Angel Eyes (66 page)

The church is surrounded by modern one-story houses with their wide porches and cool inner courtyards, its five-domed sanctuary and tented belfry soaring over the shaded houses and narrow streets to the right, where, startlingly, one comes upon the Institute of Geography and the Atomic Energy Administration.

Valeri Bondasenko could not have found a better hiding place in all of Moscow than the Church of St. Gregory of Neocasarea. Though its gorgeous interior had been denied-the sublime sanctuary's decorative frescoes and ceramics had been confiscated by the state-the church was a popular spot for foreign tour groups. Intourist buses were always parked not far away, and the ringing voices of sour-faced state tour guides could be heard during the day, as regular as the belfry's chiming, echoing through the interior, repeating by rote the authorized version of this particular piece of history.

Below the shuffling crowds, in the long-forgotten church crypts, Valeri and Sergei hunched in the dust and the cobwebs. Beside them, on a crude pallet, Valeri's daughter lay as if asleep. Her face was peaceful, utterly blank.

"God must be testing us, eh, comrade?" Sergei said with a derisive laugh. "Otherwise, I can't think why I feel like Job."

"It appears that the testing will be over soon," Valeri said in a serious tone, "one way or another."

Sergei sobered quickly. "Is White Star doomed, men?"

"I don't know," Valeri admitted. "Comrade Volkov-"

"May he rot in hell for eternity!"

"Comrade Volkov may have squeezed Natasha Mayakova dry, but there is only so much she knows. We have sprung a leak, to be sure, but we're not yet sinking. As long as my log of White Star activity is safe, so are we."

Sergei said, "I don't think I care for the look on your face, comrade. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that as long as my computer is in my apartment, it is a liability to us now.''

"The log is in there?"

Valeri nodded. "Hidden safely away from inquisitive eyes. But still. . ."

"Yes. I understand completely," Sergei said. "Still, it is there.'' He shrugged. ''Well, one thing is for certain, with Comrade Volkov's people scouring the city for us, neither of us can risk going to the apartment to get it.. All of Moscow has become a danger zone. I doubt if we can risk anyone.''

"Anyone who is involved with White Star."

"Well, of course, that's what I meant," Sergei said. "But who else could we use?"

"There is someone ..."

"Who?"

"A woman."

Sergei groaned. "Not another woman, comrade. Look at what has happened to Natasha Mayakova. Doesn't her torture mean anything to you?"

"Yes," Valeri said. "It means a great deal. I cared about Natasha-"

"That, if I may say so, is the problem with you, comrade. Emotional involvement-"

" -is a clear and present danger,'' Valeri finished his thought. "Yes, I know, Sergei. But I find it imperative to continue to see people as people, not as pawns to be pushed around a chess board."

"But for the sake of all of us, you'll push this woman around the board, won't you, comrade?"

"I'll tell her what needs to be done, but not why," Valeri said. "I'll give her a choice."

"The illusion of choice, you mean," Sergei grunted. "By the time you're done with her, holding her tight, kissing her, I'm quite certain she'd jump off the Moskvoretsky Bridge if you asked her to!"

"She is not someone to manipulate," Valeri insisted.

"Neither was Natasha Mayakova, comrade, but you manipulated her just the same. For the good of us all."

"It was wrong of me to so shamelessly use Natasha in that way."

"Wrong? But no, you have mistaken my intent." Sergei put his hand briefly on Valeri's arm, a sign of solidarity. "You did what needed to be done. It might have been dirty, but there is no shame involved, my friend. It was necessary."

"I am not often certain of that, Sergei."

"Think of Volkov, man! Without your constant cunning, that monster would have defeated us already.''

''Perhaps you're right.''

"The times of revolution are desperate times," Sergei said. "They call for desperate measures."

"I think, comrade, that we are done with revolutions. You see the results of our original 'glorious revolution.' Would you have us repeat the mistakes of our forebears?" He shook his head. "No, comrade. These may, indeed, be desperate times, but I will not condone desperate measures. The cycle of mindless violence and hidden greed must be broken, once and for all time. I will not bring down one form of tyranny only to replace it with another. Do you understand this? Are you with me?"

Sergei nodded. "For forever and a day, Valeri."

Valeri clapped Sergei on the back, but his gaze was far away. "Ah, Natasha," he said softly into the musty darkness of the crypt, "if only you knew how important your pain was for White Star. Volkov has broken you, but now he believes that all you were doing was bringing the ???? KGB dossiers. Our truth is still safe." He turned to Sergei. "Still safe, eh, comrade?"

"Is he gone?"

"Yes."

Irina crept out of the Hero's shower where Lara had hidden her when Tatiana had warned them of Mars Volkov's arrival in the building.

"Don't be frightened by what you may have overheard."

Irina slipped into the pool beside him. "Nothing about you could frighten me."

The Hero touched her as they moved out into the center of the pool. "Mars was looking for you," he said.

"Did he say why?"

"I don't think it would be a good idea to let him find you," Lara said.

''But why is he looking for me?"

''He thinks you know where Valeri is hiding,'' the ???? said.

"He'll kill Valeri if he gets the chance," Lara said.

Irina shivered. "Now I am frightened."

"So you should be," the ???? said. Then he put his hand on her again, and she felt a warmth flow through her. "Don't worry. You have a guardian angel looking after you.''

"That's what Natasha said." Irina squeezed her eyes shut. "Why must there always be violence, pain, suffering, death?"

The lapping of the pool; four entities in the faintly phosphorescent darkness, linked by an invisible umbilical.

The Hero said, "All these things are part of human nature."

"You're wrong," Irina said. "You must be."

''People want things,'' the Hero said. ''Usually they are things they shouldn't have, such as too much money, too much power, dominion over other people, dominion over other nations. It never ends. There is a cycle of human existence that must be played out."

"Nothing is so inevitable," Irina said. "Now you sound like a god talking about his mortal charges."

"Mars has accused me of wanting to be a god, but that is not my intent."

Irina looked into his extraordinary opalescent eyes. "What is your intent, then?"

"Freedom," the Hero said. "That's simple, enough, isn't it? Or it should be. But human nature being what it is, the concept of freedom becomes entangled like a crab in a net, and now that crab crawls and crawls and never comes to the end of the net."

Irina was about to answer him when she became aware of Tatiana slipping into the pool. She was their sentry. Both the Hero and Lara looked toward her.

"She must go," Tatiana said, indicating Irina.

"Now?" the Hero asked.

"At once. It is vital."

"Where am I going?" Irina said. "I don't want to leave."

The Hero ignored her for a moment. He said to Lara, "Make certain she exits as she entered so she is not seen."

Lara nodded, climbed out of the pool. Tatiana followed her. Irina could hear the padding of their bare feet against the tile. Water dripping in the darkness.

"Must I go?" she repeated.

''It is most important,'' the Hero said, "or the request would not have been made.''

"I won't go. I refuse to be ordered around. I'm done with being a marionette, dancing on the end of strings that men pull.''

"It's freedom you want, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, so do I," the Hero said. "So do we all. Even Arbat." He looked at her. "If you consent to go, you'll be helping us get there."

"Then how can I refuse?" But Irina felt the fright, like an engine that would not stop, churning inside her.

The Hero smiled. "Bravely spoken."

"But where am I going?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's better that way, I assure you."

Irina stared at him with wide eyes. She was fighting back the tears.

The Hero swam up to her. He took her in his arms, kissed her hard on the lips. "Come back to me, Irina,'' he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Irina's heart was beating so loud she could hardly hear him. She searched the universe in his eyes, spoke to him wordlessly in that peculiar silence of communication she had learned from him.

Then Lara and Tatiana were standing on the coping.

"It's time," the Hero said.

Bending down, they pulled Irina from the pool.

"What is it," Mars said to Captain Nikolev, "that is of paramount importance to you?"

"The sovereignty and security of the Soviet Union."

"You did not hesitate."

"No, comrade."

Mars nodded. They were sitting in the command center of Department N. Mars was at a small desk, reviewing the monitored communications of suspected White Star personnel over the past twelve hours. Captain Nikolev was manning a sophisticated electronics console. "It's good to be sure of yourself, Captain," Mars said. "That is something that fades with stamina as youth gives way to middle age." He looked at Captain Nikolev. "You are, what? Thirty-five?"

"Thirty-two, comrade."

"There you have it," Mars said almost wistfully. "Youth must have its day." He smiled enigmatically. "Like perestroika." Almost immediately his mouth twisted as if he had tasted spoiled food. "Tell me, Captain, how do you feel about the Americanization of Russia?''

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't do that!" Mars balked. "Don't play the loyal but dull-witted soldier with me, Captain. You may gull your superiors, but they are only army men, after all. You can't fool me. I know the extent of your intelligence. I know about your studies, your passion for history that has led you to unearth the levels of 'authorized' histories down through the decades."

"Comrade-"

"Not to worry, Captain. Your secret is safe with me. But don't tell me that you are unaware of the Americanization of our country. The military must now go begging to a committee formed from the Congress of Peoples' Deputies if it wants to change anything, including the location of post latrines. Budget increases? Oh, no, it must go before an oversight committee which knows nothing about capabilities, liabilities, national security.

"Then there are the independent farmers who are now being paid in foreign currency in direct competition with the collectives."

Mars shrugged. "And what about the KGB? We are forced to endure the excruciating, nit-picking examinations of our present structure while submitting meekly to the grossest of theatrical public lamentations by known dissidents and subversives allowed into the Congress, berating us for what they see as our past sins."

He grunted. "This is not perestroika, it's America."

"As I understand it," Captain Nikolev said, "perestroika is merely an experiment."

"An experiment that has gone terribly awry," Mars said. When Nikolev made no further comment, he continued. "We have gone from trying to emulate a perfect model, to wanting to emulate a thoroughly corrupt one. In terms you can easily understand, Captain, it is akin to the ancient Britons wanting to base their culture on that of Rome in the time of Caligula. Utterly incomprehensible, utterly reprehensible. What is happening to us, Captain? Are we to lose all sense of ourselves, of what makes Russia unique in all the world? Our culture is being subverted by the very people who govern us. The CIA no longer needs Radio Free America, it's got the president to do its subversive work for it."

"I suppose it's all in how you look at things," Nikolev said. "It's a telling lesson in how interpretation subverts intent, don't you think?"

"Spoken like a true diplomat.'' Mars laughed. ''You're wasting your talents in the Border Guards, I can tell you.''

"As you no doubt have suspected," Nikolev said, "my job affords me the luxury of time to pursue my own interests."

"It is altogether beyond my comprehension how you can hold any love for history, Captain, when our so-called scholars keep rewriting it."

"I would have thought that you, of all people, would see the necessity for revisionism.''

"You interest me, Captain," Mars said. "Perhaps you, too, understand what an elusive and treacherous beast the truth is."

"Comrade, I am not even certain that I understand the definition of truth."

Mars laughed. "Yes, indeed, Captain. There is more to you than meets the eye." He nodded toward the bank of electronics. "What news?"

"The same," Captain Nikolev said. "Irina Ponomareva's car is still in the same spot. It has not moved since we began monitoring it. It is parked six blocks from your apartment. I have four of my men watching it."

''You do?'' Mars's head came up. ''Who told you to do that?''

"No one, comrade. I thought it would be pro-"

''You thought wrong,'' Mars snapped. ''Get your men out of there at once. All we need is for one of them to be spotted. Irina does not know I am KGB. If she sees one of your men-and believe me, if your men are there, this woman will spot him-she will never go near the car.''

"Yes, comrade."

While Nikolev made the arrangements, Mars thought of Irina. He had to laugh at himself, paranoid Mars. How often in the past had he wondered whether she had made any clandestine contacts, perhaps with American White Star sympathizers, while she had been abroad in the United States? After all, she had had mid-level security clearances, and therefore had not been monitored by the KGB as closely as, say, Natasha Mayakova had been during her tours of New York.

But he had had cause to be suspicious, he reminded himself righteously. Did she not have definite opinions about the national minorities inside the USSR, opinions that, frankly, had concerned Mars? Oh, yes. And Mars cleverly had made those questionable opinions work for him when he had sent her off to try to pry open Valeri Denysovich.