‘Who?’
‘The guy in the Politburo line-up they’ve been beaming non-stop today. I have no idea who is.’
That would make sense. Maybe Misha had witnessed something when he woke, recognised one of the men in the photo. But what was so important about these two men, these photos?
Alina materialised in the doorway.
‘Vika, there’s a man upstairs, says he needs to see you urgently. He has a message from Yuri.’
Chapter 58
Viktoriya threw clothes into an overnight bag, opening and closing drawers seemingly at random. When she had what she wanted, she carried the bag out into the living room and handed it to Rodion before returning to her bedroom and stripping off and passing her clothes to Alina, who had already taken off Vladek’s coat and balaclava. Sliding back the wardrobe door, she pulled out a red G-string from the underwear drawer and flicked through the rail until she found the matching red corset. She held it up to the mirror. It would do fine. She stepped into the G-string and stood still for Alina as she buttoned the corset up from the back. She looked at herself again in the mirror.
‘I need a belt,’ she said, almost to herself. She rummaged through a chest of drawers and pulled out a narrow red patent leather belt and buckled it tight.
Viktoriya stepped into the bathroom and unzipped her make-up kit. It took a few seconds to find the foundation she was looking for – one a good shade darker than her everyday one. Pinning back her hair, she shook the small glass bottle before dabbing on its light creamy liquid with her finger and smoothing it with a brush. She used a dark blusher to accentuate her strong cheekbones and a bronze mascara for her eyebrows and lashes. She stepped back and looked at herself in the mirror before applying a dark smokey eye shadow and a contrasting bright red lipstick. Perfect. Finally, she combed her hair along a different parting.
‘What do you think?’ Viktoriya asked Alina as she slipped her feet into a pair of red stilettos.
‘I hardly recognise you,’ she said, helping her on with a short black satin wrap. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
Viktoriya nodded. She looked out of the window to the wide pavement below. Four cars lay tucked in against the kerb, ready to take her back to Morskaya. A block down, another car – she could only assume it was one of Kostya’s, keeping a lookout. Her small motorcade had surprised them, when the gate on Morskaya had been flung open for the first time since Misha’s dramatic return. Men had rushed about in confusion. She had recognised several as Kostya’s. Ivan, in the lead car, had given them just enough time to see that Misha was not with them.
Viktoriya turned back to Alina.
‘Has Vladimir arrived?’
Alina nodded. ‘He’s in the living room.’
Vladimir had come separately by foot, hopefully unnoticed by Kostya’s men.
Viktoriya donned her long overcoat, walked into the living room, picked up the phone and dialled her mother. She imagined the ringtone echoing in the communal hallway and prayed her mother was in. Come on, someone, pick up the phone.
‘Hello,’ said a familiar voice. It was her mother’s neighbour.
‘Elsa, how are you? Is my mother there?’
Viktoriya heard footsteps and banging on a door and then her mother’s voice. She hoped whoever was bugging her phone was listening.
‘Mother,’ Viktoriya said when she answered the phone, ‘I can’t talk long.’
‘Where are you? I’ve been worried about you? This new government, will that affect you?’ She rushed out her questions without taking breath.
‘Everything will be fine, Mother. I’m not staying at the apartment at the moment. Misha is not well.’ She did not wish to elaborate and send her mother into panic. ‘I am staying over with him at Morskaya for a night or two; I’m just headed back there now. I’ll call you in the next day or so… and, mother, you must come and live in Leningrad.’
When she put down the phone she found herself staring at the floor trying to get a hold on her emotions. So much had happened. Hearing her mother’s voice had brought her close to tears, unsettled her. Half of her even doubted she might see her again. Would anything ever be the same now? At that instant she would have given almost anything for her mother’s warm reassuring hug.
When she looked up, three pairs of eyes met hers across the room.
Viktoriya forced a smile, picked up the hat she had arrived wearing from the sofa and plumped it down on Alina’s head, putting a finger to her lips as a reminder.
‘Right, I think I’m ready to go back now, Rodion.’ She locked the apartment door behind her, took the overnight bag off Rodion, and watched him and her new double and Vladimir take the lift to the car. Three in three out; she hoped they were counting.
Five minutes later, Viktoriya caught the elevator to the first floor and walked the last flight to the basement and service exit at the rear of the building. The cold wind hit her as she walked up past bins and rubbish piled high to the main prospect. Cars sped by. A taxi hove into view. She stepped forward and flagged it down.
‘The corner of Liteyny and Kirochnaya.’
Viktoriya threw her bag into the back seat and slid in beside it. Ten minutes, she thought, and there would be no turning back. She reached into her bag and found the handle of the Markov and ran her finger along the silencer.
Snow had begun to fall lightly again. Staring out the window at passers-by, Viktoriya felt detached from the real world, out of synch with the everyday. The taxi stopped. She paid him and climbed out onto a virtually empty street. Two blocks up, she saw the entrance to Pravdy. Two armed men stood outside. One of them stepped out of the pool of light by the door and walked over to a car parked in front. There was loud laughter. He banged on the car roof and ambled back to his post. Viktoriya shivered.
Cutting around to a side street, she hiked two streets over before winding her way back to a narrow passageway that ran at the back of the club. She paused at its entrance. A door opened. Light flooded momentarily onto the street before evaporating. A girl in jeans and a heavy parka jacket with an overlarge fur collar trudged past her. Viktoriya flipped up her hood, slung her bag over her shoulder, walked up to the door and knocked. The door opened. A guard she did not recognise looked down at her with disinterest.
‘I’m new,’ she said, before he had a chance to say anything. ‘I know where the dressing room is, Anna showed me yesterday.’ Maybe it was because she had named one of the dancers that swayed him, her confidence or his complacency, but he nodded her through. The corridor was as she remembered: a black tunnel, low ceilinged, one person wide, lit only by small, dim sodium overhead lights that gave off an eerie orange glow. A girl approached from the other direction, on her way out; they both turned slightly and, without pausing, squeezed by each other.
Just before the dressing room and the stairs to the basement and Kostya’s office, Viktoriya stopped outside the women’s toilet, a cramped single cubicle. Thankfully, it was empty. She stepped inside and locked the door. Extracting the automatic from her bag, she stashed it firmly under her belt in the small of her back. Twice she drew and replaced it, making sure it didn’t catch. Satisfied, she stuffed her coat in the duffel bag and crammed it into the small fitted cupboard under the sink.
A loud, sudden knock on the door made her jump.
‘Hurry up, I have to be on in five minutes,’ said a girl’s voice.
Taking one final look at herself, she pulled the short black silk dressing gown around her, sufficient to obscure the gun, and opened the door. A girl she recognised but couldn’t name looked at her.