Angel Eyes (70 page)

Nikolev shrugged. "It seems to me that bureaucracies are the same the world over." He smiled. "Someone perhaps was concerned that your flight plan overflew the military air base outside Novosibirsk."

Tori said, "The fact is, we were detoured around it."

"Of course. I understand local security outside of Moscow is quite good, quite stable, but nevertheless . . ." He smiled again. "I hope it would not be too much of an inconvenience if I had some of my men check your aircraft.''

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Tori said. "We are on a diplomatic mission. Our carrier is United States government equipment. We-and it-have immunity."

"I promise you nothing of a personal nature will be disturbed. I suppose some of my superiors are understandably disturbed that we might find long-range lenses or cameras-"

Tori said, "I can assure you there's nothing of that nature on board."

"Not to dispute your honesty. Miss Nunn, but policy dictates-"

"You'll leave our airplane alone, Captain, unless you're prepared to initiate an international incident. Our government takes a dim view of the violation of diplomatic rights.''

Captain Nikolev hesitated for just a moment, then a smile broke out on his face. "Of course," he said. "You're quite right. I can't imagine what I was thinking of." He gestured them through Immigration. "Won't you follow me? I have a car waiting to take you to Tchaikovsky Street. To make up for the inconvenience."

Tori saw his expectant look. She knew she was being tested. She already had the disquieting sense that this Captain Nikolev of the KGB Border Guards did not for a moment believe that she and Russell were diplomats. But how was that possible?

For a moment she had the odd, even more disquieting sensation that this man had been waiting for them to land. But all that had been logged with the Soviet authorities was their flight plan. That could hardly be enough to alert the KGB. And that nonsense about the air base at Novosibirsk had not fooled her. Had the ever-paranoid Soviets really been worried, they would never have approved the flight plan in the first place. She wondered what was going on behind the carefully erected facades.

As they headed through the terminal, Russell said in English, "What the hell's going on?"

Tori grinned like an idiot at him. ''This nice KGB captain has been kind enough to offer us a ride into town."

"He's too kind," Russell said, catching her expression, which said, Who knows who understands English around here?

"My thought exactly."

Captain Nikolev's driver had the black Zil's curbside doors open, and they all piled into the car. Nikolev had previously told his driver not to take the Chaika lane inside Moscow, and the man did not take the route that would have brought them directly to the American embassy on Tchaikovsky Street.

"I thought," Nikolev said, "that you might enjoy a spot of sightseeing before I drop you at your destination."

"That's most kind of you. Captain," Tori said after she had translated for Russell's benefit. "Neither of us have been in Moscow before."

"A first diplomatic mission!" Nikolev enthused. "Now I must make this sightseeing something to remember."

Why is it, Tori asked herself, that I'm hearing sinister undertones in everything he says, as if he's saying one thing, and meaning something altogether different?

He took them past the Lenin Hills and the State University, where yesterday he and Mars Volkov had had their discussion. Along the Moskva, past Gorky Park, so green and lush in the full onset of summer.

Captain Nikolev stuck his head out the window. He could almost taste the ice cream as he watched children with their mothers queuing up to the mobile stand, clamoring for their treat.

"Such a beautiful time of year," Nikolev said to Tori. "You are so lucky to be here now."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Tori said. "Our orders from the State Department brought us here.''

"Of course." Nikolev brought his head back inside the Zil. It was odd, he thought, fencing with a woman. He would have much preferred to deal with the man, Russell Slade, but since Slade obviously did not speak Russian, Nikolev knew for the time being he'd just have to make the best of it.

"You know," he said now, "all this sightseeing has made me hungry-and you, well, you've just come off a twelve-hour plane ride. Please allow me to take you to lunch."

"Much as we appreciate the offer," Tori said, "I think we'd better be getting to our first appointment."

"I believe the time change has made you confused, Miss Nunn." Nikolev shot her his best smile. "You missed your first appointment while you were unfortunately held up at Sheremetyevo. In fact, were it not for me, I'm afraid that you and Mr. Slade would have been stuck there the whole day. Besides, it's lunchtime now. And I know the best restaurant in Moscow."

In fact, Tori and Russell were famished. But the moment they turned onto Krasnokursantsky Street, Tori was all too aware of the joke being played on them. She had heard of Lefortovo, the state security police interrogation center and prison, had even seen photos of its forbidding exterior. So had Russell.

"What the hell is this?" he said, sitting bolt upright.

Captain Nikolev laughed. "You do not think I am taking you there, do you?'' He shook his head. '' That Lefortovo is only for spies and criminals." The black Zil pulled up across the street. "You are to be my guests at the Lefortovo restaurant."

"Charming," Tori said as they stepped out onto the rain-washed sidewalk.

"Not really," Nikolev said, apparently ignorant of her sarcasm. He led them up the steps. "The place has little charm, I admit. But the food is good, the service even better-most important in Moscow, I'm afraid. And it's cheap. We who are dependent on military salaries must constantly count our rubles." They went through the doors. "I suppose it's the same with you and Mr. Slade."

"Why would you say that?" Tori asked.

Captain Nikolev took off his shiny-billed hat and, sticking it under his left arm, spoke for a moment with the maitre d'. They were immediately led to a superior corner table.

When they were settled, Nikolev studied Tori for a long time. Then he said, "It is my understanding that government personnel of all types are underpaid. Is this not so?"

Tori chose not to answer him. Instead she said, "Captain, I would very much like to know why you chose this restaurant to take us to. Surely you knew its location-not to mention its name-would be repellent to us."

"Well, yes, that did occur to me," Nikolev said. He paused to order them all vodka. When the waiter had gone, he continued, ''But we have business to discuss, and in Moscow one must choose one's negotiation site with the utmost care."

"Negotiation?"

"What's he saying?" Russell asked, concerned by the expression on her face. When she had translated, he said, "Just what the hell does this bozo want?"

"This bozo," Captain Nikolev said in almost accentless English, "wants a chance to make a proposal."

The silence at the table was deafening. Tori shot Russell a glare that would have taken off his head if her eyes had been lasers.

Nikolev cleared his throat. It seemed as if he was as uncomfortable as they were. The vodka came to save them all-at least temporarily. He raised his glass. "What shall we drink to?"

"The dismantling of Lefortovo prison," Tori said.

"An inquiry into its questionable practices," Captain Nikolev said.

They drank to that, but it was a compromise that made Tori uneasy. This man was, after all, a captain in the Border Guards division of the KGB. He was on to them, no doubt about it, but what was his game? Tori expanded her wa in an effort to catch a glimpse of his strategy. She did not like being wholly in the dark.

She and Russell had no sooner stepped into the Red Sector-the enemy's territory-when they had been picked up by that very same enemy. Or was Captain Nikolev the enemy?

That was the danger, she recognized: to be able to differentiate the enemy from a friend was a cardinal principle of espionage. The idea of successfully couching the one inside the other was what made this clandestine world continue to tick in this electronicized, computerized age. When you got into trouble-whether it was an individual, a department, a country-it was because you had trusted the person who was selling you out to your enemy.

She felt nothing from this man, neither hostility nor camaraderie, merely a kind of coiled tension. It was different from Russell's tension when she and he were fighting. The Russian's was more intense, darker, more opaque. And it had many layers. It seemed interesting to her that this man should be under so much stress. What was he frightened of? she wondered.

"I want to at least attempt to explain," Captain Nikolev was saying now, breaking in on her thoughts. "Look around you. By and large, you will see only military men. Most of them work across the street. I know many of them, though not well. We have never shared an evening meal, our children are not friends. But they know me, and therefore this is a safe haven for me. I can take anyone here and no one will talk about it because it will be assumed that these people are my friends, my guests, or are business associates." He cocked his head. "Do you understand?"

"I think I'm beginning to," Tori said. "But you'd better spell it out for Mr. Slade. He isn't as quick as I am."

"Is this true?" Nikolev asked Russell anxiously. "Perhaps my English will be inadequate."

"Your accent isn't terrible," Tori said. "But Mr. Slade will, I think, tax your vocabulary.''

Nikolev laughed softly. "I like humor," he said. "Especially in a woman. It's very comfortable, don't you think?"

"I think you mean comforting," Tori said. "And that depends on the type of humor.''

"Perhaps if I get to know you better, I will receive an entire catalogue of humor," Nikolev said, clearly delighted. "I would welcome that. It's said the Romans of Augustus Caesar's day had much humor."

Nikolev patiently watched the silent interplay between Tori and Russell before saying, "I know. You're thinking again, 'What does this bozo want?' By the way, what is a bozo?"

"Know what a clown is?" Russell said. "Same thing."

"I see." Nikolev seemed to frown a little. Then the first course came, and he brightened. "It's a set menu here. I hope you don't mind not being able to choose."

''We're getting used to it," Tori said.

They ate more or less in silence. When the plates were cleared of the last course, Nikolev said, "Was it so bad?"

"Lutece it isn't," Russell said, plopping sugar into his strong Russian tea.

"Ah, a restaurant in Paris."

"Close," Russell said.

Captain Nikolev nodded, apparently satisfied. "In any case, I think we all feel better now, yes?"

"Maybe some of us do," Russell said pointedly.

"What Mr. Slade means," Tori said hurriedly, "is that we're still a bit bewildered. Obviously you want something from us, but we still have no idea what it is."

"That's all right for now," Nikolev said. "Can we say that this time together has proven that we can . . . talk to one another?"

Russell said, "Depends about what."

Captain Nikolev looked at him for some time, as if he could not make up his mind about something important. ''It's a matter of trust, isn't it?" he said. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his brow. "I have no idea whether I can trust you."

Russell, who had just taken some tea, was so surprised he almost choked on it. He began to cough, and his eyes teared. Tori just sat and stared at Nikolev as if he were out of his mind.

"Have I said something odd?"

"You bet you have," Tori said.

Russell said, "You, Captain, are the goddamnedest Russian I have ever met."

"Yes? Well, perhaps that is something to be proud of."

"You said something before about a proposal," Tori said.

"Have I your assurance that you'll listen to what I have to say?"

"I'm more paranoid than she is," Russell said. "What kind of proposal?"

"An . . . exchange of information."

"You first, Ivan."

"Russell!" Tori said.

"What?" Russell retorted. "Remember where we are, Tori. In a country where we're guilty until proven guilty. Anything we say or do from now on will be used against us in a place not unlike the building across the street. Talking to this guy's like trying to stand in quicksand. I think he's as loony as Daffy Duck."

"Excuse me," Captain Nikolev said. "This Daffy Duck, is he a bozo as well?"

Tori put her hands over her face.

Russell said, "Yeah." Then he turned to her. "This isn't happening."

"It isn't?" Nikolev said, clearly confused.

Russell said, ''Where are the guys in baggy pants to squirt us with seltzer?"

"They have seltzer here," Nikolev said, calling a waiter. He was trying to be helpful.

"That's all right," Tori said. She told the waiter in Russian to forget it, and he retreated. Tori hunched over the table. ''Captain, we have nothing to hide. I want that understood from the outset."

Nikolev nodded.

"On the other hand, .Mr. Slade and I have no way to know whether we can trust you.''

"Tori, for God's sake-"

"I understand," Captain Nikolev said. His expression showed something of his relief. "It is like a ... Mexican shootout, yes?"

"Standoff," Russell said. "A Mexican standoff."

Captain Nikolev nodded soberly. "Thank you. I will remember that. American idioms are so ... incomprehensible."

"Tell me about it."

"Pardon? I just did."

"Let's not start this all over again," Tori said. She spread her hands on the table palms up. "How do you wish to proceed, Captain?"

"I would like to make my proposal... but not here."

"Where?" Russell said.

"A villa. In the Lenin Hills."

Tori smiled. "Captain, please try to see this situation from our point of view. We have had no assurances from you-"

"I am speaking English," Nikolev said immediately. "KGB agents are not supposed to reveal such things. We are to pretend ignorance of English so as to learn more."