The Sky Is Falling (27 page)

“I am staying with a friend at the Chiaka Apartments. No one knows I am there. It is what you call a ‘safe house.’ Here is the address. I can’t go back to my own place. Come here at eight o’clock this evening. I must know your plan.”

Dana nodded. “All right. I have a phone call to make.”

When Dana got back to the lobby of the Soyuz Hotel, the woman behind the desk stared at her.
I don’t blame her
, Dana thought.
I’ve got to get out of this dreadful outfit
.

Inside her room, Dana changed into her own clothes before making a phone call. She prayed as the phone kept ringing at the other end.
Please be in. Please be in
. Dana heard Cesar’s blessed voice.

“The Hudson residence.”

“Cesar, is Mr. Hudson in?” Dana found that she was holding her breath.

“Miss Evans! How nice to hear from you. Yes, Mr. Hudson is here. Hold on, please.”

Dana felt her body tremble with relief. If there was anyone who could help her get Sasha Shdanoff into the United States, Roger Hudson would be the one person able to do it.

His voice came on the line a moment later. “Dana?”

“Roger, oh, thank God I got you!”

“What’s the matter? Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m in Moscow. I found out why Taylor Winthrop and his family were murdered.”

“
What
? My God. How did you—”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Roger, I hate to impose on you again, but I have a problem. There’s an important Russian official who wants to escape to America. His name is Sasha Shdanoff. His life is in danger here. He knows the answers to everything that’s happened. We have to get him out, and quickly! Can you help?”

“Dana, neither of us should be involved in anything like this. We could both get in trouble.”

“We have to take that chance. We have no choice. This is too important. It has to be done.”

“I don’t like this, Dana.”

“I’m sorry to drag you into this, but I have no one else to turn to.”

“Dammit, I —” He stopped. “All right. The best thing to do right now is to get him to the American embassy. He’ll be safe there until we can work out a plan to get him into the United States.”

“He doesn’t want to go to the American embassy. He doesn’t trust them.”

“There is no other way. I’ll call the ambassador on a secure line and tell him to see that he gets protection. Where is Shdanoff now?”

“He’s waiting for me at the Chiaka Apartments. He’s staying with a friend. I’m going there to meet him.”

“All right. Dana, when you pick him up, go directly to the American embassy. Don’t stop anywhere on the way.”

Dana felt a surge of relief. “Thank you, Roger. I mean
thank you
!”

“Be careful, Dana.”

“I will.”

“We’ll talk later.”

Thank you, Roger. I mean thank you.

Be careful, Dana.

I will.

We’ll talk later.

Tape ends.

At seven-thirty, Dana slipped out of the service entrance of the Soyuz Hotel. She went down an alley, ripped by the icy wind. She pulled her coat around her tightly, but the cold was in her bones. Dana walked two blocks, making sure that she was not being followed. At the first busy corner, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address Sasha Shdanoff had given her. Fifteen minutes later the taxi stopped in front of a nondescript apartment building.

“Me wait?” the driver asked.

“No.” Commissar Shdanoff would probably have a car. Dana took some dollars from her purse, held out her hand, and the driver grunted and took them all. Dana watched him drive off, and she went inside the building. The hallway was deserted. She looked at the slip in her hand, apartment 2BE. She approached a flight of shabby stairs and walked up to the second floor. There was no one around. A long hallway lay in front of her.

Dana began to walk along it slowly, looking at the numbers on the doors. 5BE… 4BE… 3BE… The door to 2BE was ajar. Dana tensed. Cautiously, she pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The apartment was dark.

“Commissar…?” She waited. There was no answer. “Commissar Shdanoff?” A heavy silence. There was a bedroom ahead, and Dana moved toward it. “Commissar Shdanoff…”

As Dana entered the dark bedroom, she tripped over something and fell to the floor. She was lying on something soft and wet. Filled with revulsion, Dana scrambled to her feet. She felt along the wall until she found a switch. She pressed it, and the room was flooded with light. Her hands were covered with blood. On the floor lay the object she had stumbled over: Sasha Shdanoff’s body. He was on his back, his chest soaked in blood, his throat slit from ear to ear.

Dana screamed. As she did, she looked at the bed and saw the bloody body of a middle-aged woman with a plastic bag tied around her head. Dana felt her flesh crawl.

Hysterical, she ran down the stairs of the apartment building.

He was standing at the window of an apartment in the building across the street, loading a thirty-shot rifle clip into an AR-7 rifle with a silencer. He was using a 3–6 powered scope, accurate up to sixty-five yards. He moved with the easy, calm grace of a professional. This was a simple job. The woman should be coming out of the building at any minute. He smiled at the thought of how she must have panicked when she found the two bloody bodies. Now it was her turn.

The door to the apartment building across the street flew open, and he carefully raised the rifle to his shoulder. Through the scope, he saw Dana’s face as she ran out onto the street, frantically looking around, trying to decide which way to go. He aimed carefully to make sure she was in the exact center of the scope and gently squeezed the trigger.

At that instant, a bus stopped in front of the building, and the spray of bullets hit the top of the bus and blew part of the roof off. The sniper looked down, unbelievingly. Some of the bullets had ricocheted into the bricks of the building, but the target was unharmed. People were pouring out of the bus, screaming. He knew he had to get out of there. The woman was running down the street.
Not to worry. The others would deal with her
.

The streets were icy and the wind was howling, but Dana never noticed. She was in a complete panic. Two blocks away she came to a hotel and ran into the lobby.

“Telephone?” she said to the clerk behind the desk.

He looked at her bloody hands and drew back.

“Telephone!” Dana was almost screaming.

Nervously, the clerk pointed to a phone booth in a corner of the lobby. Dana hurried into it. From her purse, she took out a phone card and, with trembling fingers, telephoned the operator.

“I want to place a call to America.” Her hands were shaking. Through chattering teeth, she gave the operator her card number and Roger Hudson’s number and waited. After what seemed to be an eternity, Dana heard Cesar’s voice.

“The Hudson residence.”

“Cesar! I need to talk to Mr. Hudson.” Her voice was choked.

“Miss Evans?”

“Hurry, Cesar, hurry!”

A minute later Dana heard Roger’s voice. “Dana?”

“Roger!” Tears were streaming down Dana’s face. “He’s — he’s dead. They m-murdered him and his friend.”

“
What
? My God, Dana. I don’t know what — are you hurt?”

“No… but they’re trying to kill me.”

“Now, listen carefully. There’s an Air France plane that leaves for Washington at midnight. I’ll get you a reservation on it. Make sure you’re not followed to the airport. Don’t take a taxi there. Go directly to the Hotel Metropol. The hotel has airport buses leaving regularly. Take one of them. Mingle with the crowds. I’ll be waiting for you in Washington when you arrive. For God’s sakes, watch yourself!”

“I will, Roger. Th — thank you.”

Dana hung up the phone. She stood there a moment, unable to move, filled with terror. She could not get the bloody images of Shdanoff and his friend out of her mind. She took a deep breath and walked out of the booth, past the suspicious clerk, out into the freezing-cold night.

A taxi pulled up to the curb next to her, and the driver said something to her in Russian.

“
Nyet
,” Dana said. She began to hurry down the street. She had to go back to her hotel first.

As Roger replaced the phone, he heard Pamela come in the front door.

“Dana’s telephoned twice from Moscow. She’s found out why the Winthrops were murdered.”

Pamela said, “Then we must take care of her right away.”

“I already tried. We sent a sniper, but something went wrong.”

Pamela looked at him with contempt. “You fool. Call them again. And, Roger…”

“Yes?”

“Tell them to make it look like an accident.”

IN RAVEN HILL, a red NO TRESPASSING sign and high iron fence excluded the world from the wooded acres of the headquarters the FRA had established in England. Behind the closely guarded base, a series of satellite-tracking dishes monitored international cable and microwave communications passing through Britain. In a concrete house in the center of the compound, four men were watching a large screen.

“Beam her up, Scotty.”

They watched the television picture shift away from a flat in Brighton as the satellite moved. A moment later an image of Dana came up on the large screen as she entered her room at the Soyuz Hotel.

“She’s back.” They watched as Dana hurriedly washed the blood off her hands and started to undress.

“Hey, here we go again.” One of the men grinned.

They watched as Dana stripped.

“Man, I’d sure like to bonk that.”

Another man hurried into the room. “Not unless you’re into necrophilia, Charlie.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We just got orders to see that she has a fatal accident.”

Dana finished dressing and looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time to catch the Metropol bus to the airport. With growing anxiety, she hurried downstairs to the lobby. The fat woman was nowhere in sight.

Dana walked out onto the street. Impossibly, it had gotten colder. The wind was a relentless, howling banshee. A taxi stopped in front of Dana.

“Taksi?”

Don’t take a taxi. Go directly to the Hotel Metropol. The hotel has airport buses leaving regularly.

“Nyet.”

Dana started walking along the icy street. Crowds were pushing past her, hurrying to the warmth of homes or offices. As Dana reached a busy corner, waiting to cross, she felt a violent shove from behind and she went flying into the street in front of an oncoming truck. She slipped on a patch of ice and fell on her back, looking up in horror as the huge truck sped toward her.

At the last second, the white-faced driver managed to turn his wheel so that the truck passed directly over Dana. For a moment, she lay in darkness, her ears filled with the roar of the engine and the clanking chains flapping against the huge tires.

Suddenly she could see the sky again. The truck was gone. Dana groggily sat up. People were helping her to her feet. She looked around for the person who had pushed her, but it could have been anyone in the crowd. Dana took several deep breaths and tried to regain her composure. The people surrounding her were shouting at her in Russian. The crowd was beginning to press in on Dana, making her panicky.

“Hotel Metropol?” Dana said hopefully.

A group of young boys had approached. “Sure. We take you.”

The lobby of the Hotel Metropol was blessedly warm, crowded with tourists and businessmen.
Mingle with the crowds. I’ll be waiting for you in Washington when you arrive
.

Dana said to a bellman, “What time does the next bus leave for the airport?”

“In thirty minutes,
gaspazha
.”

“Thank you.”

She sat in a chair, breathing hard, trying to wipe the unspeakable horror from her mind. She was filled with dread. Who was trying to kill her and why? And was Kemal safe?

The bellman came up to Dana. “The airport bus is here.”

Dana was the first one on the bus. She took a seat at the rear and studied the faces of the passengers. There were tourists from half a dozen countries: Europeans, Asians, Africans, and a few Americans. A man across the aisle was staring at her.

He looks familiar
, Dana thought.
Has he been following me
? She found herself hyperventilating.

One hour later, when the bus stopped at Sheremetyevo II airport, Dana was the last one to disembark. She hurried into the terminal building and over to the Air France desk.

“May I help you?”

“Do you have a reservation for Dana Evans?” Dana was holding her breath.
Say yes, say yes, say yes
…

The clerk sorted through some papers. “Yes. Here’s your ticket. It’s paid for.”

Bless Roger
. “Thank you.”

“The plane is on schedule. That’s flight two-twenty. It will be leaving in one hour and ten minutes.”

“Is there a lounge” — Dana almost said,
with a lot of people
— “where I can rest?”

“Down the end of this corridor and to the right.”

“Thank you.”

The lounge was crowded. Nothing in there seemed unusual or threatening. Dana took a seat. In a little while, she would be on her way to America and safety.

“Air France flight two-twenty is now boarding at gate three for Washington, D.C. Will all passengers please have their passports and boarding passes ready?”

Dana rose and started toward gate 3. A man who had been watching her from an Aeroflot counter spoke into his cell phone.

“The subject is heading for the boarding gate.”

Roger Hudson picked up the phone and called a number. “She’s on Air France flight two-twenty. I want her picked up at the airport.”