Lisa took the girl’s arm. “Perhaps the other children can talk to Anatoly.”
The girl shook her head. “Anatoly speaks to no one and listens to no one. No one in Yablonya.”
Hollis said to Lidiya, “Is Pavel Fedorovich the head man here?”
“They don’t let us have a head man. But yes, it is Pavel Fedorovich.”
“Then tell him what you told us. And be certain Anatoly does not leave this village today.”
She nodded.
Lisa said, “Thank you. I’m sorry we couldn’t speak longer.”
Lidiya said, “I want to know more about America.”
Lisa hesitated, then took her card from her bag and gave it to Lidiya. “If you should ever get to Moscow, with your school or on holiday, call that number. From a phone booth only, and only give your first name. Ask for me. Lisa Rhodes.”
Lidiya stared at the card with the Great Seal on it and pronounced, “Lee-za Rhodes.”
Lisa gave the girl a kiss on the cheek.
Lidiya stepped back, looked from Lisa to Hollis, then turned and ran off.
Hollis said, “I shouldn’t have left that magazine here, and you shouldn’t have given her that card.”
Lisa replied, “You told me not so long ago that you can’t let them dictate how you are going to live. They create fear and suspicion, and it comes between people.”
Hollis nodded. “Let’s go.” They got into the car, and Hollis started the engine. He let it warm up while the defroster ran.
Lisa said, “I left ten rubles in the bedroom.”
“For me?”
She laughed. “You get hard currency. Very hard.”
Hollis smiled. “I gave Pavel a tenner. So, do you think we can get away with just dinner, or do we have to have them for the weekend?”
“I think they were nice.”
“He beats his wife.” Hollis tried to put the car into gear, but the linkage was stuck again. “A nuclear power. I don’t get it.” He played with the clutch and stick shift, finally forcing it into second gear. “Okay.”
Hollis pulled out onto the dirt road and turned in the opposite direction from which they had come.
“Are we going to find that telephone?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t chance that.”
“Where are we going? Mozhaisk is the other way.”
“We are not going to Mozhaisk. We’re going to Gagarin.” Hollis honked his horn and waved to Pavel, Ida, Mikhail, Zina, and the others who were waving from their front gardens. “Yablonya,” he said. “This place will sit on my mind for some time.”
“Mine too.”
Hollis passed the last izba in the village and sped up. The Zhiguli bounced badly on the rutted and frozen mud. “Chornaya gryazi,” Hollis said. “The black mud. This stuff will turn to pudding when the sun warms it. The panzers used to sink up to their turrets.”
“Why Gagarin?”
“Well, there are people between Mozhaisk and Moscow who are looking for Major Dodson and maybe for us. So we’re heading west to Gagarin, where I hope there’s not an all points out for stray Americans. We’ll ditch the car, then take the train to Moscow. Okay?”
“What are my choices?”
“You can ride in the backseat. Left or right side.”
Lisa lit a cigarette. “You’re a pretty smart guy.”
“Foreign travel is educational. And we’ll see how smart I am. Could you crack the window?”
Lisa rolled down the window. “Can we stop for a pack of cigarettes?”
“Next Seven-Eleven you see.”
“Thanks.”
Hollis headed west along the straight dirt road. He couldn’t imagine that the Soviet state did not have the wherewithal to pave or even gravel back roads. Perhaps, he thought, it was just another subtle means of keeping the peasants where they belonged and making their miserable lives more miserable. He knew he had to get the Zhiguli onto blacktop before the mud thawed.
“Do you know the way?” Lisa asked.
“It’s about fifty K west of here on the old Minsk — Moscow road. And yes, I’m afraid this is—”
“Another fucking itinerary violation.”
“What happened to that sweet girl who was so obsequious toward me?”
She laughed. “I was awed by you. That’s how you talked me into bed.”
Hollis thought it best to leave that one alone. He said, “I need a shower.”
“You sure do.”
Hollis pushed the Zhiguli hard. It was a few minutes past eight, and he could see water in the ruts now instead of ice. He figured they had about fifteen minutes left on this road before it swallowed the Zhiguli.
Lisa said, “Do you think those people in Yablonya will be all right?”
“Well, if they don’t report their contact with foreigners, and the authorities find out on their own, or if the little Komsomol shit tells them, it will be bad. In the intelligence business we talk about the average Ivan’s attitudinal loyalty to the state. Some say he’s got it, others don’t think so. In America, if Joe Smith had a Russian knocking on his door asking to be put up on the sly, Joe would be on the horn to the FBI in a flash. Joe does that because he thinks it’s right, not because he thinks the FBI will torture him if he doesn’t. Ivan, on the other hand, is about half patriotic and half terrorized. That’s my professional analysis. Personally I think Yablonya is fucked.”
Lisa stayed silent for some time, then said, “I should have realized the trouble they’d be in… it just seemed like a solution to our problem.”
“Don’t worry about it. I just hope the KGB doesn’t go snooping around there this morning. We need a few hours’ head start.” Hollis could feel the road getting soft and heard mud splashing against the wheel wells. The muffler was thumping. Ahead he saw a horse-drawn potato wagon plodding along the narrow road. “Damn it.” He knew he couldn’t slow down behind the wagon without getting mired in the muck. “Hold on.” Hollis came up behind the wagon, angled the car to the left, and cut back so that the Zhiguli’s right side was inches from the horse and wagon while its left wheels were off the road into the drainage ditch. The car started to flip over, then settled down and flopped back onto the road in front of the horse, who got splattered with mud and reared up. The car fishtailed in the mud but kept its traction.
Lisa took a deep breath. “Wow.”
Within five minutes they came to an intersecting road of gravel, and Hollis cut north on it. He nudged the Zhiguli up to fifty kph and listened to the muffler working itself loose.
Lisa asked, “Do you want a pear?”
“Sure.”
She got a pear from the bag and wiped it on her sleeve before she handed it to him.
Hollis saw the main utility poles of the old Minsk — Moscow road ahead. He bit into the pear. “Good grusha.” He turned onto the paved road and headed west. “About twenty minutes to Gagarin.” Hollis saw no traffic on the road in either direction. He pressed on the accelerator and got the Zhiguli up to ninety kph. The engine whined, and the transmission whined back, but the car held steady. The muffler had quieted down on the level surface.
Hollis saw a black car in his rearview mirror. The car was gaining on him fast and had to be doing over a hundred kph. As the car drew closer he recognized the grillwork of a Chaika. He looked at his dashboard and saw that his tachometer was already in the red line. “Don’t look now, but…”
She turned her head. “Oh, shit! Is that them?”
“Don’t know.”
“What can we do?”
“Bluff and bluster. Tell them we’ve already called our embassy and so on. If I think it’s necessary and if I get a chance, I’ll try to kill them.” He slid his knife out of his boot and slipped it inside his leather coat.