Katya was running along a wide street, her footsteps echoing off the nearest building, her breathing coming louder as her energy levels diminished. Somehow her instincts had deserted her, and she had made a wrong turn. Now she was in a wide space, almost a boulevard between two large apartment blocks with no obvious cover. If she didn’t get off this street soon, they would catch her. Or simply use her as target practice and shoot her down.
She saw an opening in the building on her right. It looked like an access way for maintenance vehicles to get into the heart of the building, where rubbish was dumped down chutes for collection. But when she turned into it, she saw it was a tunnel running through the building to the other side. Maybe there was a doorway down there, somewhere she could hide until they gave up and moved on.
She ran into the gloom. There were only a couple of dim lights on the wall to show the way, and she slowed her pace to avoid obstacles. At the end of the tunnel she could see a boulevard just like the one she had left. It wasn’t much better than where she had come from, but it was a chance; perhaps the only one she had.
Then, with just twenty yards to go, a man stepped around the corner and into the light.
It was Bronyev.
FIFTY-THREE
Katya gave a cry of despair. This wasn’t supposed to end this way! All that training, all the set-piece exercises at the academy, the live firing, all the scenarios they had gone through over and over again to speed up reactions to events like this.
She skidded to a halt, bringing up her gun, her breath catching harshly in her throat as she tried to swallow against the dryness. She felt exhausted, as much by fear as by the running, a counter to the adrenalin rush earlier when she had first seen the men arrive.
She stared at Bronyev, wondering what he was doing here. Deep down, though, she knew there could be only one reason: he knew her better than anyone else, and had been ordered to being her back. She desperately didn’t want to shoot a close colleague, a man who had trained in exactly the same way as her and with the same beliefs; but right now she was faced with no choice. If he tried to stop her, she would have to shoot. There was too much to lose otherwise.
‘Wait!’ Bronyev was holding his hands out from his sides, his voice low and urgent. ‘I’m not here to stop you, Katya.’ He looked, in spite of the situation, relaxed and in control, yet wary. And she realised that he hadn’t got his gun out.
‘Why not?’ she asked, gulping air. The gun felt slippery with sweat in her hand, its slim shape like a toy. ‘It’s your job. You have to do it.’
‘Yours, too. Or had you forgotten?’ He was breathing visibly too, although whether from the chase or nerves, she couldn’t tell.
‘Was,’ she replied, and sagged against the nearest wall. ‘The job changed, you know? Things changed.’ That made her sound idiotic. She couldn’t explain and didn’t have time. He probably wouldn’t understand, anyway. He was infinitely more of a product of the system than she was.
‘Like the English woman?’
Katya felt herself go cold. He knew?
‘What do you mean?’ An automatic form of denial. It was all she could think of to say.
‘Come off it, Katya. Sorry — I suppose I should call you lieutenant. But I’m not a fool. I heard the rumours about your. .’ He paused and waved a vague hand.
‘Indiscretion? It’s all right, you can say it.’ She risked a glance over her shoulder. If the other men showed up now, she was dead.
‘Yes, that. And that’s all they are for the most part — rumours. Not to me, though. I have a sister who’s gay, you see, so I know. But I couldn’t care less. There are some up the ladder who think you’ll get it out of your system one day and. . well, get your focus back. Daft, I know.’ He shrugged and looked embarrassed at the absurdity of it.
Katya nearly laughed. God in heaven, what a bunch of dinosaurs! Could they really be that stupid? Did they think she was possessed of a fever? Didn’t they know this was the twenty-first century? That there were actually gays in modern Russia, just like the rest of the world?
‘It’s not entirely their fault,’ said Bronyev sympathetically. ‘They actually want to believe we’re all perfect citizens, fitting the world they’ve created for us.’
‘There’s no such thing,’ Katya snapped. ‘Any fool knows that. Don’t they ever look around them?’
‘Outside the FSO, probably not. You’re right. But they want us to be perfect, that’s my point. Makes them look good.’
‘Christ, what are you, Bronyev — a closet sociologist? That’s worse than being gay!’
He smiled. ‘Just trying to make my way, that’s all. And to help you.’
‘So why this chat? Are you telling me you’re sympathetic?’
‘Why not? Like I said, my sister’s gay — and she’d never forgive me if I told her I’d stood in your way or tried to bring you in.’ He cleared his throat, and Katya thought he looked a little sad. ‘I love my sister, you see. I look out for her. I know how tough it is for her every day, everywhere she goes. We live in a very unforgiving place, you know that?’ He looked around, checking the space behind him. ‘Thing is, saying that makes me less than perfect, too, in their eyes. Join the club, huh?’
She stared at him, wondering if he wasn’t simply trying to string her along, to get her to drop her guard. But he merely looked back, waiting. Then she knew he was speaking the truth. And wondered how she’d never realised before. No wonder he had never come onto her, never tried to share down-time with her on assignments when their charges were tucked up safely in their hotels or embassies, or handed over to the care of another team. Not once had he made an improper remark or stepped over the line the way so many other men did, their intentions thinly coated in coarse humour. Somehow she had got used to that, being part of the barrack room system, knowing from early on that to respond in a negative fashion every time would mark her out for ever more ugly treatment as word got around that she could be easily wound up.
‘All because of your sister?’
‘Yes. Our parents freaked out when she told them. It was ugly for a while. But they’ve been wonderful ever since.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that they can talk about it much. It’s fine by me, but tough for them, I suppose.’
She felt as if she were in a dream. First thinking Bronyev was a threat, then finding out he wasn’t. Now realising he’d known all along. And said nothing.
‘So what do we do now?’
‘We do nothing. You get out of here. I, of course, like a diligent FSO officer, will scour the city for my deviant colleague who I wish wasn’t leaving because. . well, because.’ He sighed and waved a hand. ‘Of course, I won’t find her, and they’ll send another team out to look for you. I’ll get a roasting for not watching you more carefully and realising what a threat you were, but in the end what can they do?’ He looked sad once more. ‘You realise you’ll never be able to come back, don’t you?’
‘I know.’ It was something that hadn’t been voiced before; something she hadn’t even thought about. The simple enormity of hearing it now hit her like a sledgehammer. But she knew instantly that it was the right thing — the only thing — to do. Anyway, unlike Bronyev, she had no family. ‘Thank you for the warning, by the way.’
He grinned. ‘Hey — no biggie, as the Americans would say. See, I knew the numbers would come in useful some day.’
‘But not for this.’
‘No, not for this. Just you be careful and don’t get brought back in chains. I’d hate to have to stand up in court and speak out against you.’ He nodded at the street behind her. ‘I’m going to walk past you and out the other side. You go the other way.’
‘All right. Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I’ll look back when I get to the end.’ He swallowed. ‘Don’t be here when I do.’