Terraplane (7 page)

Raisa Row's two-story structures held separate entrances for each
flat. Littered mud served as yard, parking lot and playground.
"Destination reached," said the car; he cut the motor. People faded
into the buildings' dark. Skuratov's fears, as suspected, overblew;
I'd sized all surrounding as too nubworn to offer threat.

"She is on ground floor rear of right-hand unit. Proceed without
rush around side yard. Keep weapons always visible. Pause at
corner to await signal. Once signaled, approach door. Wait. Count
three." He unclicked his gun's safety. "Hop in, showing big
smiles."

When we decarred we were all nearly muckered flat by the
smell, an inescapable blend of bathroom and grave that not even
frozen air subdued. The locals, eyeing our ordnance, scattered like
roaches in sudden light. Skuratov led, moving as if twotoned feet
barely scraped the ground. Midway across I stepped wrong,
squashing a teddy bear lying unburied amidst debris. The neighborhood children were rich with imagination beyond their years;
the bear's eye sockets stared blindly towards the sky, its tummy was slashed open and degutted in amateur's autopsy. America's touch
showed in every land.

"Her windows," Skuratov whispered, motioning at cornerside to
a pair of draped eyes. Gray clouds drew across the sky as a front
neared; we threw no shadows over the terrain. He pointed us
ahead, and we edged over, skirting the building's wall, Jake now
heading our line.

"One," Skuratov murmured, "two-"

Before the last number came, before my next breath passed, I
noticed the door's ajarness as a scream rang within. Jake-no bullet
flew faster.

"CAREFUL.," I SAID, AS IF'1'O OFFER ADVICE, BUT JAKE WAS DONE
before we'd crossed the threshold. Skuratov bore the vision better
than I'd have guessed, seeing Jake slash away, tearing the man's
flesh as his burlap and polymer clothes were already torn; Jake
doublelooped his chain within his hand to attain double result.

"Jake!" I said. "Enough's enough. Step away"

Airborne, he came down heels-first upon the interloper's head,
completing his task; stepping off of his leavings, he began his
descent into calm. I sensed adrenaline's vibrations pulsing through
his slim frame. Sucking down a long breath, he stood silent, letting
temper fade, shaking his head as if awakening and still finding
himself within his dream. His voice returned before he did.

"Women's rapists try all patience, Luther. Forgive overzealotry."

"Was robber," she said; whipping round, she fisted him true at
mouthcorner. "Not rapist. I handle you as well."

Red constellations spotted Jake's pure white; small, but compact,
she slung mean. My mind blanked with instinct; vizzing our
objective slipping through our grasp through in-house action,
once Jake's temper reseized, I threw myself between them before he
might respond.

"No, Jake, calm-!" Heaving me floorways, sidestepping, he
seized her, yanking her close, pressing her against him. As he unclasped, she spat. Ineffable peace lit his wet face from within,
and as he closed his eyes, he smiled, his face reddening beneath its
glisten. Ungatherable Georgian obscenities fluttered from her
mouth like bats from a cave in the night. Jake rounded her armways, holding fast. Skuratov stared on, as if watching a gameshow,

"Priyatno. English, please, Miss Osipova," he cheerfully said,
wiping shoes free of the mess with which they had been splattered.
"American friends possess little fluency in such vernacular."

"Chort!" She banged feet against Jake's knees; he took her
upward, ungrounding her.

"Ah," said Skuratov, paying respect to Jake's takeaway. "The boy
next door."

"Rip him raw," Jake said, bloodfuried anew

"You did, Jake," I said. "Possibly he's not so local, Mal. Krasnaya
running deep water, or worse."

"I'll examine," said Skuratov, dropping to his knees, drawing
away the fellow's shirt to onceover the left arm's underskin. Evidence received awared that Dream Team members wore tattoos;
images of a softedged cloud overlain with an everstaring eye.

"What is wanted?" she screamed, serving English laced with
heavy accent's spice. "Go begone."

"Be peaceful during playtime," said Skuratov, not looking up.

"Zhrini sapozhnik!"

'Are sedatives wished?" Jake asked; she caught his nose with the
back of her skull, but he still smiled, and stroked her waist as he
gripped her. While Skuratov pawed the lost one's belongings, I
bug-ran; nothing showed.

"Nullified the first morning here," she said, seeing my actions.
"Americans expect constant stupidity from Russians?"

"Friend of deceased?" asked Skuratov.

"When soot is white." Driving elbows into Jake's sides, loosening his hold; pitching forward, she butted me chestways with
enormous force, employing those powerful legs and shoulders,
staggering me. Jake, wrenching her arms behind her back, applied
the cuffs he carried. 'Al, bolit!" she screamed as he drew his
bracelets tight against her wrists. He clasped her once more, focusing eyes on hers; as if reacting as bird to snake, she settled at
once. My heart's normal rhythm recovered from its forced solo.

"Pacify or we'll ride rougher roads," he said. "Sorry but true."

"Luther," said Skuratov, his mood unchanged, as if nothing
more had occurred around him than a change of weather. `As
judged. Identifications prove him to be ex-army. Lives-lived, to
be most accurate-three buildings down. A local alone. A zhid,
undoubted, judging from patronym. No surprise."

"Unmarked even in protective mode?" I asked. "Not Dream
Team?"

"Freebooter," he said. "Nothing more."

"Why do you khulighani bother me?" Oktobriana asked, her
face's excess color draining. She looked so young but for her slightslanted eyes; wrinkled bags dropped below her lower lids, weighed
her uppers down. "I am facilitator. I don't retain substance."

"Does snow retain water?" asked Skuratov. "You are great with
substance. "

"There is nothing I can do for you. Please leave me. I wish
aloneness. "

"We wish good company. Sound of voice holds ring of truth. But
let us see for sure. " He depocketed a small red box; on its surface was
a smaller screen. As he shoved it against her cheek lights flashed; she
cringed, as if its touch burned. "Stress analyzer sees truth when it
creeps out. Let us have useful conversation without tiring repetition
or undeliverable threat. Something of interest is here, true?"

"No." She shivered whenever he pressed his box against her; Jake
looked on him deadeyed but kept her still, aware of his job description's duties whatever his inner preference.

"Yes. Useful tool developed by trusted mentor Alekhine, correct? Resembles videocassette of unnatural make, I believe."

"Vranyo. Lies and rubbish."

"Quite unlikely. What have we brought with us in rubbish lying
about room? Shall we see?"

"Don't burrow through my soul," she pleaded as he pocketed the
analyzer-a small red dot remained on her face-and began his
search, drawing out dresser drawers, tossing clothes floorways, sending her life ascatter. "What brings you here to plunder?" she
asked, still fighting Jake's embrace.

"To help you," I said.

"Gospodi. Americans always claim to help when they come to
steal and kill."

Oktobriana's miserable room was contained by four gray walls,
pierced by two doors, one leading out, one leading to the attached
bath, and held two broken windows insulated with gum and cloth.
Floorboards seesawed skyward when one's ankle hit the wrong spot.
The decorator's hand showed only in the Big Boy's portrait hanging
above the bed's dough-thin mattress, an oldstyle print from the
period proper, done while he lived, demonstrating his form as he
wished to be shown. In the rendering he stood erect in worker's cap
and army greatcoat, on bare promontory, storm-racked heaven
backdropping full. Lightning raked all but his watchpoint. With
fixed eye he considered the plain beneath his mountain, the great
city rising upon the veldt below: Lucifer regarding his kingdom,
Kong appraising his jungle. In his own years the Big Boy had sold
nothing but himself.

"Who awared you of form and substance?" I asked Skuratov as
he busied himself. His lips kept still, as if inferring protection of
ones highly placed. Reaching underbed, he extracted a hard clothwrapped lump.

"What have we here?" he said.

"Dlya zhizvi!" she screamed, thrashing against Jake as if to set
him ablaze.

"Life threatening?" Skuratov repeated. "Hush, little loud one.
Nerves strung tight like violin strings. Let me wander without
guidedog. "

Skinning a pillowcase bound tight round a black plastipak, he
pried its lid open, revealing what at immediate viz showed as a vid
therein nestled. Uncasing, in full light he flashed its lapis lazuli
color, its featureless face.

"Too heavy for usual dupe of classic film, I believe. Perhaps
useful just the same for-timeshifting, should we say," he said,
palming it as if judging produce. "The Alekhine machine, friends.
Many brains at play make marvelous item. Operates on same principle as model, true? Slide into appropriate slot, press appropriate button. Behold wonder."

"Button and slot of what?" I asked, expecting the answer given,
to this day disbelieving.

"Of average home TVC unit," he said. "Imaginative recycling
of existent technology."

`And what happens upon use?" She gave no response. That this
dull plastic slab proved to be the object of our search was so
anticlimactic as climbing Everest to buy a cheese sandwich. Presenting findings to the board would be easy, but Mister O'Malley
wished hard result; wouldn't be pleased otherwise. Reflecting a
moment on the thing's subtle guise, Skuratov recased it, rewrapping the pillowcase.

"Quick movement now is of utmost importance," he said. "Pack
her belongings, Luther. We must not linger." Into her suitcases,
without search or seizure, I tossed her clothes, her pens and books,
her picture of the Big Boy, such papers as lay scattered free. She
stood unmoving, watching our rush; unshaking, unspeaking,
almost as if she'd hypnotized herself into acceptance so as to ease
her kidnappers. Perhaps Jake's presence lent moment's peace, for he
held her as friend, not prisoner-the cuffs notwithstanding-his
grip all-enfolding, his face's sudden color appearing to make him,
almost, warm.

"We're airport-near, then?" I asked, pounding the cases shut.

"Airstrip," he corrected. "Is on my dacha. Twenty minutes from
here normal speed. We should make in ten." Holding the cassette
box underarm, onehanding his Shrogin, he glanced the room over
to see if anything missed firsttime showed at second look.

"Your estate's airstripped?"

"Convenient small one for vertical-ascent craft."

"Plane's readied?"

"Destination programmed as desired."

"Pilot's secure?" asked Jake.

"Pilot you see before you." His question hung, unanswered.
Oktobriana gave sudden word, as if waking from coma.

"Where are we going?" she asked, staring up at Jake with eyes
great with fear, eyes alit by oncoming headlight's glare.

"On lovely vacation," said Skuratov.

"To America," said Jake. "New world life awaits."

"Jake," said Skuratov, not looking at him direct, "put suitcases in
trunk. We shall follow."

Jake's paranoia ran deeper than mine but usually for greater
reason; he trusted its touch, like a caress from a perfect lover.
Unnoticed by the others I vizzed his eyes tighten. If Jake readied, I
knew I should as well; in such event, I followed his lead as I
followed any commander.

"Porter's life isn't mine," he replied.

"Forgive sharp method of asking, Jake. The language is full of
pitfalls. "

"Key me," said Jake, retaining grip on Oktobriana.

"Trunk is unlocked. Is simple to open."

"Why don't you lend hand?"

"Purpose of my delay is quite reasonable," he said, turning
towards the bath. "Before leaving I must walk hand in hand with
Stalin. Luther, keep strong hold on small friend in Jake's absence."

Jake, winking my way, passed Oktobriana to me, hoisted the
cases and slipped through the front door as Skuratov opened the
bath's, pulling it shut after. Holding her I felt no struggle, which
worried. In times past, during prisoner retrieval, there always came
a moment early on when one or two would, without warning,
tumble earthward, pulses stilled, dropping down dead as if their
unwillingness to be held so strengthened that they drove away their
souls, dying by will, sans symptom, sans blow, sans threat. That
often occurred on Long Island, during those long campaigns.
Oktobriana's seeming peace, so expected and so unnatural, wondered me if, consciously or not, she prepped to do just that.

"Mal," I shouted, growing anxious; Jake's odd behavior hadn't
helped. "Hurry and exit soon-"