a Dalmatian looked up patiently and waited for its master to reward it.
Andrei returned the Glock to his right hand and put his left hand into a coat pocket, warming his fingers in the thin shooter's glove. He continued along the tracks, studying them, but he no longer saw with the tunnel vision of a hunter on the verge of catching his prey. His perspective was now wide, taking into account the trees and shadows to the right and left, on guard against an ambush. Earlier, with Mikhail and Yakov flanking him, he'd been confident that Pyotyr would keep running.
But with only me for a target? he wondered. Pyotyr, will you take the chance of attacking me if I'm alone?
Something flashed. The air became filled with an acrid smell.
Andrei spun, almost pulling the trigger as a burning object fell with the snow. At once, he realized that it was a plastic garbage bag shaped like a hot-air balloon. Inside, attached to an x-shaped platform of balsa, were rows of burning candles. The hot air they created had given the bag its lift. But not any longer. The candles had set the bag on fire.
When it crashed, sparks flew, the flames dwindling, smoke forming in the snow.
Andrei refused to allow the surreal event to distract him. He pivoted, aiming toward the shrouded area around him. Urgent questions crowded his mind.
Did it make sense for Pyotyr to go this way? Wounded? With the baby to concern him? Out here, away from the crowd, Pyotyr was helpless. If he fainted from blood loss, he and the baby would freeze to death.
Maybe I'm wrong, Andrei thought. Maybe he believes he has a better chance among the people on Canyon Road.
Or maybe that's what he wants me to think.
Andrei reached for the radio transmitter under his coat and switched the frequency to the one the team had used at the start of the mission, the one that had enabled him to speak to Pyotyr earlier. He hoped that the sound of Pyotyr's
breathing would tell him whether or not he was still moving or whether he had stopped and set up an ambush.
But this time, there wasn't any sound. Only dead air.
Did you shut off your transmitter to keep the sounds you make from revealing where you are? Andrei wondered. Well, it won't do you any good. I'll find you, my friend.
He switched the transmitter to the new frequency the team was using. All the while, he scanned the hiding places that flanked the lane.
Ready with his pistol, he followed the dwindling tracks.
* * *
"THANK YOU for inviting me to your home, Andrei. It's an honor to have dinner with your wife and daughters."
"The honor is mine, Pyotyr. I owe you my life."
"But you'd have done the same for me. That's what friends are for--to watch each other's back."
"Yes. To watch each other's back. The Pakhan's other men ran. You're the only one who helped me out of that trap. And the bastard actually gave you hell for taking the risk. He gladly would have let me die to keep the rest of his men from being killed."
"Quite a life we chose."
"Chose, Pyotyr? Do you honestly believe we made a choice?"
"We stay here, don't we?"
"Where else would you go and not attract attention? With your fake identity card, do you think you could be an accountant or a real-estate agent in some place like Omaha? How long do you think it would take for government agents to show up at your door? But not before the Pakhan sent men to slit your throat to keep you from telling the government what you know about him."
"Believe me, Andrei, I wasn't complaining."
"Of course you weren't. Feel how cold it is. Look at the ice on the beach.. The TV weatherman says we'll get another six inches of snow. Even then, I don't know why anybody grumbles. Brighton Beach is nothing compared to spending a winter in the Russian army."
"Or in a prison in Siberia,. Perhaps we should go back inside and have dessert. Your wife'll think we don't like the oladi she made."
"In a moment. First we have business to discuss. That's why I asked you to come out to the
Andrei returned the Glock to his right hand and put his left hand into a coat pocket, warming his fingers in the thin shooter's glove. He continued along the tracks, studying them, but he no longer saw with the tunnel vision of a hunter on the verge of catching his prey. His perspective was now wide, taking into account the trees and shadows to the right and left, on guard against an ambush. Earlier, with Mikhail and Yakov flanking him, he'd been confident that Pyotyr would keep running.
But with only me for a target? he wondered. Pyotyr, will you take the chance of attacking me if I'm alone?
Something flashed. The air became filled with an acrid smell.
Andrei spun, almost pulling the trigger as a burning object fell with the snow. At once, he realized that it was a plastic garbage bag shaped like a hot-air balloon. Inside, attached to an x-shaped platform of balsa, were rows of burning candles. The hot air they created had given the bag its lift. But not any longer. The candles had set the bag on fire.
When it crashed, sparks flew, the flames dwindling, smoke forming in the snow.
Andrei refused to allow the surreal event to distract him. He pivoted, aiming toward the shrouded area around him. Urgent questions crowded his mind.
Did it make sense for Pyotyr to go this way? Wounded? With the baby to concern him? Out here, away from the crowd, Pyotyr was helpless. If he fainted from blood loss, he and the baby would freeze to death.
Maybe I'm wrong, Andrei thought. Maybe he believes he has a better chance among the people on Canyon Road.
Or maybe that's what he wants me to think.
Andrei reached for the radio transmitter under his coat and switched the frequency to the one the team had used at the start of the mission, the one that had enabled him to speak to Pyotyr earlier. He hoped that the sound of Pyotyr's
breathing would tell him whether or not he was still moving or whether he had stopped and set up an ambush.
But this time, there wasn't any sound. Only dead air.
Did you shut off your transmitter to keep the sounds you make from revealing where you are? Andrei wondered. Well, it won't do you any good. I'll find you, my friend.
He switched the transmitter to the new frequency the team was using. All the while, he scanned the hiding places that flanked the lane.
Ready with his pistol, he followed the dwindling tracks.
* * *
"THANK YOU for inviting me to your home, Andrei. It's an honor to have dinner with your wife and daughters."
"The honor is mine, Pyotyr. I owe you my life."
"But you'd have done the same for me. That's what friends are for--to watch each other's back."
"Yes. To watch each other's back. The Pakhan's other men ran. You're the only one who helped me out of that trap. And the bastard actually gave you hell for taking the risk. He gladly would have let me die to keep the rest of his men from being killed."
"Quite a life we chose."
"Chose, Pyotyr? Do you honestly believe we made a choice?"
"We stay here, don't we?"
"Where else would you go and not attract attention? With your fake identity card, do you think you could be an accountant or a real-estate agent in some place like Omaha? How long do you think it would take for government agents to show up at your door? But not before the Pakhan sent men to slit your throat to keep you from telling the government what you know about him."
"Believe me, Andrei, I wasn't complaining."
"Of course you weren't. Feel how cold it is. Look at the ice on the beach.. The TV weatherman says we'll get another six inches of snow. Even then, I don't know why anybody grumbles. Brighton Beach is nothing compared to spending a winter in the Russian army."
"Or in a prison in Siberia,. Perhaps we should go back inside and have dessert. Your wife'll think we don't like the oladi she made."
"In a moment. First we have business to discuss. That's why I asked you to come out to the
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