Belly of the Beast by Blake Crouch, Douglas Walker Page B

pocket and felt her money. “I have thirteen dollars and twenty-five cents. I called my son’s father to see if he could send some money, but he said that his credit card was over limit and he didn’t have any cash. Who does these days. I’ll worry about all that after I see my mother.”
    “That will be tomorrow.”
    “But you said—”
    “On my terms. I have an extra room.”
    Niki was silent.
    “Don’t take that the wrong way. I have a son two years older than you and a granddaughter a little older than Alex.”
    “You know our ages?”
    “It was my business to know things. I knew where to send the letter to tell you your mother was safe. I have a place where you’ll be safe too.”
    “Why? What do you want from me?”
    “Nothing. Let’s just say I owe your mother a favor.”
    Rain beat on the windshield. “Okay,” Niki finally agreed. “Thank you.”
    Yuri scanned the street before he pulled into an underground garage. As he walked toward the elevator, he picked up a soda can and threw it into a trash bin.
    “May we use the stairs?” asked Niki. “I have a problem with elevators.”
    Yuri led the way, breathing with difficulty by the third floor. “You’ve had a long day,” he said as he opened the apartment door. He paused as he slipped off his shoes and looked at Niki’s muddy clothes.
    “I’ve ruined your coat,” said Niki.
    “As I said, I’ve learned what is important. Wait there. I’ll be right back.”
    Niki felt out of place once again. She was dirty green nylon standing in a white-laced apartment. It was small, but immaculate.
    Yuri returned with a woman’s robe and handed it to Niki. Niki stared at it.
    “I am not without friends. I’ll wait in the kitchen while you change.”
    Yuri returned shortly with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He offered Niki a seat at a small table, then poured two drinks.
    “I stopped drinking.”
    Yuri smiled. “I could use two.” He downed both glasses as if he was swallowing vitamins, then looked into Niki’s eyes. “You should know your mother was quite important. Secretary Khrushchev selected her to present a report on the tractor factory to top members of the Communist Party.”
    Niki nodded; not in agreement, but from complete exhaustion. All she wanted was permission to sleep. She could have cared less about a tractor factory.
    “She was quite pregnant too,” Yuri continued. “It was north of Leningrad, January fourteenth, 1962.”
    Niki jolted upright. “Did you just say my mother was in Leningrad on January fourteenth?”
    Yuri nodded. “1962.”
    “Impossible. That was the day before my birthday, but I was born in New York.”
    “She was in Sovetskiy on the fourteenth. I’ve read the report a dozen times. Your mother stole skis and headed toward Finland. KGB officers went after her. Her tracks ended in open water. No one knows how she survived, but she could not have made it to New York in a day.”
    “My birth certificate said she did. It was one of the few things she left me.”
    “Svetlana Mikhailovna was in Russia on January fifteenth.” Yuri capped the bottle.
    “That’s really her name?”
    Yuri nodded. “She should have left all remnants of it in Russia along with her love to ski. It was her fatal flaw. Two years after she defected she was seen skiing in Vermont. One of ours spotted that long gait of hers and the way she flipped her poles; you know what I mean. You were in a backpack carrier, and she still managed to get away.”
    “‘One of ours’?”
    Yuri nodded. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Pleasant dreams.”
     
    Sleep did not come easily . Yuri must be KGB. Was the can in the trash by the elevator a signal to dispose of me or something? Niki slowly turned her thoughts to her mother’s paranoia, their late night moves, and the strange reception at the consulate. It all fit with what Yuri said, but like sliding a left hand into a right-hand glove, something wasn’t right. I was born in New