Erika Holzer - Freedom Bridge

“Okay.”

“Shall I call the newsmen in, Dr. Brenner?” Aleksei asked.

“How about a simultaneous transition? You open the doors for the press while I move my wife outside to that bench near the bank of elevators. She avoids pandemonium, you avoid distraction.”

“Tit for tat. How American! Fine by me,” Aleksei said with a shrug.

As Adrienne Brenner was escorted out, Aleksei waved the press in, cautioning Brenner to hold off while the lights and television cameras got ready to swing into action. That done, he signaled Brenner to mount the platform.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the distinguished-looking white-haired gentleman, microphone in hand, “I think I have spoiled your dinner, or at least delayed it unconscionably, for which I deeply apologize. In that spirit, my announcement will be brief.”

A good beginning, Aleksei mused.

“I have kept you waiting because I was in the throes of a difficult decision,” he continued.

And paused to take a deep, almost labored, breath. “To better serve the humanitarian goals to which my professional life has been devoted, I have decided to practice medicine in the Soviet Union. For how long,” he added quickly, “I am not yet certain. I’m sure you realize that a decision to defect, even for an indeterminate period of time, is not something one makes between cocktails and dinner.”

Aleksei positively beamed.

“Suffice to say, my decision is the culmination of a great deal of soul-searching.”

He stepped off the platform, fought his way onto the main floor of the banquet room, and was swept along by a frenetic tide of people. At least the tide was moving inexorably toward the exit.

Poor Adrienne was being engulfed by a rush of eager faces and unintelligible questions. Just before he got to her, a reporter flashed his press credentials in her face, and asked if she planned to join her husband in Moscow.

“No comment,” she said, her expression dazed. “Please, I have nothing to say.”

Seizing her arm, he propelled her to the bank of elevators—and got lucky. An elevator door slid open and the car was empty. He pressed a button and down they went.

Not so lucky . The elevator had slowed instead of going all the way down. Could they possibly be stopping on the same floor that housed what had euphemistically become known as “the Brenner Suite”?

Galya leaned against the elevator car, disheveled and in obvious distress.

I must say goodbye to Adrienne Brenner before it’s too late!

The inner command had broken through her lethargy after she’d learned of the Brenners’ imminent departure for Zurich. From her room on the same floor, she had managed to navigate the corridor, hoping against hope that they hadn’t finished packing yet. If they had, maybe she could still catch them before they left the hotel.

She pressed the down button. The elevator hissed to a stop. The door opened.

A woman was inside, a man behind her, but Galya saw only Adrienne Brenner. Turning to her, she impulsively took hold of Adrienne’s hands.

“You will please to forgive,” she murmured. “I have answered your so wonderful kindness with insults. I am so ashamed.”

Adrienne’s eyes welled up. She pulled Galya into her arms, the two of them swaying slightly.

She half-turned as she heard the man’s voice.

“My wife and I will never forget your many kindnesses, Galina Barkova, when you and Kiril Andreyev were our tour guides.”

Galya froze at the sound of his words, his voice…

She looked into Kiril’s face, then the white hair—

Dear god in heaven, don’t let me give him away! If Adrienne Brenner doesn’t seem to recognize it’s Kiril and not her husband, then neither does Colonel Andreyev …

“Whatever you do, wherever you go, Dr. Brenner ,” she said softly, forcing the words past a barrier of pain because she knew she would never see him again, “may it be with good luck and good fortune.”

“You’re very kind.” Kiril reached for her hand and gently pulled her close—close enough to whisper against her forehead, “Goodbye, Galya dear. I will never forget you.”

Galya was on the bed in her room when a voice cut into her thoughts.

“I think your services will soon be needed elsewhere, Galina Barkova.”

Colonel Andreyev stood in her doorway.

“My brother is unconscious in the Brenner suite. I’ll let him fill you in on the embarrassing details when he wakes up.”

She stood up. “I’ll go at once. What happened to him?”

“Can’t you forget about your lover for two seconds?” he snapped. “This is a time for celebration.”

One look at his bloodshot eyes and Galya realized that the Colonel had been celebrating to excess.

“Dr. Kurt Brenner has defected,” he said smugly. “He just went public at a press conference. He’s coming over to us as soon as he deposits his annoying wife in Zurich.”

“Congratulations, Colonel!”

Her enthusiasm was forced. Her smile was not.

And when this intelligence “coup” blows up in your face, may your superiors take it out on your hide.

Minutes later, Galya was bending over the inert figure on the couch in the Brenner suite.

Bravo, Kiril! You seem to have thought of everything, even down to the redness in Dr. Brenner’s left eye .

She opened Brenner’s shirt. Sure enough, she found the thin scar she had lightly followed with her fingertip on the beach. As she rebuttoned the shirt, her hand shook a little as she realized it was Kiril’s shirt.

Get on with it.

Straightening the tie, she raised Brenner’s head and pressed both eyelids open. The pupils had shrunk to the size of pinpricks. She wondered what drug Kiril had used. Wondered how long it would last.

As she passed by the bedroom she glanced at the open closet door. She saw a few garments inside.

She saw a patch of beige.

A lovely gown the color of rich cream…

So you’ve left me a gift, after all, Adrienne Brenner. What an odd trick of fate that I no longer want it.

On the way back to her own room, she stopped outside Kiril’s. The door was unlocked. The sight of the cheap suitcase, lying empty on his bed, was hard to bear.

Worse was a closet, because it wasn’t empty. She touched the things he had left behind. A robe. A few shirts and a pair of shoes. The new gray trousers they had picked out together on the day before they had left Moscow for East Berlin.

At least I’ve been spared the hardest thing of all. He never knew what I did. What I became.

She took a last lingering look in case something incriminating had been left behind. In case Dr. Kurt Brenner woke up ahead of schedule.

Nothing.

She checked out the bathroom—a more purposeful examination this time…

Nothing on the metal shelf above the sink. Something in the medicine cabinet maybe—a razor?

As she moved closer for a better look, her foot knocked over a waste basket. Stooping automatically to right it, she spotted an empty bottle—

A syringe had spilled onto the floor. Perfect.

But did she have the courage to go through with it?

Her hand tightened on the syringe.

Leaving the bathroom, she passed a long mirror over the four-poster bed and caught a glimpse of her reflection.

Drab black dress that complemented the dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back, giving her the pinched dry look of a spinster—

No!

She rushed down the corridor and reentered the Brenner suite.

A few minutes later, she stood once more in front of the long mirror, only this time she wore a cream-colored floor-length gown, her lustrous blonde hair swept down around her shoulders.