“He’s intending to leave the store,” came through on Burt’s car speaker. “He’s putting his gloves on.”
“Where is she?” Burt said.
“Right by the door. But it’s a broad exit. He won’t necessarily walk by her.”
Anna watched the gloves go on. Vladimir took the book in his right hand and walked back into the centre of the shop to the rack where he’d found the book, then turned right towards the exit. He was coming down the central aisle, where she was standing.
She didn’t turn, but made sure her profile was clearly visible as she looked down at a copy of something by Stendhal—she had no idea of the title. She was holding two other books underneath it, as though she’d decided on buying them.
He was just yards away now, closing and glancing to the left and right, walking slowly but not stopping. He seemed in no hurry despite his intention to leave. At that point she stopped looking at him and became engrossed in the book in her hand. She didn’t want to be tempted at the last moment to be the one to make the discovery.
In a few seconds, when she realised she was holding her breath, she became aware of a presence next to her. She didn’t look up, but saw his feet about two yards away. He’d stopped. She turned away from him slightly, as if she were annoyed that someone was looking at her. Then she felt a hand on her arm and looked up.
When she saw his face, the first of several expressions that crossed it in rapid succession was fear.
She stared back at him, her own face empty of everything except complete shock.
Then she looked around, in apparent fear herself, hunting for anyone with him. She looked back at him and took a step away from him, removing his hand from her arm. “Vladimir! What are you doing here!” she breathed.
He looked at her steadily. The fear was still in his eyes, but now alternated with uncertainty.
“It is you,” he said.
“Why are you here?” She sounded frightened even to herself.
“I’m alone,” he said. “It’s all right, I’m alone.”
“Why are you here?” she repeated. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not following you,” he said, and she saw the uncertainty in his eyes recede and a sense of calm take over for a moment.
She didn’t reply, but glanced around the store anxiously, looking for anyone else who might be with him.
“I’m alone,” he repeated. “Anna, I’m alone.”
She focused her eyes back on him. “You’re looking for me,” she said. “They’re looking for me. Please, Vladimir. I have a small son.”
He seemed stung by the remark, but recovered quickly. Then he spoke very fast. “There’s a café on Third Street. West of Park Avenue. If you want to see me, I’ll be there. The café’s called Mendoza.” He turned away from her and walked to the exit and left.
“What’s happening?” Burt asked harshly from the car.
“He saw her,” came back over the speaker. “They talked. Briefly. He’s left the store.”
“What’s she doing?”
“She’s standing there.”
“Which way’s he headed?”
“He’s turned left out of the store and is walking fast. Now he’s stopped. He’s looking for a cab.”
“Anyone with him? Any tails?”
“None. Almost sure of that.”
“Be sure. Watch if anything follows his cab. Watch if he’s on a phone.”
Anna stepped out of the store onto the sidewalk and turned to the right. She walked twenty yards north of the store as they’d agreed, stopped, then recrossed the street when the pedestrian sign came up. The cab was waiting for her on the corner of the street, closer to the store than where it had dropped her. She stepped in.
“Where to?” the driver said with complete lack of urgency. It occurred to her he was playing his role too well, and she almost laughed out loud.
“Third Street,” she said. “On Park. A café called Mendoza. Drive past it and drop me about a hundreds yards farther on.”
“Hear that?” the driver said into the speaker.
“Check.” It was Burt’s voice.
There was silence.
The cab pulled out and waited for the light, then turned right as soon as it was green.
“What’s up, Anna?” Burt said through the speaker.
“We’re meeting.”
“Anything else?”
“He seemed as close to being convinced as we can expect.”
“Good. You okay?”
“Fine.”
“I hear you looked completely terrified,” Burt said and chuckled. “You got the part.”
“And a raise, I hope,” she replied.
She heard Burt’s laugh, but he said nothing.
As the cab took her steadily downtown, the speaker blared again. One of the watchers.
“He’s been in a cab for five blocks. Seems to be heading for the venue.”
“Give him time to get inside before getting close,” Burt ordered.
Anna’s driver usefully lost time by turning right instead of left and doing three sides of a square around two blocks, away from Park Avenue. Then they heard he had entered the café.
“Follow,” Burt said.
The cab took her across the street again where it had picked her up and headed fast towards Third Street. They passed the Café Mendoza. There were traffic lights fifty yards beyond.
“Before the lights?” the driver asked.
“Take me just beyond them,” she replied. She wanted a good walk in.
“The target has entered the café,” the speaker droned.
There was a pause of two or three minutes as the cab waited at the red lights.
“The café’s about half full,” the speaker reported. “Mostly students from the university.”
“I don’t want any comms in there,” she heard Burt say. “Get out of there and stay clear from now on.”
Anna walked the two blocks from the east of the Café Mendoza. She suddenly felt a feeling of freedom, unexplained. Perhaps it was because it was the first time she’d been free for nearly six months. Just this short walk, alone, raised her spirits. And Vladimir had been compliant.
She thought what it might be like one day to walk down a street like this, without the catalogue of aims and secrets, the needs of others, in just the freedom of her own mind.
It was a busy street, lined with tourist stalls and cheap restaurants and cafés. Pedestrians wrapped against the cold stopped only briefly or dashed inside, more for warmth than with any intention of buying anything. There were chestnuts roasting in a metal barrel. The vendor was stamping his feet and warming his gloved hands over the heat. He was wrapped in layers of clothing and a balaclava so that she could just make out a black face and a pair of eyes.
A few yards before the café, she stopped and looked at a stand that was selling postcards and scarves. She collected her thoughts, and made a check around her. She didn’t trust Burt’s teams to spot anyone following Vladimir. She could do it better.
Then she walked the few steps and turned right into the doorway of the café. She saw Vladimir immediately sitting with his back to her at the far end. He was in the process of ordering something from a waitress who stood, pen poised over her pad.
Anna walked to the counter, where there were bar stools, sat on one, and ordered a coffee. She adjusted her hearing to the low hubbub, not looking towards the rear of the café. She paid for the coffee and took a magazine from the pocket of her coat.
She then turned to watch as a waitress cleared the table next to Vladimir’s. Before anyone else could take it, she walked to the back of the café and told the waitress loaded with armfuls of screwed-up paper mats and dirty crockery that she’d like a menu.