One of Frank’s voices entered his head — Andrei, one of Beria’s men from the park. This one is an opportunist. He will call to confirm your orders. Tread carefully.
“I am not sure you understand, Mikhail. I need your help. There are counterrevolutionary forces within the Party that wish to see the legacy of our beloved Stalin dismantled. There is talk of socialism’s failings — if there was ever such a thing! — and even a broadening of political discourse beyond the path shown us by Vladimir Ilych himself. So when I say I need your discretion, Comrade, I need to know that you will follow my orders to the letter over the next twelve hours. This is a critical point in my investigation and, I should note, a critical point in your career. Succeed, and you will be honored greatly for your contribution. But if word gets out and we fail, lives will be at risk. Possibly including both of ours. The enemies of the State cannot know we are about to score a decisive victory over them! Have I made myself clear?”
The chief nodded vigorously, his smile gone, replaced by the most serious — and worried — mien he could muster. “I understand, Comrade Colonel. What can I do to help you preserve our great Party and Motherland?”
“How many officers do you have in total?”
“Two dozen, Comrade Colonel.”
Frank smiled. “That will do, Mikhail Mikhailovich. I have your man up front bringing them all in. I have very precise instructions for them. I expect you to help me carry them out.”
“What will we be doing?” the chief finally asked. Took him long enough, Andrei noted.
“Stopping a train and capturing counterrevolutionaries,” Frank said simply. “And we cannot fail.”
Mikhail Mikhailovich Mikhailov nodded vigorously. “I swear to you, we will not, Comrade!”
Frank caught Katie giving the man a piteous look, and gave her a swift kick under the desk. She whipped her head around to glare at him, but quickly fell back into character, pulling out a sheaf of paper. “Comrade, we will need to gather the following materials in the next three hours, and do so without alerting anyone as to why. Can you make this happen?”
Mikhailov took the paper and scanned it, his eyebrows shooting upward several times. “This is… extensive.”
“We were told we could rely upon you,” Frank said, an edge to his voice.
The chief looked up and nodded again; Frank thought the man’s head would pop off at any moment. “It will be done, I promise you, Comrade!”
Ekaterina stood stock still, in a military at-ease, and watched as Frank and Mikhailov positioned the portable barrier across the train tracks, electric lights already blinking. She had to admit, the spot Mrs. Stevens had chosen was perfect — flat and lightly forested, with well over a mile of straight track and line of sight ahead. Even if the train didn’t have a working radio — always possible, given the Soviet Union’s notorious lack of efficiency — the train had plenty of time to stop before plowing into them. The dirt road that crossed the tracks there was well away from most everything else nearby — just a couple farms on either side, with farmhouses well away from the tracks themselves.
Of course, if it had been her on the train, she would’ve set a watch among the NKVD men there, ensuring that they’d have plenty of warning against such an ambush. But it wasn’t a bad gamble on Mrs. Stevens’s part, thinking they’d be caught off guard on such a common route, in the heart of the Soviet Union and barely twelve miles from central Moscow.
That said, she figured they’d have twelve minutes, at most, before someone would come rolling up. Grab the Variants, deal with the rest of the NKVD, get the local police moving and get the train moving again — all in twelve minutes.
To think that most American girls her age were just sitting around their phonographs at home, listening to Eddie Fisher or the Four Aces and scribbling unsent love letters to high school crushes. More and more, Ekaterina found herself wanting to join them, to embrace being Katie the American Teen-Ager. To go to high school, whatever that was. It seemed… nice.
All that said, she figured she’d last maybe a week before getting frustrated with all the simplistic, ineffectual nonsense involved and punching someone into a coma.
Danny warned her that theirs wasn’t meant to be a normal life, at least not yet and not any time soon. He was right, but there were times she mourned a life never to be lived.
Mikhailov rushed up to where she and Frank were standing, Handie-Talkie at the ready. “I have reached the conductor! The train will stop for us!”
Frank nodded. “Position your men. Remember, I want every paper checked. Every passenger. They could be hiding anywhere. Every single potential counterrevolutionary must be detained. Understand, Mikhail Mikhailovich?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel! It will be done!”
The chief rushed off and Frank turned to Ekaterina. “Twelve minutes, huh?”
She nodded. “Someone heard that radio call. They will look into it.”
Frank turned around and saw Tim Sorensen, now in an MGB uniform, by the truck he’d stolen from the local Red Army barracks. With a nod and a salute, Tim ducked into the back of the truck to shed his uniform and get to work.
The sound of screeching brakes and a growing bright light heralded the arrival of the train, slowly gaining volume and luminance as it ground to a halt. “Remember, Comrades!” Frank shouted. “Wait until I give the word to board the train! We do not want these traitors jumping out beforehand!”
The police — twenty-two in total, given the chief’s near-groveling request for someone to stay behind and man the phones, and another to patrol his town — took positions on either side of the tracks, pistols and war-vintage SKS carbines pointed toward the train.
With a gasp of steam and a final long, piercing grind, the train stopped just two feet away from the temporary barriers. Frank dashed forward, Ekaterina easily following, to come up beside the chief. “I have a man inside. He should be toward the back. My assistant will go to see him now. Have your men remain at their stations.”
The chief assented, and Ekaterina ran toward the back of the train as quickly as she could — which was pretty fast, considering her strength had her covering five or six yards at a stride once she was away from all the lights. She saw Danny clambering off the train, pinning a badge to his otherwise shabby suit.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Fifth car. Three of them,” Danny said. “Where’s Tim?”
The sound of footsteps came from behind them. “Dammit, Katie, I can’t run as fast as you!” Tim huffed from the darkness.
“Fifth car. You ready?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah. Just… yeah. Okay.”
Ekaterina turned to the direction of his voice. “Go!”
Sorensen’s footsteps retreated and, a moment later, the door leading to the back of the fifth train opened. Ekaterina and Danny watched closely and, a few seconds later, the car began to fill up with noxious smoke. There was suddenly a great deal of movement in the car, and some shouts, and the door in the back slammed shut. Sorensen appeared a second later out of thin air, coughing up a lung.
“Jesus, Tim,” Danny said, rushing over. “What happened?”
“Someone… some… someone bumped into me,” he said between outbursts. “Couldn’t… hold… breath.”
Before they could do anything more, the side of the train ahead of them erupted.
A huge gout of water at least thirty feet long burst out half the windows on their side of the train, spraying them with liquid and, more importantly, ventilating the car. A second later, gas began pouring from the now-broken windows, and the sounds of shouting and swearing were far more clear.