Belly of the Beast (19 page)

Driving snow swirled about Niki’s head. She looked past the gun barrel; it was held awkwardly by a man with missing fingers, his ruddy face glowering. Snow frosted the fur on his hat. He repositioned his black boots. Niki’s satchel lay open before him.

“I said, get the fuck out.”

Niki hesitated.

The man swung the pistol to his left.

Pytor lay face down shivering in the snow, his arms outspread, fresh snow on his back. “He said he’d shoot you if I yelled.”

The man laughed. “I chase you halfway around the world and in the end you come to me. How sweet. You even bring the Kolchak boy with you.”

Niki stared at his ruddy face and began to fit pieces together. “Your fingers froze off in Colorado.”

“For that you’ll pay a heavy price.”

“And you were at the airport in Moscow.”

“You know him?” asked Pytor from his place in the snow.

“He’s Victor Malenkov, KGB. He tried to kill my mother, he tried to kill me. This is the last place I thought I’d see the bastard.”

“Your mother was a traitor. You are a spy.” Malenkov smiled. “You think we meet by coincidence? Amateurs are so simple. How convenient it was that the checkpoint guards were easily bribed and the milkman had an
accident
.” Malenkov put his hand in his pocket, pulled out something, and tossed it in front of Niki.

Niki stared at the Seiko watch the old woman had stolen.

“Nothing is coincidence.”

Niki looked back up at Malenkov, snow clinging to the side of his face. “You could have killed me a dozen times. What do you want?”

“To find out what mission Yuri Kolchak sent you on. I am protecting Soviet interests.”

“The Soviet Union is dead. What the hell do you
really
want?”

“To take from you what Yuri Kolchak stole from me. Now get the fuck out before I fuckin’ blow off pretty boy’s fuckin’ head.”

Niki squeezed herself out, twisting to allow the canister to fit through the opening. When she finally stood in the light, Pytor gasped.

Malenkov stared at the gruesome gap in Niki’s pant leg. Blood dripped on the snow. “What would make a person go into that place, you stupid bitch?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand there was something you wanted down there.” Malenkov shifted his look to Niki’s bulging pockets. “Show me what you have.”

Niki pulled out the orange flashlight.

“Government issue. Old Borisavich’s light?”

“He had nothing to do with this. I stole the light from him.”

“And I’m my own aunt. Borisavich was not supposed to be here when you arrived. I’ll deal with him later. What’s in that other pocket?”

Niki pulled out the canister.

“An old sample can. What would an American spy want with that? Plutonium samples for your CIA? Plutonium to sell to North Korea?”

Niki shook it. “It’s hot tea,” she said.

“A fucking comic. Well, let us see you laugh when you take a drink.”

Niki stared at Malenkov. Malenkov pointed the pistol at Pytor’s head. Niki unscrewed the top.

“Don’t drink it,” said Pytor.

“Shut the fuck up. The first shot will go in your knee, the next in your gut, the next—”

“I’m opening it,” said Niki.

Malenkov turned back toward Niki, his pistol straying from Pytor.

Niki dropped the top.

Malenkov looked down.

Niki thrust her arm forward.

Light glistened on the open end of the container as green fluid met the cold air.

Malenkov’s eyes flew wide.

The fluid separated into glistening orbs, each reflecting the twin spots of Malenkov’s car’s headlights.

Malenkov’s head began turning left, right hand rising, mouth opening.

The constellation of luminous drops streamed directly toward his head.

Malenkov’s right hand was almost to his face, pistol flying.

The first glob impacted below Malenkov’s left eye, slowly flattened, then splattered as it was hit by the next mass of acrid fluid.

A scream left Malenkov’s lips. There was no sound.

The balance of the liquid hit Malenkov’s face and hand. The sound of his scream caught up with the vision and pierced the night. Malenkov’s knees wobbled, bent, buckled.

Niki had followed the flow of toxins. Before Malenkov hit the ground, her bloody boot caught his groin. Malenkov rose a few inches. Niki screamed as fresh pain shot up her leg. Blood oozed freely again.

Malenkov hit the ground. Niki fell next to him. The pistol sank into the snow.

Pytor leapt to his feet, grabbed the pistol.

Niki dragged herself away.

Malenkov howled in agony, hands covering his eyes. Green fluid dripped from his nose and lips.

“Push him in the hole,” said Niki as she packed snow against her wound.

Pytor looked at Malenkov. “That would make me as bad as him. Besides, he won’t fit.”

“Fucking assholes,” cursed Malenkov.

Pytor whacked Malenkov on the side of the head with the pistol butt. Malenkov went limp.

“I think you blinded him,” said Pytor. “I wish I knew what that stuff was.”

Niki stood, retrieved the canister, and harshly scraped the rim up the side of Malenkov’s face. She sealed some of the sludge inside. “Now you can shoot him.”

“I can’t.”

“Give me the gun. I’ll have no trouble killing the bastard.”

Pytor kept it. “A shot will bring more guards. We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to take care of your leg.”

Niki picked up her satchel, felt the weight of her medical kit and hesitated. “Wait. He could be my father.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He raped my mother. There’s a chance he’s my father.”

Pytor glanced about nervously. “We can’t stay.”

“I have an extraction kit. Maybe we could—”

“Then get some bone marrow and let’s go.”

“You don’t understand. It takes time, good light.” Niki hesitated. “I only have one kit. What if I’m wrong? There
was
a note. Joseph Hauser returned. We have to keep Malenkov alive and take him with us until I know about Joseph.”

“We’re running for lives. Get in Malenkov’s car.”

“But—”

“Get in the car.”

Niki put the canister back in her coat pocket, hocked emphatically, spit on Malenkov, and got in his car.

Pytor turned up the heater and drove to the gate. The milk truck sat outside.

Niki and Pytor both shivered as Borya came out into the snowstorm.

“Good God! You’re driving a KGB cab. How did you—Miss Michaels. Are you all right?”

“She’s hurt,” said Pytor. “And some KGB agent wants to kill us.”

“Victor Malenkov,” said Niki.

“Holy Mary, an evil ghost from the past. I’ll open the gate. Leave that Volga and get out.”

“He knows you’re involved with us,” said Pytor.

“Damn. I should have let that young guard replace me.”

“We’re freezing,” said Niki. “We’ll die in that truck.”

“Stay in the car then. I’ll follow you with the truck. I should have quit years ago.”

Niki looked back as Pytor drove down the highway. The lights of the old milk truck lit the snow on the rear window.

“What will happen to him?”

“We’re all in a lot of trouble,” said Pytor. “See if there’s ammunition in the glove box.”

Niki opened it. There were no gum wrappers, no broken sunglasses, no inkless pens, and no ammunition, only a pack of Camel cigarettes and heavy black gloves. “No bullets,” she said. “Would you shoot him now?”

“We’ll do what we have to, but that stuff you threw may have put Malenkov out of commission for good.”

“My boots are soaked with it.”

“Get rid of them.”

“I’ll freeze without boots.”

“Stick your feet in those furry gloves. They’re big enough.”

Niki took off her left boot, put her foot in a glove, then struggled with the right. “My foot is too swollen to get the boot off.”

“I’ll help you in a minute.”

Pytor stopped a few hundred meters from the warehouse where he had left his Zhuguli. Men scurried back and forth unloading the train. Borya parked the milk truck. He and Pytor got out.

Pytor pointed to his snow-coved Zhuguli. “She’ll freeze in my car.”

“I’ll drive Miss Michaels in Malenkov’s car,” said Borya. “Get in your car and follow. I know a safe place.”

“Help Niki get her boot off. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get paid so I’ll have fuel money.”

Borya slipped into the driver’s seat of Victor Malenkov’s big Volga. “You need help with your boot?”

Niki shook her head. “We’ll need to cut it off.”

“I don’t have a knife.” Borya reached for the glove box before Niki could say she already knew what was inside. “Camels. The KGB would shoot us for having American cigarettes, but I’ve always wanted one.” He pulled an unfiltered cigarette from the pack, tapped it on the dashboard, and struck a match. “I’ve waited a long time to try one of these,” Borya said, smoke trailing his words. “They can shoot me now.”            

“I’m sorry about all this,” said Niki.

Borya patted Niki’s leg. “You’ve added some excitement to an old man’s life. I’ll be fine, maybe go back east where I was exiled. It is a free country now; you should have seen it before.” He drew on the cigarette again. “I’d like to visit my wife and son’s graves. Did you get what you came for?”

“Perhaps. There was a note. I haven’t read it yet.”

“The moment of truth is often difficult to face.”

Pytor stepped from the warehouse, quickly brushed off his car, started it, and turned on the lights. As he turned around, his headlights lit milk cans inside the boxcar.

Borya started driving; Pytor followed.

“The storm is our friend,” said Borya. “A protective cloak. How is your leg?”

“The snow slowed the bleeding, but my hands are burning. I got them in the stuff in the tunnel.”

Borya hit the brakes. “We got to get it off.”

“I washed them in snow. That’s all we can do for now.”

Borya hit the accelerator. “You are a brave woman, Ms. Michaels. Remember to drink lots of milk. It’s good for—for your health.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Niki.

“I just wonder how you will get out of here. They’ll block the roads.”

“Where did that milk train come from?”

“Probably Chernobyl,” said Borya dryly.

“And where is it going?”

“In a little while it will head to Verkhniy, the place where Zhivago was conscripted by Alexander Kolchak, Pytor’s great-grandfather.”

“I thought Dr. Zhivago was fictional?”

“Fiction, truth: who knows the difference? Anyway, by morning that train will be in Sverdlovsk, but if you are thinking what I think, they search that train with dogs. Besides, you’d freeze to death.”

They rode in silence for a while, Niki still numbed by the cold and pain, Borya savoring another of Victor Malenkov’s cigarettes.

Then Borya said, “He is the most dangerous of men.”

Niki looked over.

“Victor Malenkov,” Borya continued, “fueled by hatred, and backed by power. He despised Pytor’s father.”

“And me. He said Yuri took something.”

Borya shrugged. “I don’t know what. Gossip was forbidden.”

“I know this house,” said Niki as they slowed to a stop. “A bald woman lives here.”

“Maria,” said Borya as he got out.

Pytor pulled up behind. Borya walked back to his window.