drove over the bumps toward the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, Andrei could see the girl’s figure shrink.
She put her cardigan back on, adjusted her hair, and tied the headscarf. Then the twilight hid her from sight.
Good thing it was over, he sighed with relief. What had got into him? He just helped a terrorist escape retribution! The crowd would have torn her apart, and rightly so. He, the fool he was, had to intervene. He had to forget this stupid story as quickly as possible.
Andrei turned on the radio and immediately got a newscast.
“A detailed description of the suicide bomber who escaped from the Dmitrovskaya metro station has been released,” the newscaster was saying. “She appears to be twenty to twenty-five years old, approximately 170 centimeters tall, slender, of dark complexion, oval face of European type, arched eyebrows, brown eyes, the bridge of the nose narrow and straight, wide mouth, triangular chin, long black hair. She was wearing a brown skirt below the knee, a gray cardigan with blue geometric patterns, a light blouse; on her head, a green checkered headscarf. She is assisted by an accomplice, a young man. His description is still being finalized. Law enforcement authorities are asking anyone who has information about the terrorist to call 02.”
Not bad this time around, Andrei thought, surprised. He wouldn’t be able to give a better description of the girl himself. Except maybe add something about bruises on her back and that damned birthmark on her heck.
He didn’t like the sound of the word “accomplice’. What a role he’d been given! Wait a bit, and he’d be promoted to mastermind.
He was getting worried.
As soon as the damn Chechen shows her face in public, she’d be grabbed. The police are out in numbers, the description fits perfectly. If she is arrested, she would tell on me, Andrei kept reasoning. She definitely would. If she doesn’t want to, the pressure will do the trick. The security services can do that, they have a lot of experience. She’d cover the real masterminds to avoid her family getting hurt, but she’d tell on me for sure. What’s her reason to keep quiet about me? None. And if she remembered the car, I’ve got about five minutes left as a free man.
What a bind! How would I explain the idiotic act I pulled near that metro station? That was aiding and abetting terrorists, pure and simple.
I can’t leave her alone now! She’d sink herself and drag me down with her.
The Lada quietly driving along Lyublinskaya Street suddenly made a U-turn over the double solid, tires squealing, and sped back. Turning into the now-familiar alley, Andrei turned on the headlights. The high beams highlighted the figure of a girl wearing a long skirt standing on the side of the road. Without the thick belt under her clothes, she looked taller and more slender. But her headscarf made her look like nun in the dark.
Andrei drove up to her and braked. She apathetically continued to walk.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Vlasov shouted.
The girl, it seemed, didn’t notice him. Vlasov lowered a window and baked up the car.
“Where are you going to go now?” he asked in a calmer tone.
The girl looked at him ambivalently, but kept on walking without a word.
“To your people? Here in Moscow?”
The girl shook her head no.
“Good idea. Forget this foolishness and go home.”
The girl still walked barely shuffling her feet, while Andrei drove along.
“Do you have money for the trip?” He looked at her skeptically. “Nah, where would you get it? You were going on the longest trip, the no-ticket-required kind.”
The girl was still silent. Andrei lost his patience, stopped the car and jumped out.
“Wait, you!” He stood in her way, irritated. “At least take off your headscarf, stupid! Otherwise, the first cop you come across will grab you! Your description is already on the radio.”
She stared into his face in confusion. Andrei took her by the elbow and steered her toward the car. The limp female body offered no resistance.
“Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to my place. You spend the night there. Tomorrow, I’ll get you new clothes and send you home.”
Andrei pushed in the door lock safety and closed the door on the girl’s side. When he got behind the wheel, he turned to her.
“Take of that damn headscarf, will ya?”
The narrow palm of her hand pulled the headscarf down to her knees. The girl shook her head; long black hair fell onto her shoulders.
Andrei said approvingly, “Now that’s better.”
The girl closed her eyes in exhaustion; he head fell back on the seat. Her pale lips opened slightly, and her chin made several jerking motions.
Chapter 11
August 31, 9:20 PM
Safe House
Aslan Kitkiev looked at the apartment number again. Everything was right; building 18, apartment 64. He remembered the address ever since he left for Moscow, but hasn’t been here yet. The apartment was a backup location to be used in the event of a partial failure of the operation. It had to have a supply of medication and food for two weeks, enough to sit around without going outside.
Aslan had a key, but he preferred to push the doorbell button and take two steps back. While the lock was clicking, the young man held his hand inside his coat. The palm of his hand was wrapped around the ribbed grip of his handgun.
The door was opened by a woman of about forty. A shock of unnaturally white hair framed her round face with prominent slightly crooked nose, straight black eyebrows, and thin brightly painted lips. At the roots, her hair was black for about a centimeter. Massive earrings pulled down her earlobes. She wore a variety of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. Her pink blouse accentuated not only her large breasts, but also the folds on her stomach.
The woman quickly glanced around and retreated into the apartment. Aslan quietly came in, looked into the only room and into the kitchen. Only after that his right hand left the inside of his coat.
“Where did you leave the car?” the woman asked.
“Don’t ask meaningless questions, Fatima! There are more important things now,” Aslan snapped and went into the bathroom.
“Nevertheless,” Fatima repeated her question when Aslan came out of the bathroom.
“Are you still harping on about the car? What a bore! The next street over, near the store.”
“You’ve finally learned the basics. Now tell me about the girl.”
Aslan hated to report to women. Although Fatima had been posted to Moscow years ago and conducted several operations here, it was he who was appointed the head of the group. She would have to report first. But the failure of his mission made Aslan more agreeable on the small stuff. In addition, no one else was there to see it.
He sloppily dropped into the only armchair (let the woman stand!) and briefly told her about what happened to Aiza near the metro station.
“Too bad they didn’t kick her to death!” Fatima barked.
“Since that didn’t happen, we have to leave!”
“Why?”
“Woman,” Aslan hissed, lowering his eyes to fat knees peeking out from under her skirt, “Aiza may already be captured and spilling her guts on us as we speak!”
“She doesn’t know about this place.”
“No,