Tom Bradby - The Master Of Rain

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I don’t know. What were you doing there?”

“You saw what I was doing.”

“Why were you doing it?”

She didn’t answer.

“Your father was a tsarist officer. A proud man, from the way he looked in the photograph I saw. How can it be that you’re-”

She had begun to cry, her eyes closed and mouth screwed up tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She wrapped an arm around each shoulder, as she had on the day he’d first seen her, until her body stopped shaking. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “You English… so damned polite.”

Field waited. “You’re going to have to help us.”

“Help you? How can I help you?” She was staring at him in disbelief. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Then you’ll go to prison.”

He saw the anger in her face. “You think you can send me to prison?”

“You’ve committed a crime.”

“And you think you’ll find witnesses prepared to-”

“I am a witness. So are my colleagues. We’re not impressed by Lu’s intimidation.”

As quickly as it had come, her defiance evaporated and she dropped her head.

“You will face a trial in the mixed courts, you’ll be found guilty of spreading Bolshevik propaganda, and-I would guess you’re looking at fifteen to twenty-five years. We can ensure that you serve it in one of our prisons here so that Lu cannot bribe the guards and get you out.”

Natasha put her hands to her temples, as if trying to prevent this information from sinking in. She stared ahead, without answering, and then slowly crumpled. She rested her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and cried with a pain that Field had never seen in anyone before.

“Who was Lena seeing?”

She wiped her eyes again. “I don’t know.”

“Did Lu murder her, or one of his associates?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Natalya Simonov?”

There was terror in her eyes.

“Did you know Natalya Simonov?”

She shook her head violently.

“Did you know Irina Ignatiev?”

“No, I…”

Natasha rested her head on her knees again.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Field said, his voice tight with frustration. “Did you know Natalya Simonov?”

“No.”

“Did you know Irina Ignatiev?”

She shook her head.

“For Christ’s sake!” He was on his feet. “You’re all from Kazan. Do you think I’m an idiot?” He took a step closer. “Aren’t you frightened, Natasha?”

She began crying again. This time Field moved instinctively to her. He put his arms around her and she moved against him, without resistance, placing her head on his chest.

He tightened his arms, hugging her.

He eased the pressure, lifted his right hand, and touched her head, smoothing the hair back from her forehead, calming her until the crying had lessened and then ceased, all the time keeping his eyes on the iron grille in the door.

“It’s all right,” he said.

She was quiet and still, but he did not let go. She pressed her head deeper into his chest and reached around to grip the sleeve of his shirt with her hand, as if clinging to a life raft.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said.

“No,” she said. “It can never be all right.”

He released her gently and stood. She was leaning forward now, still wiping her eyes periodically with the back of her hand. She looked frail, almost childlike in her vulnerability, a world away from the cynical sophisticate of his first acquaintance.

“What will you do with me?”

“I spoke to someone who knows you well,” he said quietly. “And she said that, of all the Russian girls here, your circumstances were the most impaired.”

“Mrs. Orlov, from the Majestic.”

“What did she mean?”

Natasha lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t help me, I cannot help you.”

She looked up, the hurt deep. “No one can help me, Richard.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No I’m not.”

“In what way are your circumstances impaired?”

She shook her head. “Do what you want with me, but please don’t ask me any more questions about it.”

Field felt his mouth tightening. “How did you become one of Lu’s girls?”

“I cannot talk about him.” There was another long silence as Natasha wrestled with herself. “Lena…” She stopped.

“Go on.”

“I… There was someone new. You asked if there was someone else, and it was true, there was. He… Lena did not talk about it, about him.”

“For how long before her death?”

“About two months. She seemed happier, as if something good had finally happened to her.”

“Lu asked her to see someone else?”

Natasha nodded.

“Do you have any idea who it might have been? Did she give you any clues? His nationality, for example, or the type of work he did? Or why Lu would be wishing her to do this?”

Natasha shook her head.

“Does he often ask his women to see other men?”

“He has many women, and many uses for them.”

Field wanted to know, more than he had ever wanted to know anything in his life, whether Natasha had slept with Lu, whether she was forced to lie down and degrade herself beneath that sallow, scarred face, and before he could stop it, he was assaulted by an image of the two of them together, naked, Lu’s portly manicured fingers on her dark smooth skin.

He stood up, stepped over to the door, and looked out of the grille before coming back and resuming his seat. She was sitting demurely, her arms wrapped around her legs, looking at him.

“Natalya Simonov, Lena Orlov, Irina Ignatiev-stabbed so many times, crying out in pain, screaming in agony and terror, but nobody heard them.” He looked at her. “And even now, nobody can hear them.”

She lowered her head again, staring at the bed.

“All Lu’s girls. Who is next, I wonder?”

She did not answer.

“Perhaps it’s you?” he said at length.

She went on staring down.

“Do you have any cigarettes?” he asked.

Natasha straightened, fumbled in her raincoat pocket, and then threw the box toward him.

“Do you want one?”

She shook her head.

Field lit one and inhaled heavily, enjoying the smoke and the way it brought momentary relief from the smell. He looked at Natasha and then stood once more. “I want to get you out of here.”

Caprisi was at the door, his face against the grille. Field wondered how long he had been watching. “Macleod wants a word, polar bear.”

Field stepped out of the cell and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Caprisi pulled him away from the door so that they could not be heard. “Macleod has heard she is in, and he wants her.”

“What do you mean, wants her?” Field’s heart was thumping again.

“He wants her to go down, as a warning to Lu. She’ll get fifteen years and there will be fuck-all Lu can do about it. It would be a demonstration of who’s in charge of the city.”

“No.”

“Steady, polar bear.”

Field trailed the American, his mind whirring as he climbed the stairs.

Macleod was on the phone, standing by the window, but he put the receiver down as Field and Caprisi came in, and moved behind his desk so that he was no longer blocking the light. “Well done, Field… Take a seat.”

“We can do better from this girl.”

“I’m sure you can, but this is a decision-”

“Nobody informed me of any decision.”

Macleod frowned. Field saw that Caprisi was imploring him to moderate his tone. “No one has to inform you of anything, Field.” He sat down. “It’s excellent work, though, very quick thinking. The commissioner is pleased.”