And then, without looking back, he launched himself up and he ran.
She was faster. She caught at the loose part of his shirt but he spun around and managed to pull free, sending her off-balance for a moment. He didn't stay to watch her recovery, but lit out at top speed for the only place of safety that he could think of; not the woods, where she'd move with ease, and not any of the buildings either.
He aimed for the generator shed, just a few yards away and around the corner.
The unmuted beat of the generator told him that the door would be open even before he could see it. He dived through and into the cage, slamming the cage door shut behind him and scrabbling for the key that he hoped to hell would still be in the lock. It was, but on the awkward side; he'd barely got it turned and out when Alina flew through the door and, without even attempting to stop, hit the bars hard. Her arm shot forward like a piston, grabbing for Aldridge as he dodged back.
She caught him, but only just. She missed his throat and took a pinch of the flesh under his chin; even then she might have been able to draw him closer, but the sweat of fear and exertion had made him slippery and difficult to hold. She held him for a second, but then he fell back against the thumping generator and left her clutching the air.
He was on fire. He felt as if he'd been nipped by red hot pincers, titanium crabs' claws with a brutal strength behind them. Alina slowly withdrew her arm, and held the bars with both hands.
She was smiling again.
She said, raising her voice to make herself heard, "I know someone whose wife loves him more than anything, but he's no longer sure that he loves her back. She lost his baby and he tries not to blame her, but he does. Isn't guilt a strange thing, Mister Aldridge?"
It almost worked; he was only a heartbeat away from throwing himself against the bars to reach her. If he did, it would be over. It took everything that he had to resist her. The cage wasn't big, but it was big enough; and as long as he stayed in the middle, he'd be safe.
"I could wait for you to come out," she said.
"Don't stay around on my account."
But she inclined her head slightly, as if conceding a point. "There's too much to be done," she said. "I suppose I'll have to find you later." And then, with her smile still in place, she moved to leave. The shutters had been restored.
"Give it up," he called after her. "You're finished."
She looked back at him.
"You mean, my secret's out?" she said. "You won't live that long."
He couldn't believe that it was going to be so easy; and he was right. She was busy outside for a time. Then he heard her on the roof. She was pouring something around and suddenly the hut was filled with the stink of petrol. It was the spare can from the back of his own car, at a guess. Quietly, alert to her every move, he turned the key in the cage lock and let the door swing open; and when he knew for sure that she was climbing down on the opposite side, he eased open the door of the hut itself and made a silent dash for cover.
A while after that, he heard the Renault leaving. Parts of the hut were already in flames by then.
Had he still been in the cage when the generator's tanks went up, he'd have been barbecue meat.
"Oh, Jesus," Pete said. "Oh, God Almighty."
"I know," Diane said. "I know."
"How can you really be sure it was the man who followed you?"
"You know I can't, he was too burned-up. But I know it was his car because of the pictures in the dust…"
"Pictures in the dust? Come on."
"…and because I got more than half of his number as he went by me after I'd stopped on the road. Same car, same man, Pete. He says that Alina's dangerous and the question we've got to face now is, do we believe him and what do we do about it?"
"I don't know," Pete said.
By the Toyota's interior light, he looked again at the cuttings that Diane had handed to him. They were out by the lake, having pulled off the road onto an unmade strip of soft shoulder that overlooked the water. It was a pleasant spot with a view, but at best there was space for no more than half a dozen cars. No one ever stopped here for long, and most went by and never stopped here at all. Some people had pulled in ahead of them, and had walked the few yards down to the shore with a big golden dog that was now splashing around after a ball. The long shadows of the mountains lay across the water, deepening by the minute.
On top of all the accident and incident reports that were in the familiar layout of the area's local newspaper, there were three or four sheets of facsimile paper with the header line of a London based cuttings library. Two of the faxed items were marked as coming from the Herald Tribune. The others were from something that he'd once heard of but had never before seen, the English language edition of Pravda.
Diane said, "Petrovna? Peterson? That's got to be her, hasn't it?"
And Pete nodded.
Diane went on, "I had to pay money to get all this, but it was worth it. She's mentioned by name in the index of some archive, as well. We could probably get a copy, but it's somewhere in Munich."
"Radio Liberty," Pete said absently, leafing through some of the other cuttings without actually reading any.
"She told you?"
"I think she mentioned it one time."
"She talked about all that to you? About being Russian and being in hospital, and everything? Then you know it's all true."
He closed the book. "I know that the first part is true. The first part. But she never told me she'd killed anybody."
"Oh, sure. She wouldn't want to hold back on something like that, would she? I mean, if it was me, I'd work it into the conversation every chance I got."
Pete said quietly, not meeting her eyes, "You can stop trying to sell this to me. You don't have to."
He was thinking; It's like there's two of me. One who knows what she wants, and the other who tells her what she can have.
He was thinking; Rusalka, you'd say heartbreaker. I have it on the best authority.
He was thinking of how the woodland seemed to know, falling silent when she stepped out; here walks madness, let it pass.
And even now in his heart he could sense the lure of the Rusalka, her siren call to the hungry and the incomplete.
"I can believe it," he said. "I think I just… I just don't want it to be."
There was silence in the cab for a while. On the banking below them, the big golden dog emerged from the water and shook off a spray like a hail of diamonds.
Diane said, "What do you want to do?"
"I think we ought to talk to her," Pete said.
THIRTY-NINE
He watched the fire for a while. It was spreading to the main building now, running in tongues along the gutters. There was a big fire hose on a standpipe across the yard, but on its own it could be of little use. Sparks were lifting and floating toward the trees, dying like fireflies before the journey was completed; it would only need one to reach the tinder of the undergrowth, and he'd have the beginnings of a major woodland blaze on his hands.
But right at this moment, that was the least of his concerns.
The sight of destruction was almost hypnotic, but Aldridge tore himself away and made for his car. The keys were gone and his radio, as she'd promised, had been taken out, stamped upon, and neatly put back into its place. He had no less than three personal radios that were intended for issue to volunteer Special Constables and which could be clipped to a lapel or carried in a pocket, but all of these were at the house on their plug in charger.
He looked around. On foot, it would take him anything up to an hour to make it to the lights of home. He had to get a message through somehow. He wondered if there was a working phone in the ski centre itself.