yes.

Elena picked up the mug and took a satisfied sip.

There was no more time to consider Fraera’s offer. Raisa no longer believed in Leo’s plan. Having met Fraera for herself, having listened to her anger, it didn’t make sense to hand Zoya over to Leo and make him a hero. He would achieve in that prisoner exchange everything Fraera was determined he should never have — a daughter, happiness, a family reunited. The premise was wrong. Leo’s belief in it was naive. Zoya was in danger. Leo was not the one to save her.

Raisa opened a drawer, taking out a tall red candle. Placing it on the windowsill, in clear view of the street below, she struck a match and lit the wick. Elena asked:

— What are you doing?

— Lighting a candle so that Zoya can find her way home.

Raisa glanced out into the street. The candle was lit. The signal was given. She would accept Fraera’s offer. She would leave Leo.

SAME DAY

MALYSH SAT ON A LEDGE, listening to the racing sewer water. Two months ago the world had made sense. Now he was confused. Someone liked him, not because he could handle a knife, not because he was useful, someone liked him because… he couldn’t exactly say. Why did Zoya like him? He’d never been liked before. There was no logic to it. She’d saved his life for no reason. Presented with an opportunity to escape, she’d not only turned it down, she’d risked her life for him.

Fraera approached, sitting beside him, their legs dangling side by side like friends on a riverbank, except instead of fish and fallen leaves passing them by, the city’s waste flowed beneath their feet. Fraera asked:

— Why are you hiding here?

Malysh wanted to remain silent, petulant, but it was an unforgivable insult not to reply, so he muttered:

— I don’t feel well.

To his surprise Fraera laughed:

— Two months ago you would’ve killed that girl and not thought anything of it.

Fraera rested a hand on his shoulder:

— I need to know if you will do anything I order, without question.

— I have never disobeyed you.

— You have never disagreed with anything I’ve ordered you to do.

Malysh couldn’t counter — it was true, he’d never had a contrary opinion, until now. She’d pushed him together with Zoya in order to test him. She’d manufactured his relationship with Zoya in order to measure it against her relationship with him.

— Malysh, when I was imprisoned, I heard a story, told by a Chechen convict. It comes from a Nartian epic, about a hero called Soslan. It is the custom of Narts to avenge not only wrongs committed against them but any committed against their family or ancestors, no matter how ancient the crime. Quarrels last for hundreds of years. Soslan spent his entire life in pursuit of revenge. When you come of age, Malysh, you will need a new name. I had hoped it would be Soslan.

Though her voice hadn’t changed, Malysh sensed danger. Fraera stood up:

— Follow me.

Malysh followed Fraera through the tunnels and chambers to Zoya’s cell. She unlocked the door. Zoya was standing in the corner, having heard them approach. She sought confirmation in Malysh’s eyes that something was wrong. Fraera took hold of Zoya’s wrist, pulling her toward the door. Confused, Malysh didn’t know whether to obey or protest. Before he could make up his mind, Fraera slammed the door, locking him in.

SAME DAY

HAVING FLOWN ACROSS THE WIDTH of the Soviet Union from the Pacific coast to the capital, the fuel gauge of the Ilyushin was tapping empty. They had one chance to put down. A storm had closed over them: the plane burrowing through furious black clouds. Lazar was in the back, chewing biscuits with the good side of his mouth. Leo was strapped into the copilot’s chair, trying to keep Konstantin’s confidence from crumbling. Flying