world.
Reaching the entrance to the station he descended the stone steps to the lower hall-an opulent chamber, an ambassador’s reception, with cream marble pillars, polished mahogany banisters illuminated by domes of frosted glass. Rush hour and not a centimetre of floor could be seen. Thousands of people wrapped up in long coats and scarves hustled in line at the ticket barriers. Going against the flow, Leo backtracked up the steps, using this slight elevation to survey the heads of the crowd. Raisa and Ivan had passed through the steel ticket barrier and were waiting for a place on the escalator. Leo rejoined the throng, sliding into gaps, edging forward. But stuck behind a mass of bodies he had no option but to resort to less polite methods, using his hands to steer people aside. No one dared do anything more than look annoyed, no one knew who Leo might be.
Reaching the ticket barrier, he was in time to see his wife move out of sight. He passed through, queuing and taking the first available position on the escalator. Stretching down the flight of mechanical wooden steps in a diagonal line to the bottom were the tops of a hundred winter hats. Unable to distinguish one from the other he leaned to the right. Raisa was maybe fifteen steps below him. In order to talk to Ivan, who was standing on the step behind and above her, she’d turned round and was facing upwards. Leo was in her line of view. He pulled back behind the man in front of him and, not wanting to risk another glance, waited until he was almost at the lower level before looking again. The passageway divided into two tunnels, for trains travelling north and south, each filled with passengers, shuffling forward, trying to make their way onto the platforms, vying for a position on the next train. Leo couldn’t see his wife anywhere.
If Raisa was en route home she’d be heading three stops north on the Zamoskvoretskaya line to Teatral’naya, where she’d change. With no choice other than to suppose this was what she was doing, he moved down the platform, looking right and left, studying the faces lined up, crammed together, staring out in the same direction, waiting for the train. He was halfway down the platform. Raisa wasn’t here. Could she have taken a train in the other direction? Why would she go south? Suddenly a man moved and Leo caught a glimpse of a satchel. There was Ivan. Raisa was by his side, both of them standing by the platform’s edge. Leo was so close he could almost reach out and touch her cheek. If she turned her head even a fraction they’d be eye to eye. He was almost certainly in her peripheral vision; if she hadn’t seen him it was only because she wasn’t expecting to see him. There was nothing he could do, nowhere to hide. He continued down the platform, waiting for her to call his name. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as a coincidence. She’d see through his lie, she’d know he was following her. He counted twenty steps then came to a stop by the edge of the platform, staring at the mosaic in front of him. Three separate lines of sweat ran down the side of his face. He didn’t dare wipe them away or turn to check in case she was looking in his direction. He tried to concentrate on the mosaic, a celebration of Soviet military strength-a tank with its barrel pointing straight out, flanked by heavy artillery and mounted by Russian soldiers in long sweeping coats brandishing guns. Very slowly he turned his head. Raisa was talking to Ivan. She hadn’t seen him. A gust of warm air blew down the crowded platform. The train was approaching.
As everyone turned to watch, Leo caught sight of a man looking in the opposite direction, away from the oncoming train, looking directly at him. It was the briefest of glances, eye contact for a fraction of a second. The man was maybe thirty years old. Leo had never seen him before. Yet he knew immediately this man was a fellow Chekist, a State Security operative. There was a second agent on the platform.
The crowd surged forward towards the train doors. The agent was gone, out of sight. The doors opened. Leo hadn’t moved; his body was turned away from the train, still staring at the exact point where he’d seen those cool, professional eyes. Brushed aside by passengers disembarking he recovered from his surprise and boarded the train, one carriage down from Raisa. Who was that agent? Why did they need a second agent following his wife? Didn’t they trust him? Of course they didn’t. But he hadn’t expected them to take such extreme supplementary measures. He pushed his way down towards the window through which he’d be able to see into the adjoining carriage. He could see Raisa’s hand, holding the side bar. But there was no sign of this second agent. The doors were about to shut.
The second agent boarded the same carriage as Leo, slipping past him with apparent indifference and taking up position several metres away. He was well trained, calm, and had it not been for that brief glance Leo might not have spotted him. This agent wasn’t following Raisa. He was following Leo.
He should’ve guessed that this operation wouldn’t have been left entirely in his hands. There was the possibility he was compromised. They might even suspect he was working with Raisa if she was a spy. His superiors had an obligation to make sure he did his job properly. Anything he reported back would be cross-checked with the other agent. For this reason it was essential that Raisa go straight home: if she went anywhere else, the wrong restaurant or bookshop, the wrong home where the wrong people lived, she’d be putting herself at risk. Her only chance of escape, and it was a slim chance, was by saying nothing, doing nothing, meeting nobody. She could work, shop and sleep. Any other activities were liable to be misconstrued.
If Raisa was travelling home she’d remain on this train for the next three stops, reaching Teatral’naya station, where she’d change to the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya line and travel eastwards. Leo checked on the officer following him. Someone had stood to disembark and the agent slipped into a vacant seat. He was now casually staring out of the window, no doubt studiously watching Leo out of the corner of his eye. The agent knew he’d been sighted. Perhaps that had even been his intention. None of it mattered as long as Raisa went straight home.
The train pulled into the second station-Novokuznetskaya. One more stop till they changed. The doors opened. Leo watched as Ivan disembarked. He thought:
Please stay on the train.
Raisa got off the train, stepping down onto the platform and making her way towards the exit. She wasn’t going home. Leo didn’t know where she was going. To follow her would expose her to the scrutiny of the second agent. Not to follow her would put his life in jeopardy. He had to choose. Leo turned his head. The agent hadn’t moved. From that position he couldn’t have seen Raisa get off the train. He was taking his cue from Leo not Raisa, presuming that the movements of the two were synchronized. The doors were about to shut. Leo stayed where he was.
Leo glanced to the side, through the window, as though Raisa was still in the adjoining carriage, as though he was still checking on her. What was he doing? It had been an impulsive, reckless decision. His plan depended on the agent believing that his wife was on the train; a rickety plan at best. Leo hadn’t counted on the crowds. Raisa and Ivan were still on the platform, moving towards the exit with excruciating slowness. Since the agent was staring out the window he’d see them as soon as the train began to move. Raisa edged closer to the exit, queuing patiently. She was in no hurry, she had no reason to be, unaware that both her life and Leo’s were in danger unless she moved out of sight. The train began to roll forward. Their carriage was almost in line with the exit. The agent would see Raisa for sure-he’d know that Leo had deliberately failed.
The train picked up speed-it was parallel to the exit. Raisa was standing in plain view. Leo felt the blood rush from his stomach. He slowly turned his head to see the agent’s reaction. A sturdy middle-aged man and his sturdy middle-aged wife were standing in the aisle, blocking any view the agent might have of the platform. The train rattled into the tunnel. He hadn’t seen Raisa at the exit. He didn’t know Raisa was no longer on the train. Barely able to conceal his relief, Leo resumed his pantomime of staring into the adjoining carriage.
At Teatral’naya station, Leo waited for as long as possible before getting off the train, acting as though he was still following his wife, as though she was heading home. He moved towards the exit. Glancing back he saw that the agent had also disembarked and was trying to catch up some of the ground between them. Leo pressed forward.
The passage funnelled out into a thoroughfare with access either to the different lines or to the street-level exit. He had to lose this tail without appearing to do so. The tunnel to the right would take him to trains travelling east on the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya line, the route home. Leo turned right. Much depended upon the arrival of the next train. If he could get far enough ahead then he might be able to board the train before the agent caught up and realized Raisa wasn’t on the platform.
Now in the tunnel which led to the platform he was faced with crowds of people in front of him. Suddenly he heard the sound of an approaching train, pulling into the platform. There was no way he could reach it in time, not with all these people in front of him. He reached into his jacket pocket, taking out his State Security identity card and tapping it on the shoulder of the man in front of him. As though scalded, the man stepped aside, the woman stepped aside, the crowd parted. With a clear path he was able to hurry forward. The train was there, its doors open, ready to go. He put his card away and boarded. He turned to see how close his tail was. If the man managed to catch up and board this train, the game was up.
