The doctor snapped orders in Russian, then spoke softly to a nurse as he walked into the hospital. Gage and Alla followed behind as orderlies lifted Ninchenko onto a gurney and raced him down a grimy pale green hallway into pre-op. They watched through an open door as his clothes were cut off and he was rolled into the operating room.
“What did the doctor tell the admitting nurse to put in the record?” Gage asked Alla.
“That Ninchenko was in a car accident. Internal bleeding.”
Gage leaned back against the wall as an elderly couple shuffled by, carrying clean sheets and towels and containers of food. Bleary eyes spoke of a long journey on Soviet-era streetcars and of a hospital too poor or too corrupt to meet even the most basic needs of its patients.
“What happened outside of the dacha?” Alla asked.
Gage shrugged, then looked over. “Let’s just say Razor gave his life for the greater good.”
She smirked. “Self-sacrifice didn’t seem to be his game.”
“I think he surprised himself.”
“You surprised me,” Alla said. “I had no idea you were coming until the phone vibrated the second time.”
Alla fell silent as a nurse passed by, then said, “Stuart wasn’t coming back, was he?”
Gage shook his head. “And we needed to move in before Gravilov figured that out.” He turned away from the wall to face her. “I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you’d panic and try to take them on yourself.”
Alla stepped forward, pulling Gage’s shoulder farther away from the wall.
“What’s that?” She ran her fingers over red smears on the paint, then showed them to Gage. “This is blood.”
Alla pulled Gage around until his back was to her.
“He slashed you. Can’t you feel it?”
She reached up with both hands and grasped his collar, pulled his coat down, and dropped it to the floor in one motion. Blood on his shirt circled the wounds.
“It just feels bruised,” Gage said, reaching around to probe his back. Alla pulled his hand away.
“Wait here.” She strode down the hallway, returning a minute later with a pouting nurse with a large mole on her cheek, who led them to an examining room. Gage removed his shirt, then the nurse cleaned the wounds.
“How bad is it?” Gage asked.
“They’re about two inches across and about a quarter-inch deep,” Alla said. “It looks like he was stabbing at an angle.”
Alla spoke with the nurse in Russian, then said, “She wants to stitch them.”
Gage reached into his wallet, withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, and held it up. “Tell her I want a new needle, unopened surgical thread, and a course of antibiotics. German.”
Alla translated.
The nurse smiled, accepted the money, and left the room. She returned a few minutes later and laid out the items for Gage’s inspection. Both the needle and thread were sealed in plastic. She opened the box of antibiotic tablets to show they hadn’t been tampered with.
“O-kay?” she asked in English.
Two hours later, the doctor emerged from the operating room wearing a bloodstained smock. He and Alla conversed briefly in Russian near the swinging doors. After he walked away, Alla turned toward Gage with a quick smile and a thumbs-up.
“What did he say?” Gage asked as she approached.
“The first thing was that he wanted to know when he’d get the rest of his money.”
“And?”
“We’ll need to bring in clean sheets and more money for syringes, IVs, and the rest. He’ll give us a list of the food that will have to be brought in.”
Gage glared at the doctor’s office door. “At what point did he mention Ninchenko’s condition?”
“Only after he said that he’ll take care of paying off the nurses and that he’ll be in his office for the next half hour waiting for the cash.”
Gage shook his head in disgust. “At least he’s got his priorities in order.” He looked back at Alla. “How much extra for a private room?”
“It’s included.”
“Why? Is he having a sale today?”
Alla’s tone was even more sarcastic than Gage’s. “I think it must be what you Americans call an early-bird special.”
Maks arrived, and she passed on the doctor’s instructions.
“We can leave,” she told Gage, as he walked away. “Kolya’s waiting outside. Ninchenko’s men will stand guard.”
“What about Gravilov? Has he found out yet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. Maks says that he’s still in his apartment.”
As Kolya drove them through the gray-dawn streets toward the Astoria Hotel, Alla wedged herself into the corner of the backseat and rested her head against the window. Gage watched her drift into a confused, chaotic state in which sleep is imperative, but not possible. She shifted her position and her eyes moved under her lids as if watching a replay of the night. He wondered whether she had slept at all during the last few days.
Gage escorted her to the dining room and turned on the radio. He poured her a cup of coffee and inspected her face as she sipped. Her eyes were dark and her cheeks seemed to sag. The adrenaline surge that had carried her through the morning had subsided like an outgoing tide, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.
“I need you to do something,” Gage finally said. “Call Matson. Tell him that you’ve escaped and how grateful you are that he was trying to rescue you.”
Alla blinked away the glaze that clouded her eyes. “And I’m supposed to do that without laughing?”
“It has to be done. I don’t want him wondering whether you sold him out and cut a deal with Gravilov.” Gage thought for a moment. “And tell him that you’ll be hiding out with relatives in the mountains for a few weeks.”
“Then what?”
“That’s up to you. You have money?”
“Stuart set up an account in my name at Barclays in London. There’s about a hundred thousand pounds in it. But now that I know where he got it…”
“You earned it, and more. And I’ll make sure no one ever gives you trouble about it.” He sipped his coffee. “But what will you do after that’s gone?”
“I’m eligible for the Skilled Migrant Program in the UK. I’ll stay if I can find a job.”
“What about Gravilov?”
She paused, then shrugged. “That’s a bridge I’m not sure how I’ll cross.”
“How about coming to the States for a while?”
She shook her head. “I can’t get a visa.”
“What if I could get you in?”
She forced a smile. “You have some magical powers you’ve been hiding from me?”
“I can get you what’s called an S visa. It’s for witnesses who may be willing to testify about a criminal organization.”
Her smile died. “I know you want to help your friend, but there’s no way I can do that. Gravilov and his people would never forget. Never. They’d hunt me down. Even your Witness Protection Program wouldn’t be safe. There’s no escape.”
Gage reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. The key word is ‘may.’ You’ll just change your mind once you get to the States.”
“Would I get in trouble? I mean, here if you-”
“No. The head of the Criminal Division of the Justice Department will feel pretty bad he didn’t help me out a few weeks ago, so he’ll let me handle this the way I want to.”
Alla looked away and shook her head slowly. Gage knew she was imagining the carnage at the dacha. She finally looked back. “How long would it take?”
Gage walked Alla to his room, where he let her shower and nap in his bed. He then sent an e-mail to Washington, D.C., constructed to extort a visa, but without disclosing too much of what he knew.
When he leaned back in his desk chair, he felt for the first time the bite of the slashes and stitches in his back. He realized that he had another e-mail to send. He and Faith trusted each other too much for him to conceal from her that he’d been injured. He wrote her what he always did when his middle-aged body got battered around: “I’ll need a little chicken soup.”