A mock Beefeater doorman was on the approach. His sour expression clearly conveyed his opinion that our squabbling ought to be conducted away from the hotel entrance. His expression changed when I asked him to, “Please hail a taxi for my friends.”
“Right away and with pleasure!” He raised a white glove, and a rusting black and yellow Lada sedan materialized almost instantly and seemingly out of nowhere.
Valeria, her son, Anna and I, pretty much overloaded the taxi. There was no room for Alexi. Mercifully, it was the last time we’d ever him. “The train station, and please hurry.” I told the driver as we pulled away from the curb.
The next train leaving for eastern Ukraine was full. Even first class was jammed. I sure as hell wanted them gone, so I bribed a conductor to give mother-and-son his personal staff cabin. It worked. We stood, kind of shell shocked, watching the train accelerate past the platform and out of our lives.
The platform was deserted, mercifully quiet. We stood there a few more minutes. Finally, I put my arm on Anna’s shoulder. “Well, that should take care of them, but we’re right back where we started when we first got to Odessa.”
She put her arm around my waist. “The train station?”
“Nope, square one, and it’s high time to stop screwing around and get serious.”
A week at the Windsor Arms had cast a dangerous spell on me. The place is like living history. Dating from the 1830’s, and having miraculously survived the horrific wars and upheaval of the 20th century, there is a feeling that once one is surrounded by the building’s intricate stone facade, time is irrelevant. Disconnected from the 21st century, it was just too easy to slip into complacency and give in to a powerful urge to never leave.
We’d taken to commemorating our evenings by ensconcing ourselves in the Windsor Arm’s casino for a nightcap — or two. Anna was mellowing into yet another glass of something new to her when she asked, “Jess, am I doing something wrong?”
It caught me off guard. I was expecting a critique on Grand Marnier, Anna’s latest adventure in fine spirits. “What do you mean? Sniff it like cognac, swirl it slowly in the glass…”
“Not the liqueur, but going against my parents. I can’t help but feel I’m betraying my entire society. Betraying Russia.”
“Really? How is that?”
“Not doing what they want, Mother especially. Does that make me a selfish person?”
“Holy kapoosta — you’re twenty-seven, an accomplished engineer and you’re asking me if it’s selfish not to live with your parents in a two room flat?” I gave it a little more thought. “Where I come from, being an adult living with your parents isn’t exactly something to brag about.”
“That’s not what I meant, it has nothing to do with living with my parents. It’s about not doing what they want me to, not making them proud. They want me to have a husband, to have children and a home. Only then can they be proud of me. If I don’t have this, I am worthless, a disgrace to the family… a weirdo, or worse.”
“Wow, what can I say? You’re an adult. You can do what you want.”
“Don’t just say that — support me. I need a whole new foundation, the old one is collapsing. My family squabble must look silly to you, but it isn’t funny for me. If I went home, and managed to stay alive, I wouldn’t see the light of day again. You know, my best friend told me to stop being an idiot and go back to Mikhail. She says, ‘I am dead to her,’ after running away and doing who-knows-what liberated crap here. You know, she actually phoned my parents to express her condolences and offer her help getting me back?”
“Good lord, I had no idea.”
“Yes, I’ve had enough of this. One way or another I have to get away from here with you… somehow.” Anna put down her snifter and leaned toward me. “My passport is going to be a problem.”
“Going to?”
“She is very serious and determined. She is going to make it as hard as she can on me, on us. It is just one trick she can play on me. She told me this.”
“I need a lifeline. It’s time to phone a friend.” I quoted a popular game show.
“Phone a friend?” Anna had no idea what I was talking about.
“You need a passport. Dealing with creeps and criminals has been yet another fiasco, to say the least. There is someone I worked with before, a man in Moscow with government connections. I wonder if there’s some way I can reach him?” I mused aloud.
“Work? I thought you were fired.”
“Right, and I really shouldn’t do this, but there’s this guy, Timo, a Finn working in Moscow, he can get documents in a matter of days.” I inhaled the vapor from my glass of Jameson and took a long slow sip. “He did it before; even hand-delivered them. Then again, I wasn’t paying him, my employer was — back when I had one.”
Anna, thinking it best to switch into English, formulated her words. “This Timo, he is an agent like you?”
A lone Brit whooped from one of the roulette tables. At least someone was having a good night.
I shushed Anna. We weren’t the only Anglophones in the joint. “I don’t know just what he does, but he’s in the right place and can get passports. It’s a chance and I’ve got to take it.” I finished the last of my whiskey, letting it roll down my throat and infuse me with golden warmth. “The real kicker is, it might be our last chance.”
After I left, Anna and the intoxicated Englishman were the only non-employees left in the opulent casino. Anna said she wanted to stay a while longer, and I think the bartender appreciated her company. In the business center, I flipped on the lights, signed onto a desktop, and sent Gavin an encrypted email. I needed him to search my files for Timo’s contact information. I hoped he’d get on it right away. That was all I could do for the time being. I went back to the room, slid between crisp sheets and relished being briefly but blissfully alone.
NINETEEN
I’d set the ring-tone on my cell to a retro-cool, nostalgic simulation of an actual telephone. When it went off at three in the morning, I grabbed the room phone: a real-life, old fashioned telephone with an actual, physical ringer. Nothing. I hung up. It rang again. I picked it up. Nothing. I hung up. It rang again. Anna groaned, “Get your mobilenick, dummkopf!”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” With a slap, slap, thump, and crash, I located the cell phone on the bedside table.
“Hey sis, did I get you up?” It was Gavin. “I’ve got a number for Timo. It’s Moscow, right?”
“As far as I know.” I stumbled across the room, wrote down the number.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that calling an operative from a closed contract is a bad idea.”
“You don’t have to tell me, and it’s not really your business. I appreciate the number, though.” I yawned.
“It is my business if it involves our business and I never agreed to that spy crap. Oh yeah, the office lease is up. What do you want me to do with your stuff?”
“What stuff? International roaming on my cell and you want to talk about stuff? Geeze, Gavin, get a grip.”
“I’m shutting it down, Jess. You’re not here to help and I sure can’t do it all myself. Maybe when Sandy graduates… I’ve been seeing her lately, you know.”
“Congrats, I like Sandy and I know she likes you. As for the so-called business, do what you need to do. Besides, Chang won’t rent that hole-in-the-wall before I get back, and I’ve got way bigger fish to fry over here.” Then it hit me. “…Like international roaming on my cell phone! Five bucks a minute, Gavin. You keep on talking, I’m hanging up.”