side windows.
“This is ridiculous,” Kozakov said. “What does it matter if I see anything? There’s no way for me to escape. I wouldn’t even know where to go if I did.”
Neither man said anything.
At least two hours passed before the sedan stopped. Adams exited first and waved for Kozakov to follow.
Twilight ruled the sky and the air was downright freezing now, a point emphasized by the snow everywhere. In some places it looked to be a meter and a half deep. More hung heavy in the pine trees. The road was covered with it.
Kozakov turned in a circle. No buildings. Nothing but the woods. If he were still in the Soviet Union, he would have guessed his life was about to end. But he’d long given up the notion he’d been taken by the Soviet secret police.
Washington joined him and Adams and handed Kozakov a thick manila envelope. “Hold on to this.”
“What is it?”
As usual, Washington provided no answer. Kozakov reluctantly tucked the envelope under his arm.
After blowing some hot air into his cupped hands, he looked at the other two men. “Are we just going to stand here?”
“Patience, Dr. Kozakov.”
Somewhere in the distance a branch broke, dropping its load of snow with a muffled plop .
After a few minutes of stamping his feet to keep them from freezing, Kozakov said, “This is ridiculous. If we’re waiting for something, can’t we do it in the car?”
He swung around, intending to climb back into the sedan, but Adams grabbed his arm. “Here is fine.”
Kozakov glared at him, but when that seemed to do no good, he returned his attention to the forest.
Another uneventful minute passed. “Maybe we can play a game,” Kozakov said. “See who can count the most trees. Mr. Washington, you go first.”
Washington’s mouth remained closed.
“All right. I’ll start,” Kozakov said. “One, two, three, four, five—”
Adams glanced at him. “Please stop.”
Kozakov went on for another half dozen numbers before the cold drained the rebellion out of him.
A few minutes later, three uniformed men emerged from the trees and stepped onto the road. Two held rifles at the ready, while the third clutched a flashlight.
“Time to go,” Washington said.
He and Adams led Kozakov toward the trio.
“Far enough,” the man with the light said when they were fifteen feet away. He appeared to be the one in charge.
Kozakov and his escorts stopped.
“Dr. Kozakov,” the soldier said, “please join us.”
It was foolish to think the Americans had flown him this far just to kill him, but Kozakov couldn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind.
“Go on,” Washington whispered.
Kozakov looked at him. “You’re not coming with me?”
“Our job’s done,” Washington said, and held his hand out.
Kozakov hesitated a moment and then shook it. “Thank you for…not killing me.”
“Our pleasure.”
Kozakov then shook Adams’s hand. The two men may have taken him from his home and kept him restrained for a while, but they had never been unkind.
“Doctor, if you please,” the lead soldier said.
Kozakov walked over to the three uniformed men.
“I’ll take that.” The head of Kozakov’s new escort motioned at the envelope Kozakov was carrying. Once it exchanged hands, the man said, “All right. This way. It’s about a ten-minute walk.”
He turned and disappeared into the woods while the other soldiers waited for Kozakov to start walking. But Kozakov couldn’t seem to make himself move.
“Dr. Kozakov,” the lead soldier called from inside the woods. “If you want to get out of the cold, it’s this way.”
Kozakov hesitated a moment longer before heading toward the sound of the man’s voice.
They were only a minute or so into their journey when static sounded from a radio on the main soldier’s belt, followed by two beeps, like the start of a Morse-code message.
“Everyone down,” the leader said as he dropped into a crouch.
Kozakov heard the two men behind him do
“This is ridiculous,” Kozakov said. “What does it matter if I see anything? There’s no way for me to escape. I wouldn’t even know where to go if I did.”
Neither man said anything.
At least two hours passed before the sedan stopped. Adams exited first and waved for Kozakov to follow.
Twilight ruled the sky and the air was downright freezing now, a point emphasized by the snow everywhere. In some places it looked to be a meter and a half deep. More hung heavy in the pine trees. The road was covered with it.
Kozakov turned in a circle. No buildings. Nothing but the woods. If he were still in the Soviet Union, he would have guessed his life was about to end. But he’d long given up the notion he’d been taken by the Soviet secret police.
Washington joined him and Adams and handed Kozakov a thick manila envelope. “Hold on to this.”
“What is it?”
As usual, Washington provided no answer. Kozakov reluctantly tucked the envelope under his arm.
After blowing some hot air into his cupped hands, he looked at the other two men. “Are we just going to stand here?”
“Patience, Dr. Kozakov.”
Somewhere in the distance a branch broke, dropping its load of snow with a muffled plop .
After a few minutes of stamping his feet to keep them from freezing, Kozakov said, “This is ridiculous. If we’re waiting for something, can’t we do it in the car?”
He swung around, intending to climb back into the sedan, but Adams grabbed his arm. “Here is fine.”
Kozakov glared at him, but when that seemed to do no good, he returned his attention to the forest.
Another uneventful minute passed. “Maybe we can play a game,” Kozakov said. “See who can count the most trees. Mr. Washington, you go first.”
Washington’s mouth remained closed.
“All right. I’ll start,” Kozakov said. “One, two, three, four, five—”
Adams glanced at him. “Please stop.”
Kozakov went on for another half dozen numbers before the cold drained the rebellion out of him.
A few minutes later, three uniformed men emerged from the trees and stepped onto the road. Two held rifles at the ready, while the third clutched a flashlight.
“Time to go,” Washington said.
He and Adams led Kozakov toward the trio.
“Far enough,” the man with the light said when they were fifteen feet away. He appeared to be the one in charge.
Kozakov and his escorts stopped.
“Dr. Kozakov,” the soldier said, “please join us.”
It was foolish to think the Americans had flown him this far just to kill him, but Kozakov couldn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind.
“Go on,” Washington whispered.
Kozakov looked at him. “You’re not coming with me?”
“Our job’s done,” Washington said, and held his hand out.
Kozakov hesitated a moment and then shook it. “Thank you for…not killing me.”
“Our pleasure.”
Kozakov then shook Adams’s hand. The two men may have taken him from his home and kept him restrained for a while, but they had never been unkind.
“Doctor, if you please,” the lead soldier said.
Kozakov walked over to the three uniformed men.
“I’ll take that.” The head of Kozakov’s new escort motioned at the envelope Kozakov was carrying. Once it exchanged hands, the man said, “All right. This way. It’s about a ten-minute walk.”
He turned and disappeared into the woods while the other soldiers waited for Kozakov to start walking. But Kozakov couldn’t seem to make himself move.
“Dr. Kozakov,” the lead soldier called from inside the woods. “If you want to get out of the cold, it’s this way.”
Kozakov hesitated a moment longer before heading toward the sound of the man’s voice.
They were only a minute or so into their journey when static sounded from a radio on the main soldier’s belt, followed by two beeps, like the start of a Morse-code message.
“Everyone down,” the leader said as he dropped into a crouch.
Kozakov heard the two men behind him do
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