‘Maybe they’ll come tonight?’ Lock suggested seductively.
‘Any minute now uh? Think about it.’
Both Dmitri and the American were reckless at the ease with which they had uncovered the safe house — for it had to be that
— and he felt almost shamed at his own cautious reluctance; as if he refused to join in some childish game that might prove dangerous. Nevertheless, he continued shaking his head.
‘An hour — no more. One hour. Lubin, move the car down the street.’
The engine clattered noisily as Lubin pressed the accelerator.
The snow chains on the tyres ground and creaked and the ZiL rolled away from the deeply rutted kerb, skidding into the middle of the road. Lubin righted it and drove cautiously down the centre of the street to the junction with gaudier L Street.
The occasional lurching truck, one or two cars, shop windows holding a subdued glare, a couple of all-night cafes optimistically still ablaze.
‘Park here,’ Vorontsyev instructed.
Lubin dragged on the handbrake and, at Vorontsyev’s nod, switched off the engine. The blizzard was suddenly louder inside the car, shaking it like a riotous crowd. L Street was obscured, then revealed, obscured again; darker 9th Street seemed like a narrow tunnel.
‘Right, gentlemen, I said an hour, and an hour is what I meant.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We leave at three, at the latest’
The mobile phone in his pocket trilled. All four of them were startled, as if by a sudden searchlight thrown on them. Lock tugged it from Vorontsyev’s coat pocket and switched it on.
It was evident to Lock that it was Maria’s voice, despite the hoarse, urgent whisper she employed like a bad actress.
‘They’re here, Alexei — sir. GRU. They want to search the place from top to bottom — ‘ There was another, harsher female voice beyond Marfa, urging the girl to get out. ‘They’re here I’
‘For God’s sake, Sonya — shut up!’ Marfa snarled, pressing her face close to the mask of make-up worn by the older, heavier woman.
They were standing against the bedroom door, Sonya’s large, plump white hand still gripping the porcelain doorknob. Sonya’s eyes were wild with concern, almost oblivious to Marfa except as a presence. There was spittle on the carmined lips.
‘Get out, leave us alone!’ Sonya repeated. ‘They mustn’t find you here!’
‘Which way?’ Marfa demanded, the mobile phone pressed against the side of her face like a dark poultice. She heard Vorontsyev gabbling reassurance. ‘No, don’t come here!’ she snapped at him. ‘The place must be surrounded. I’ll get out where are you? Yes, 9th and L–I’ll find you. Yes!’ She closed the connection and thrust Dmitri’s phone into her pocket, tugging her scarf tightly around her face.
Then she was adrift, bereft of volition. She felt panic begin to spread like a blush across her features. Sonya was contemptuous for an instant, then simply afraid again. Only the rabbit, browsing leaves in its cage, seemed oblivious of threat. Marfa forced herself to the window and lifted the edge of the drawn curtain, which smelt of old velVet and old dust. Headlights glared through the blizzard outside and she heard the sound of raised voices and the clump of boots on rutted snow. Dark figures hurried.
Behind her, Sonya was clearing coffee cups with clumsy hands.
Marfa knelt and began shuffling the scattered papers into an untidy bundle, then stared wildly about her for a place of concealment — for the papers, herself? God Sonya was staring at her, but her attention was directed beyond the door, her head cocked to one side like that of a large, predatory animal. Marfa opened the heavy old wardrobe to push the bundle of papers into it’. Garish slips and housecoats, boots, underclothes. A spangled, ribboned basque lay like an abandoned piece of armour on the floor of the wardrobe. Then Sonya was behind her, her hands gripping her shoulders, her lips against Marfa’s cheek.
‘Quick — get your clothes off! Come on — put the papers in the bedV
She was tugging at the scarf, the long dark coat, even the glasses Marfa had not removed. Marfa tried to push her hands away, then experienced a moment of terrified betrayal as the woman held her wrists with one big hand and slapped her face.
The spectacles flew off.
‘Get away — V
‘Get your clothes off, put on a housecoat — hereV Sonya replied. ‘I hope to God Teplov doesn’t give the whole bloody game away! Come on!’
Marfa took off the coat, then her sweaters, lastly her denims.
Sonya bundled them into the wardrobe. Closing the door, she snapped:
‘Don’t get into the bed, it’s too obvious! Christ, why can’t you women wear some make-up — who’d fancy you in a month of Sundays?’
She pushed Marfa down on the bed. Marfa was chilly in the flimsy housecoat which reeked of cheap scent and barely covered her white knees. Sonya seemed no less distraught than when she had entered the room to warn her.
‘Can you smoke a cigarette without coughing?’ she asked.
Marfa nodded doubtfully. ‘Here!’ She thrust a cigarette at her.
‘And stop shivering!’
In a mockery of stately ease, Sonya sat in one of the velvet upholstered chairs, lighting another cigarette.
There were noises along the corridor, then the door was flung back and two GRU soldiers, greatcoated, wet-shouldered and grinning, appeared at the threshold.
‘Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?’ Sonya snapped.
‘What is this, another raid?’
‘Shut up, Grandma!’ the more pimply of the two young men mocked. The other snickered, nudging his companion and announcing:
‘Don’t fancy yours, Sasha!’
‘Mother Fat and her daughter, Miss Thin — bloody hell, you don’t go to any trouble for the customers, do you?’
A voice, sharp with authority, called from a distance, and the two soldiers snapped to half-attention before Sonya’s mocking laughter made them shambling figures of uncertain contempt once more. Quickly, they opened the wardrobe, drawers in an old chest, glanced beneath the bed.
‘Expecting to find your older brother here, boys?’ Sonya observed, exhaling smoke theatrically at the ceiling and crossing her legs.
The two young men scowled. One of them, onion on his breath, stared affrontingly at Marfa, his body hovering very close to her. She forced herself not to flinch, to present no more than patient indifference.
Tired of his lack of authority, the youth with acne snapped to his companion: ‘Let’s go before you catch something!’
‘Not even the flu, boys,’ Sonya shot after them as they slammed the door.
Sonya’s features crumbled into a clownish expression of exaggerated defeat and anxiety. Then she said hoarsely:
‘Now, get your clothes on and get ready to leave as soon as they do.’ She was listening to the clump of retreating boots.
Marfa tried to control the shiver that possessed her, rubbing her arms furiously and hunching into herself. She could taste the onion that had been on the soldier’s leering breath! ‘Come on, they won’t be back — just a couple of tarts, they’ll report. Not that anyone but a kid’would say that about you!’ she snorted, relieving her nerves. ‘Snap out of it! Sod off and don’t come back!’
Vorontsyev stared at the phone in his hand, listening to the noise of the disconnected call. Then he and the others were Startled as the blizzard buffeted a shapeless staggering lump against the side of the ZiL. Then the drunk or addict or whatever he was slouched on, bent against the flying snow and the force of the wind, towards the lights of an empty, hopeful cafe. A snowplough ground across the next intersection, its warning light dim through the storm.
‘What’s happening?’ Dmitri blurted, turning back to Vorontsyev.