“I mean to tell you, Colonel Hollis, that unescorted night driving in the countryside is not permitted for foreigners. Diplomats included.”
“Then get us an escort.”
“Secondly,” Burov continued, “when your car arrived, I noticed that neither your taillights nor your brake lights were working. You must see to that in the morning. Unfortunately there is no service station in Mozhaisk, nor a hotel. However, there is a sovkhoz—a state farm — two kilometers from here. They will find you rooms in the commune building. There is also a mechanic there. I will write you a note, and they will be pleased to give you accommodations.”
Hollis glanced at Lisa, then said to Burov, “I don’t see that we have any choice. But I require a truck and driver here at eight in the morning.”
Burov laughed. “This is not America, and I am not an American boss, only a colonel in State Security. Expect the driver between nine and ten.” He gathered the paperwork into his attaché case, then made a notation on their travel passes. “This is valid now until noon tomorrow and also will give you entry to the state farm. See that you’re within the Moscow city limits by noon.” Burov indicated the way out.
Hollis said, “I want to call my embassy.”
“I don’t think there’s a phone here. Follow me, please.”
Burov snapped off the light in the cubicle and led them through the dark morgue.
They stood outside on the front steps of the morgue, and Burov gave them directions to the farm. Burov added, “There will be a large wooden sign over the entrance to the farm road that will read ‘Forty Years of October; Grain and Livestock Enterprise.’ You read Russian of course.”
Hollis supposed the name had something to do with the Great October Revolution, but there were only so many constructions you could make out of the words Red, October, Revolution, and Great before you had to start stretching it a bit. Hollis said, “The Red Livestock… what?”
Lisa suppressed a laugh.
Burov said curtly, “The October — no, the Forty Years of October—”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“How do I know?” snapped Burov. “The farm was probably founded on the fortieth anniversary of the October Revolution.” He glared at Hollis. “You damned people are so superior, aren’t you? So smug and so glib. Well, one day we’ll see who…” Burov seemed to realize he had let himself be baited and recovered his composure. “Well, I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding it. An old couple sleeps in the administration building. Knock loudly.”
Lisa said, “Where can we find a telephone?”
“On the state farm. And showers, so you can get that resin off you.” Burov touched his finger to a sticky smudge on her hand.
Lisa jerked her hand away.
Burov walked to the Zhiguli and looked at the license plate. “A rental car?”
“There were no embassy cars available.”
“Even so, Colonel Hollis, it is not legal for you to drive this car.”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Colonel. Do you know what that means?”
Burov walked around the car. “This car has been driven roughly… mud, pine twigs…” He pulled a cluster of pine needles from the chrome and twirled it in his fingers. “And the doors and fenders are newly dented. They will charge you for that. Where did you rent this?”
“My staff rented it for me.”
“May I see the rental papers?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Hollis opened the driver’s-side door. “Good evening, Colonel Burov.”
Lisa opened her door and got in the car, but Burov put his hand on the door so she couldn’t close it. He said, “There are three main sights around Mozhaisk — Saint Nicholas’ Cathedral, Luzhetsky monastery ruins, and Borodino. You may have time to drive by all three, if you are early risers. Borodino is especially interesting to Westerners because of War and Peace.”
Hollis replied, “I have no interest in battlefields.”
“No? It’s a passion with us, I’m afraid. Too much war in this land. We keep having to teach people lessons.”
Hollis observed undiplomatically, “I don’t think either side learned anything at Borodino.”
Burov looked at him quizzically. “You must reread your history. It was a great Russian victory.”
Hollis studied the man across the roof of the car. Hollis believed that the one fatal flaw in the Soviet system was not economic, political, or military, but informational. Soviet facts had replaced truth and reality. Hollis said to Burov, “If you have nothing further, please close Ms. Rhodes’ door.”
Burov moved away from the car without closing the door, and Lisa pulled it shut, locking it.
Burov stood on the sidewalk and called out to Hollis, “Don’t get lost. And be careful on the highway. We don’t have room for two more bodies in the freezer.”
Hollis said, “Go fuck yourself, Colonel.”
“And yourself as well, Colonel.”
Then, as they both understood the rules of the game, they saluted simultaneously and bade each other good-evening.
11
As Hollis drove away from the morgue, he saw a black Chaika in his rearview mirror. He drove slowly through the dark, quiet streets of Mozhaisk, and the Chaika stayed with him.
Lisa said, “Colonel Burov was a nasty son of a bitch.”
“He must have had a fight with his wife this morning.”
“Did he know about our side trip to Borodino or not?”
“He made the correct deduction. Soon, however, when they find the two Border Guards, he will have no doubt.”
“Will he try to kill us for that?”
Hollis considered a moment before replying, “No, not for that. Burov understands that.”
“But for what we saw.”
“Perhaps,” Hollis replied. “Anyway, I told you in Moscow, these people are unpredictable. Our best defense is to be as unpredictable.”
“Meaning we shouldn’t go to the state farm.”
“Precisely.”
“Can we get back to Moscow?”
“Not a chance.” Hollis glanced in his rearview mirror again. “We have company, as we say.”
Lisa nodded. “Then let’s go someplace where we can be alone.”
Hollis smiled. He entered the center of town, a collection of two-story wood and stucco buildings around a traffic circle. There was streetlighting but not much other evidence that the town was inhabited. The main street of Mozhaisk was the old Minsk — Moscow road, and Hollis headed west on it toward the state farm. The Chaika followed. Hollis wondered if it was Boris and Igor in the car.
The road curved away from the Moskva River, and soon they found themselves traveling a very dark stretch of bad pavement, utterly alone on the vast Russian plain. Hollis could not see a single light from a dwelling, only the headlights of the Chaika in his mirror.
“What’s faster,” Lisa asked, “a Chaika or a Zhiguli?”
“Don’t ask.”
“You don’t have any more guns on you, do you?”
“No.”
“They could kill us pretty easily out here.”
“Not that easily.”
“Maybe they just want to see that we get to the state farm.”
“Probably.” Hollis, in fact, couldn’t determine what they were up to. He was sorry he’d thrown away the pistol, but in the Soviet Union he was a criminal, and criminals ditched the evidence. And in truth, if the people in the Chaika pulled him over and found the Tokarev pistol, the least they would do is charge him with murder, diplomatic immunity notwithstanding. More likely they’d kill him. On the other hand, if he had the Tokarev, he could eliminate the men in the Chaika.