Red Rabbit

“Three people?” Kovacs asked, getting a dull stare in return. He got the message. “Bah, a simple task— baszd meg?” he concluded: Fuck it.

“I thought I could count on you, Istvan,” Hudson said with a smile. “How much?”

“For three people into Yugoslavia…” Kovacs pondered that for a moment. “Oh. Five thousand d-mark.”

“Ez kurva draga!” Hudson objected, or ostensibly so. It was cheap at the price, hardly a thousand quid. “Very well, you thief! I’ll pay it because you are my friend—but just this one time.” He finished his drink. “You know, I could just fly the packages out,” Hudson suggested.

“But the airport is the one place where the hatar rseg are alert,” Kovacs pointed out. “The poor bastards are always in the light, with their senior officers about. No chance for them to be open to… negotiations.”

“I suppose that is so,” Hudson agreed. “Very well. I will call you to keep track of your schedule.”

“That is fine. You know where to find me.”

Hudson stood. “Thanks for the drink, my friend.”

“It lubricates the business,” Kovacs said, as he opened the door for his guest. Five thousand West German marks would cover a lot of obligations and buy him a lot of goods to resell in Budapest for a handsome profit.

Chapter 23. All Aboard

Zaitzev called the travel office at 1530. He hoped that this didn’t show an unusual eagerness, but everyone was interested in their vacation arrangements, he figured.

“Comrade Major, you are on the train day after tomorrow. It leaves Kiev Station at thirteen hours thirty and arrives in Budapest two days later at fourteen hours exactly. You and your family are booked into Carriage nine-oh- six in compartments A and B. You are also booked into Budapest’s Hotel Astoria, Room three-oh-seven, for eleven days. The hotel is directly across the street from the Soviet Culture and Friendship House, which is, of course, a KGB operation with a liaison office, should you need any local assistance.”

“Excellent. Thank you very much for your help.” Zaitzev thought for a moment. “Is there anything I might purchase for you in Budapest?”

“Why, thank you, comrade.” His voice just lit up. “Yes, perhaps some pantyhose for my wife,” the functionary said in a furtive voice.

“What size?”

“My wife is a real Russian,” he replied, meaning decidedly not anorexic.

“Very good. I will find something—or my wife will assist me.”

“Excellent. Have a grand trip.”

“Yes, I shall,” Zaitzev promised him. With that settled, Oleg Ivan’ch left his desk and went to his watch supervisor to announce his plans for the coming two weeks.

“Isn’t there some upstairs project that only you are cleared for?” the lieutenant colonel asked.

“Yes, but I asked Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy, and he said not to be concerned about it. Feel free to call him to confirm that, comrade,” Zaitzev told him.

And he did, in Zaitzev’s presence. The brief call ended with a “thank you, comrade,” and then he looked up at his subordinate. “Very well, Oleg Ivan’ch, you are relieved of your duties beginning this evening. Say, while you are in Budapest…”

“Certainly, Andrey Vasili’yevich. You may pay me for them when I get back.” Andrey was a decent boss, who never screamed, and helped his people when asked. A pity he worked for an agency that murdered innocent people.

And then it was just a matter of cleaning up his desk, which wasn’t difficult. KGB regulations dictated that every desk be set up exactly the same way, so that a worker could switch desks without confusion, and Zaitzev’s desk was arranged exactly according to office specifications. With his pencils properly sharpened and lined up, his message log up to the moment, and all his books properly in place, he dumped his trash and walked to the men’s room. There he selected a stall, removed his brown tie, and replaced it with his striped one. He checked his watch. He was actually a little early. So Zaitzev took his time on the way out, smoked two cigarettes instead of one, and took a moment to enjoy the clear afternoon, stopping off to get a paper along the way, and, to pamper himself, six packs of Krasno-presnensky, the premium cigarette smoked by Leonid Brezhnev himself, for two rubles forty. Something nice to smoke on the train. Might as well spend his rubles now, he decided. They’d be valueless where he was going. Then he walked down to the metro station and checked the clock. The train, of course, came right on time.

* * *

Foley was in the same place, doing the same thing in exactly the same way, his mind racing as the train slowed to a stop at this station. He felt the tiny vibration from the boarding passengers and the grunts of people bumping into one another. He straightened up to turn the page. Then the train lurched off. The engineers—or motormen, whatever the hell you called them—were always a little heavy on the throttle. A moment later, there was a presence to his left. Foley didn’t see it, but he could feel it. Two minutes later, the subway train slowed for another station. It lurched to a stop, and someone bumped into him. Foley turned slightly to see who it was.

“Excuse me, comrade,” the Rabbit said. He was wearing a blue tie with red stripes.

“No problem,” Foley responded dismissively, as his heart leapt inside his chest.

Okay, two days from now, Kiev Station. The train to Budapest. The Rabbit moved a step or two away, and that was that. The signal had been passed.

Skyrockets in flight. Foley folded his paper, and made his way to the sliding doors. The usual walk to his apartment. Mary Pat was fixing dinner.

“Like my tie? You didn’t tell me this morning.”

MP’s eyes lit up. Day after tomorrow, she realized. They’d have to get the word out, but that was just a procedural thing. She hoped Langley was ready. BEATRIX was going a little fast, but why dawdle?

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Well, I wanted to get a steak, but I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for fried chicken today.”

“That’s okay, honey. Steak for day after tomorrow, maybe?” she asked.

“Sounds good to me. Honey, where’s Eddie?”

“Watching Transformers, of course.” She pointed to the living room.

“That’s my boy,” Ed observed, with a smile. “He knows the important stuff.” Foley kissed his wife tenderly.

“Later, tiger,” Mary Pat breathed back. But a successful operation merited a discreet celebration. Not that this one was successful yet, but it was certainly headed that way, and it was their first in Moscow. “Got the pictures?” she whispered.

He pulled them out of his jacket pocket. They were not exactly magazine-cover quality, but they did give good representations of the Rabbit and his little bunny. They didn’t know what Mrs. Rabbit looked like, but this would have to do. They’d get the shots to Nigel and Penny. One of them would cover the train station to make sure the Rabbit family got going on time.

“Ed, there’s a problem with the shower,” Mary Pat said. “The spray thingee isn’t right.”

“I’ll see if Nigel has the right tools.” Foley walked out the door and down the hall. In a few minutes, they were back, Nigel carrying his toolbox.

“Hello, Mary.” Nigel waved on his way to the bathroom. Once there, he made a fuss about opening his toolbox, then turning on the water, and now any bug the KGB might have here was jammed.

“Okay, Ed, what is it?”

Ed handed over the photos. “The Rabbit and the Bunny. We have nothing on Mrs. Rabbit yet. They’ll all be taking the one P.M. train to Budapest, day after tomorrow.”

“Kiev Station,” Haydock said, with a nod. “You’ll want me to get a picture of Mrs. Rabbit.”