He swears and throws away the lighter. “Andrei, you understand…it’s for the best.” He reaches for my hair and I knock his hand hard. I can see it now, how this was supposed to be our last job all along. Of course he’d take off with his wife. Why stay in this cursed city? What did he owe me? “It’s safer for you,” he adds lamely. “That money will last a long time. Go treat yourself. Or go somewhere.” Alone, he means. Without him.
The lighter lies cracked on the floor, its fluid staining the concrete. That’s what happens to useless things; they’re tossed aside.
I don’t want to be safer, I want to be together, I want to be with you—I replace all those pathetic phrases with a lulling melody of zeroes, blanking out everything. I’m getting good at it; I’ve been practicing. “Ok,” I say. “Ok.”
“Andrei…” he trails off for there is nothing to say.
I snatch my bag from the floor. When I look up, Luka has turned from me. He’s heading towards his laptop. So be it.
My phone buzzes. It’s Anton. Come to the restroom.
1.85
A loud train rushing through the industrial district rattles the area as I near the restroom. The hollow metal door creaks open when I knock. It wasn’t latched. I push it wide open and Anton’s not inside. From the window, I can see the train, a blurry rush of colorful containers, darting from left to right like a flattened rainbow. The plywood tacked over the window is gone.
“Anton?” I call out. No response.
“Anton?” I try again, then look at my phone. He messaged me barely a minute ago. Something is wrong. I walk towards the window, and see the board on the ground outside. The hole is more than big enough for a person to squeeze through. What game is this? Is Anton outside? A chime cuts through the fading roar of the train. This time, it’s an email with an attachment from Luka. No title, only a link, as if it was sent in a hurry. What is going on?
Then, I hear shouting. Had Anton sneaked around me?
My neck starts tingling when I recognize a reedy voice. Boris. And this isn’t some dream. I feel my breath quickening. Oh, no. Oh, no.
But I need to know.
I creep out from the restroom and crouch behind a pile of boxes. Luka is in the clearing, sitting on the floor, his back against a pillar. And I see Milo placing a boot on Luka’s thigh. “I can shoot his knees, Boris. He can still type that way,” I hear him say, and a familiar detachment slides in to keep my dread at bay. I steady myself against the floor and the hard chill of the concrete soaks into my palms, up my spine, lending me strength. In the distance, I see the door wide open. Anton had been the last one in, and he didn’t lock it. Then, I remember his warning last night. I feel a stabbing sensation in my chest, before I realize it’s my heartbeat.
“Easy, Milo. Luka’s a sensible person.” I see Boris moving into view, dragging a few cardboard boxes into a makeshift seat. “Your pal didn’t ask for much to tell us where you’re hiding. Whatever did you do to him to make him hate you so?”
There is no mystery here. Anton betrayed us.
“No comeback?” Boris’ voice is gleeful. “Let me do the talking then. Here’s the revised deal—”
“My wife?” Luka cut him off. “Is she still alive?”
“Tchut, tchut. What is this seller’s remorse? It’s unseemly. You turned her in to save your own skin back then. Now you want her back? The F.S.B. is not a pawnshop. You should have known that. See, Milo, how people deceive themselves? The moment you turned her in, Luka, she was gone. Poof. I can’t resurrect her, but I do appreciate how she motivated you.”
Is it true? Did he betray his wife? I don’t want to believe it.
Luka says nothing to defend himself. Why is the truth always silent? Because the lies have chained them all and thrown them deep into the Moskva river. The truth is dead here. I realize that now.
“Here’s the new deaclass="underline" the program for you and the boy. As a show of good faith, Milo took care of your traitor. He came out to meet us just now. You should have seen his stupid face when Milo plugged him.” Boris tapped his forehead. “Never liked those half-breeds. Never know where they stand. How dare he betray my friend, eh? Let that be a lesson to all.”
“I suppose I should thank you then,” Luka says.
Part of me doesn’t believe what I’m hearing. This can’t be happening. Another part of me is thinking of possibilities, ways to help Luka. I know I can do it, because I have to—that’s the logic of desperation. I cast my eyes around for something, a plan, a tool. Keep talking, Luka, I scream with my heart, I need more time.
“No need. All I want is the virus. Hand over your laptop, or whatever you kept it in. Then, we can all go for a drink, and talk about the other jobs we have for you and your sidekick.”
“Then what? I’ll get my wife back the next time?” Luka laughs. “You want the program? It’s not on my laptop. As for Andrei, he’s gone. I sent him away. Far away.”
He’s telling me to run. Oh, Luka!
“Tchut, tchut, a sad lie, that. One, two, three. I count three cups here. Moscow’s my playground. I have friends everywhere. I’ll find him. Last chance, Luka.”
“If my Masha’s gone, why should I care for my life?”
Boris leans in. “Because you’re an animal. There’s several millennia of self-preservation programmed into your genes. Unlike that boy, you’re not the self-sacrificial type. I know you. We’re alike.”
“You know me, Boris, we’re similar, eh?” Luka laughs again. Every instinct screams at me to run—towards him, away from him, somewhere—but the resignation, that finality, in his laugh roots me. “If I’m a fool, then so are you.”
Time slows. Luka reaches inside his jacket; Boris seems to float in the air as he dives; Milo’s grin widens; I start running.
Someone fires just as I run inside the restroom, scrabbling through the window.
A gun fires again. Then, again.
I’m running. That’s all I can do, all I can think of. I need to run.
1.90
Breathless. Don’t run, walk. There’s a bus stop nearby. Nobody cares about people on the buses. As I walk, the towering whiteness of the Moscow Swissotel looms beside me. On top, a glass eye is balanced on claws, as if it could see all. Luka—is he dead?
He can’t be. Because he can’t be.
There were gunshots. Too many of them.
Tears roll down my cheek. Anton had betrayed us, yet he saved me with his text message. I fumble for my phone to see if there are more messages. The inbox icon throbs. Luka has sent me a link? What good did it do? How useless!
No, I’m the one who’s useless. I betrayed Luka too: I was the one who’d told Anton about Boris. Everything collapsed back to my mistake. I’m as damned as this city.
Be careful, Luka’s voice reminds me. Keep going, don’t stop.
Further out, a boat chugs down the Moskva river, sparks of camera flashes flaring along its deck. I imagine pressing a button: the boat sinks while the audience, high up in the hotel’s viewing gallery, laughs at the people drowning.
I catch the first bus I can. Onboard, there’s only one passenger, a blonde. I sit behind her. She’s on the phone and pays no heed to me.
Think, Andrei! Boris may look for me, but he doesn’t know where I live. I’m safe—for now.
Think, Andrei, think hard! What can I do?
I blanked out. In the window beside me, I see a helpless-looking boy pretending to be all grown up. Why did everything happen the way they did?
“Don’t blame me, it’s the traffic,” the woman speaks into her phone, and I dimly register what she says.