Heads You Win

“I wouldn’t make it to the front gate,” said Alex. “What’s important is for all of you to carry on as if nothing has happened. If anybody asks, tell them I’ve been held up at a meeting, or I’m visiting my uncle Kolya. Just keep stalling. I’ll let you know when I’m safe.”

“Shouldn’t we at least call the consulate and ask their advice?”

“Take another look at the three of them, Jake, and ask yourself if they’re the sort of men you’d invite to a lunch. This isn’t the time for diplomatic exchanges.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Go native. Don’t forget I was born and raised in this city. You concentrate on closing the deal. I’ll take care of myself.”

As Alex was speaking, a party of six was being shown across the restaurant to their table. The moment they passed between him and Polyakov, like a cloud blocking the sun, Alex slipped away. Jake turned and said, “Did you notice—” but he was no longer there.

Alex didn’t waste time waiting for the elevator, but headed straight for the stairs. He charged up them three at a time, constantly looking back over his shoulder. When he reached the sixth floor, he quickly unlocked the door of his room, then locked himself inside, not bothering to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. He tapped six numbers into the pad of the little safe in the wardrobe, opened it, and grabbed his passport and some loose change. He touched his jacket pocket to make sure his wallet, containing the rubles Miss Robbins had supplied, was still there.

When he heard voices outside in the corridor he rushed across to the window and pushed it open. As he stepped out onto the fire escape, someone began banging on his door. He climbed down the ladder, checking up and down, unsure where the danger was more likely to come from. When he reached the bottom rung, he looked up to see one of the thugs staring down at him from the window of his room.

“There he is!” the man shouted, as he dropped onto the pavement.

Three other men were standing in the hotel’s entrance staring all around them, so he quickly headed off in the opposite direction. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the men pointing, and then he started running down the hotel steps toward him.

Alex turned into a side street and broke into a run, aware that his pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He could see a main road looming up in front of him but didn’t stop running, narrowly missing being knocked over by a tram. He ran after the moving vehicle, praying it would stop. It squealed to a halt about a hundred yards ahead of him, sparks flying into the air. He wished he hadn’t missed so many training sessions.

Looking back, Alex saw his pursuers rounding the corner. He leaped through the tram doors moments before they closed, flung a kopek at the driver, remembering how much he paid the airport taxi, before slumping down into an empty seat near the back. He stared out of the window to see his pursuer, head down, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Alex knew only too well that within minutes the spider’s web of KGB operatives would be fanning out across the city in search of an American wearing a Brooks Brothers suit, white shirt, blue tie, and penny loafers. So much for going native.

He slumped down in his seat, aware of the occasional surreptitious glance from the other passengers—in Russia everyone’s a spy—as a succession of familiar landmarks from his youth passed by. And then he remembered that in a couple more stops they would be outside the main railway terminal—the end of the line.

When the tram pulled up outside Moskovsky station, he joined the trickle of passengers getting off. He walked cautiously toward the entrance, wary of anyone dressed in a uniform, or even standing still. Just as he reached a large archway, he ducked into the shadows, hoping for a few uninterrupted moments to form some sort of plan.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Alex turned in panic to see a slim young boy smiling at him.

“How much?” asked Alex.

“Ten dollars.”

“Where?”

“I’ve got a place just around the corner. If you’re interested, follow me.”

Alex nodded, but was careful to remain a few paces behind the youth as they walked down a dimly lit alley. And then, without warning, he ducked into a dilapidated prewar tenement block, not unlike the one Alex had grown up in. Alex climbed three flights of littered steps, before the boy opened a door and beckoned him inside.

The boy held out his hand and Alex gave him ten dollars.

“Are you looking for any particular service?” the boy asked, like a waiter offering him a menu.

“No. Just get undressed.”

The boy looked surprised, but carried out the request, until he stood there in his underwear. Alex took off his jacket, trousers, and tie, and pulled on the boy’s jeans, but found he couldn’t do up the top button.

“Do you have a jacket of any kind?”