Khrushchev chuckled. “No need. We will have it brought to you.”
“Ah, but Comrade, there is no one except those sitting here who is even cleared to carry this information, let alone read it. I’ll be but a moment.”
Beria turned on his heel before anyone could say another word, and Maggie followed quickly behind. As they had predicted, it took the Central Committee a few seconds to realize what had happened, but by the time they were down the hall, Maggie could hear shouting, followed by boots clattering on the floor.
They were coming.
Maggie pulled a radio from the briefcase she carried, discarding the case onto the floor as they ran. “Boris! Yanushkevich!”
Beria ducked into a little-used stairwell and began clambering down the stairs, Maggie close behind. They were relying solely on Beria’s memory at this point, and she caught a sharp pang of confusion on him as he paused before a door…
They were out of range.
“We’re back,” she said breathlessly. “Outside the null field.”
Beria turned and smiled before kicking down the door. “Good.”
And flames engulfed the Kremlin halls.
20
Despite having been in America for nearly four years, Ekaterina couldn’t help but be amazed at the largesse Americans enjoyed — and how much they took it for granted. The U.S. Mission in West Berlin, a large, white-washed manor house in a leafy, genteel part of the city, had all the luxuries of home, from Coca-Cola in the commissary to some of the most comfortable beds she’d ever slept in, and yet just that morning she overheard the staff there complaining about the quality of the pancakes and bacon for breakfast and the weak coffee. Even the Berliners working there knew better, having seen their city rise from utter destruction just eight years prior.
She knew, intellectually, that the right to complain, to seek better things, was inherently American — and as far from the Russian mentality as could be. Russians made do with what they had. No matter who was in charge — the tsars, the Bolsheviks, the Party apparatus — Russians worked hard to get what they could and enjoyed what they managed to get without complaint. Who would listen, anyway? Certainly not the tsars, the Bolsheviks, the Party.
Yet Ekaterina looked on with disbelief as some minor embassy functionary demanded a word with the cook about that morning’s breakfast, even as she tucked into hers with relish. One of the side effects of her Enhancement was a ravenous appetite, a condition shared with Boris. Their metabolisms skyrocketed after they became Variants, and both of them regularly ate meals that three normal people would have struggled to finish.
Boris. The look on his aged, wrinkled face haunted her. He shot her. Did he guess she could shrug it off? She fervently hoped that might be the case. If not, what did that say about him? About her? Would they ever see each other again? Would he die before that happened? He looked to be about eighty. His Enhancement kept him quick, of course, but when would his body give out? Perhaps, when all was said and done, she would try to find Cal and bring him to Russia, to undo the damage he’d done back in ’48. As much as she hated Cal at times, she knew full well he was a good man, and if given the opportunity, he would indeed try his best to reach Boris and restore his youth.
But Cal was missing, and Boris was with Beria. And Beria was gone — somewhere.
“Join you, kiddo?”
Ekaterina looked up and saw Frank Lodge smiling down at her, a tray of food in his hands.
“It’s a free country,” she said with a tired smirk. “That is what you say, yes?”
“Yep, that’s what we say,” Frank said as he slid into a seat across from her. “Heard you saw your brother again.”
Ekaterina felt her face grow red. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”
Frank nodded and started in on his pancakes. She hadn’t see much of Danny and Frank since they’d arrived last night in West Berlin, courtesy of a diplomatic flight out of Leningrad and a somewhat nerve-wracking border crossing from East Berlin. Of course, she and Mrs. Stevens and Tim Sorensen had carried official-looking papers, but using those always made her nervous. She was Russian — she knew the value of identity papers more than any of them.
“So Leningrad was a bust?” Frank asked.
“What is a ‘bust’?”
“Nothing happening. Couldn’t get in.”
“No, it was not a bust,” Ekaterina said. “We saw that the Red Army had taken control of the Bekhterev Institute. We could not go in, but we could see the building had been severely damaged — another fire. Mrs. Stevens believes Beria’s Variants took all their papers and studies and set the fire to cover their tracks.”
Frank took a gulp of black coffee. “Yeah, but they have the other vortex.”
“Maybe. It was kept in a basement much below the ground level. There were iron doors and locks and all different things protecting it. They bragged that it would take a month for anyone to break into the room where it is without the right keys and codes. So there is time, yet. I wish to find Beria. He is very dangerous.”
“Tim said they used a code word in the Central Committee room. ‘Yanushkevich.’ That ring a bell?”
Ekaterina smiled slightly. “I thought you knew everything, Frank. It is a name. Nikolai Yanushkevich, one of the tsarist generals during the First World War. He was in charge when the Russian Army had its ‘Great Retreat’ from Poland. I think it is code for retreat.”
“Makes sense. Burn everything and get the hell out of Dodge. We really stuck it to him. You and Tim did a fantastic job, by the way. Danny’s giddy as a schoolgirl about all the records you got out of that safe.”
“I am a schoolgirl. Or I should be. What is giddy?” she asked.
Frank chuckled. “Giddy. Happy, in a cute kind of way. Like when a girl likes a boy or gets a present or something.”
Ekaterina thought about this for a moment. “That’s not me.”
“No, it’s not,” Frank agreed, looking a bit more somber. “Hey, question for you. Are your abilities changing? That’s been a concern.”
Ekaterina thought back to throwing the car halfway down the alley near the Bolshoi. “Yes, maybe I am getting stronger? But it is hard to say. I am also young. Growing up. Why?”
“Something Beria mentioned when I met with him, that’s all,” Frank said. He didn’t seem very convincing, and quickly changed the subject. “What did you end up doing with our visitors?”
Ekaterina frowned. “I do not wish to talk about that either.”
Frank nodded silently and focused on his food. The problem of the Soviet Variants was a profound one. Beria had done MAJESTIC-12 a massive favor by keeping his Variant program a secret from the rest of the Soviet government, but if the captured Variants were to be discovered by, say, the Red Army or other Party officials…
Ekaterina had pleaded with Mrs. Stevens and Sorensen to spare them. They nodded and consoled her. And then they didn’t bring it up again. She hoped against hope that the three were somehow released or contained, but… that was unlikely.
The awkward silence was broken a few minutes later by Sorensen, who quickly stopped by their table, coffee in hand. “Meeting. Secure room. We got something,” he said before rushing off. They quickly downed as much of their food as possible, and Ekaterina filled another plate with eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, and pancakes before heading up to the embassy’s secure conference room, where Danny and the rest of the Variants were waiting for them.