Morgan Stone - The Russian Factor

But Anna stuck to her guns, “Don’t leave me. I need your help now. It all will return to normal after I see her off. We will escape. I will be useful. I will identify people. I promise you, Jess. Do not leave me in the middle of this. I want to go with you and I can not go back to Russia, not now. But please understand, she is my mother and I need to talk to her. Who knows what they are doing to her.”

“Nobody does anything to her . The reason she’s so chummy is because she’s likely under some pretty significant pressure to stop the damage, tie up loose ends — like you , for instance.” I let go of the door knob and dropped my pack. “Vladimir will have a gun to her head to shut you up, especially now that he knows I’m on his trail. If that judge you interrupted the deal with this afternoon knows about the surveillance, Vladimir himself will be under an even bigger gun to make the problem go away.”

“Oh god, my head is bursting from all of this! I understand nothing anymore. I don’t want to know about all this. I don’t want to see any guns. I just want to help my mother and I want to start a new life.”

“You don’t have a choice. It’s happening and you’re in it — now. You can’t switch it off, you have to deal with it, we both do. We’re in serious danger here. By that, I mean we can die, Anna! Stone cold dead, and you are telling me you want to see your mother. Can you really have no idea what kind of people we are dealing with? Vladimir and his goons will kill anyone he even thinks is in his way, you, me, your mother.”

Canisters of exposed film came to mind. I stopped talking. They would definitely kill for the film I’d taped to the back of the cupboard before leaving. They would kill for the documents and photos in my duffel bag, for that matter, but those were copies. The originals were already in the wrong hands as far as the syndicate was concerned. But that film, actual tamper-proof film… that was the evidence that could salvage the mission, maybe I could bargain for our lives with it, maybe I could barter it for protection and a way out. It was the only thing I had left that could make a difference.

Anna was going on about her mother and how nothing would go wrong. I’d stopped listening, turned inward and started to formulate a plan to get the film and get us out.

Anna was hell bent on seeing her mother. It was a trap for sure, but she just didn’t get it. “This is my mother. I know her, she only wants the best for me. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Afraid of what? That my mother will see that I am happy, making my own decisions, living my own life?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well… yes! I don’t think your happiness is her primary concern. She wasn’t exactly happy to see you at the Prokuratura. Can’t we just get out of here and call her from, say… Minsk?”

“Nyet! The Prokuratura wasn’t her fault. She was forced into that. She is innocent. I know her. When she sees us and knows I am okay she will even help us. Maybe she needs our help. Would you deny my own mother that?”

I tried to convince myself I could handle whatever came up, but the reality was, I had no idea what I was doing. My common sense screamed at me, “This is wrong!” but the irrational part of me wasn’t going to abandon Anna. I counted on channeling my inner Gavin to pull her ass out of whatever fire she was about to get it into. That’s how, knowing it was crazy, and wanting with every fiber of my being to get out, I agreed to go along.

We were up and out of the hotel before first light. I was antsy to get going and feeling really exposed by my idiotic credit card blunder. At a barely open cafe, I inhaled coffee and punched the first speed dial on the phone Galina had given me. I wasn’t expecting anything, so Luda’s “hello” caught me off guard.

She still didn’t know what had happened the day before. I filled her in and set up a meeting to pass on the documents. My thinking was, if Luda didn’t know the operation was wiped out, neither did our various employers. I might still have support or, at least, options.

Using my Canadian cell phone as a modem, I sent an encrypted email to my contact, good-ol’ Roger. I pointed out that although the operation had ended abruptly, I had the photos, reams of data, and Anna’s promise to act as a witness if I could get her out. I was grabbing at straws and desperate.

When we met, Luda was dressed to the nines and completely cool. In the meantime she’d made contact with her and Galina’s employer and told me, rather curtly, “The investigation is now closed and they want their phone back.” I handed over the little Motorola and watched her try to snap the SIM card in her teeth.

“Allow me.” I said, guillotining the card with my Swiss army knife and handing back the pieces. “Can I call you?”

“Not a good idea, but if it is an emergency, maybe.” On a sheet of paper from the documents bag, she scrawled a number using an eyebrow pencil. “Only in an emergency, okay? You should go home. It is very dangerous in Kiev.”

“Funny, I’ve got that feeling too.” I mumbled.

Anna was convinced she could trust her mother while proving that I was plain paranoid. Reminding her she had to effect an elaborate escape to visit Kiev didn’t undermine her conviction that beneath it all, her mother loved her and wished her only the best. I, on the other hand, was hoping The Skater’s biological programming was stronger than her desire for power.

The subway train slowed at Vokzalnaya — the train station, our stop. It was half past ten, darker outside in swirling snow than it had been in the subway, and we were half an hour late. Around the subway entrance small gangs of protesters halfheartedly waved Soviet banners, hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to save their extremities from frostbite.

Kiev Central, like all Soviet train stations, is a massive industrial complex consisting of miles and miles of switching yards, maintenance sheds, factories, power plants, and freight handling complexes. Soviets didn’t really travel much, but more than a dozen tracks and platforms had been wrested from the steel strafed landscape and tasked for human cargo. Then a huge cement, barn-like structure had been erected as a passenger terminal. Over the years a myriad of incongruous additions sprouted from the bunker like terminal, giving the whole place a dystopian, post apocalyptic ambiance I wouldn’t describe as inviting . It was labeled, in green letters over the barn door entrance, Tsentralnaya — Central .

We set out for the doors under those green letters, our hoods and collars pulled up against the biting wind. It would have made sense that during a blizzard, a meeting would take place indoors. In the station itself, perhaps? Not so for The Skater.

Anna skidded to a stop halfway to the passenger terminal. “Eta Mama!”

I squinted through the snow at a lone woman on one of the passenger platforms. She was waving her outstretched arms like a lost climber signaling for help. Although she was well insulated, had The Skater been standing out in that deep cold since ten, she must have been freezing.

Anna grabbed my hand and headed for the signaling woman. She stopped short. “What is she doing? We can’t get to her without crossing the tracks.” The Skater hadn’t moved. She was still separated from us by several tracks and platforms.

“Yeah, this is nuts. There’s no train for miles and she’s standing out there like a Yeti, enjoying the cold and snow.” I nudged Anna toward the terminal. “She can meet us inside where it’s not snowing and there’s people.”