Vasilyev nodded, turning to Neda. “Are you alright? Will you be able to continue this journey?”
Neda drew a deep breath. “I suppose I have to be. I certainly can’t go home.” She paused. “Didn’t anyone else in this train car hear what happened?
Won’t they report it?”
Vasilyev shook his head. “The woman who arranged this trip bought tickets to all the seats in this train car. A standard security precaution. Of course, sometimes unoccupied seats attract passengers, whether they have been paid for or not. That is why we picked this train with its relatively unpopular departure time, when it is usually less than half full. I checked after the train left Tehran, and we are the only ones who took seats in this car.”
Neda shivered. “Won’t anyone come looking for him before we get to Mahabad?”
Vasilyev shrugged. “It’s not impossible, but I don’t think it’s likely. These trains normally have a single conductor whose job is to take tickets, and a single guard. The train has already made the last scheduled stop before Mahabad, so I’ll bet the conductor is asleep somewhere. The train’s crew is unlikely to leave the locomotive. Given what we saw of the guard’s disposition, I can’t picture anyone looking for him to engage in conversation or a friendly game of cards.”
Neda frowned. “So who was he going to call on his radio?” she asked.
Vasilyev spread his hands. “I’m only guessing, but probably the train crew.
Since he was suspicious of you, he would have asked them to stop at the next station even though no stop is scheduled, and to radio ahead to have the police waiting there. Once the guard said even a few words to the crew on his radio it would have been over, since they certainly would have called police to meet us at the next station if his call suddenly cut off.”
Neda shuddered. “Once we reach Mahabad, though, won’t someone notice he’s missing?”
Vasilyev nodded. “It’s possible. My guess, though, is that once the train reaches Mahabad his job is done. After a thirteen hour ride I’m sure he gets a chance to sleep before he does another trip. With luck, he won’t be missed before we’re long gone.”
Grishkov bit back the observation that immediately occurred to him — unless they’d missed the water, and his body was in full view on the banks of the Zarrineh River. He doubted it would help calm Neda.
Neda frowned and asked, “So we just carry on, exactly as planned?”
Vasilyev shrugged. “I can’t think of anything better. Did the woman you met at our Embassy, Alina, strike you as capable?”
Neda nodded.
Vasilyev smiled. “Well, you don’t know us, but have some faith in her.
This is her plan, and I think it’s a good one. We will soon have you on your way out of Iran.”
It was obvious to all of them that Neda was far from convinced, but finally she nodded, and Vasilyev said no more. At least she appeared to have recovered from her initial shock at the killing of the guard.
Now, Vasilyev thought, we just have to hope she won’t freeze again at the wrong moment.
Chapter Eleven
Grishkov and Vasilyev both wore caps, which provided some protection from the sun as well as helping obscure their faces. Especially when the brim was pulled aggressively low, as Grishkov was now doing. “I almost miss the Vladivostok winter,” he declared.
When Vasilyev’s only answer was a smile, Grishkov shrugged and smiled back. “OK, I’ve gone too far.”
Making their way through the crowd milling outside the Mahabad train station, they both simultaneously tried to keep an eye on Neda and Esmail walking ahead and look for the bus station, which was supposed to be nearby.
Esmail had said he knew the way, and it turned out he’d been telling the truth. Within a few minutes they were in a line that though long, moved quickly.
Once they reached the head of the line all Vasilyev has to say was
“Naqadeh,” and hold up two fingers to be handed two bus tickets in return for the Iranian rials he placed on the counter.
Grishkov had kept track of Neda and Esmail, who were boarding a bus about a dozen meters away. A few minutes later Grishkov and Vasilyev had handed their bags to a porter for storage in the bus’ luggage compartment, along with a generous tip that saw they were placed there immediately instead of being “lost.” They found seats at the back from where they could observe Neda and Esmail in front of them, and would have time to react if the bus were to be boarded.
However, fortune was with them this time, and the only excitement was provided by an American action movie playing simultaneously on small flat screens mounted in the front and middle of the bus, which had been dubbed into Farsi. It was a low budget rip off of “The Terminator” featuring an evil robot with a human appearance that seemed to spend most of its time breaking into motel rooms to kill moderately attractive women. Grishkov had to work hard to suppress his laughter when the robot decided to deal with dents in his metal body caused by police bullets with an iron that his latest victim had been using on clothes.
He also had to admire Vasilyev’s concentration, which though it never left Neda and Esmail avoided being obtrusive in a way that might be noticed by the other passengers.
The driver made good time, and they arrived at the bus station in Naqadeh just before the movie finished. As they exited the bus, Grishkov thought to himself that could help explain why such a poor quality movie had been chosen.
Who would complain about missing the ending?
Esmail Mohsen climbed out of the bus just ahead of Neda once it arrived at Naqadeh. The cursed Russians were seconds behind them, as they had been during the entire trip. Esmail had spent nearly every minute since this job had started thinking about how to get rid of them, or to call his cousin with the border guard.
The Russians weren’t stupid. The first thing they did when he arrived for a job was to search him for a cell phone, and he’d had no chance to slip away to get one.
Esmail also couldn’t wave down a passing policeman. Not only might the Russians shoot him the way they had the train guard, something almost as bad might happen — he might not get paid. He had to negotiate a price and place to hand over the woman and the Russians, and for that he was counting on his cousin’s help.
Esmail wasn’t going to betray the Russians out of patriotism. The only thing he was loyal to was money, and so far the Russians had paid well. This job would be the most lucrative yet.
Still, Esmail was sure his own government would pay even better. Nobody had told him who the woman was, and he hadn’t asked. But the fact that for the first time ever two Russians were going with him on a job told him Neda was someone very special.
Fortunately, he had planned ahead. Soon, Esmail thought, soon I will have my chance.
Grishkov and Vasilyev sat in the back of the rented sedan, a white Peugeot 405. Alina had chosen it not only because it was large by Iranian standards, but due to its status as one of the most commonly seen cars throughout the country. Manufactured since 1987, it had been retired in France a decade later, but not in Iran where thanks to a lack of options caused by sanctions production continued. Though Chinese manufacturers were now giving Peugeot stiff competition, a Peugeot 405 was still as close to camouflage as you could get on Iranian roads.
Esmail was driving, since he knew where they would be leaving the car.
Neda sat silently beside him. Vasilyev in particular was worried about her mental state, but Grishkov was not concerned. Unlike Vasilyev he was married, and his own wife had gone through worse. In his opinion, women were at least as tough as men, if given the chance to prove it.