away.
She threw her pack into the back of the truck before he could change his mind and climbed in using the wheel as a step. As the truck pulled away, she looked back for the first time. The second man she had seen in the alley near the boulevard was now talking into a mobile phone. She saw the grey leather cap and the black hair coming out at an angle over the khaki collar. They had lost one man and now they had no back-up but him on the bus. Perhaps there was a vehicle following the bus, but for now he was alone. Like her, they would now have to improvise. The man didn’t look at her but she knew it was him.
As the truck pulled away from the main road and up into the hills, the thin mist turned to fog.
The road wound its way through villages and across moorland. The journey was slow, the old truck dropping to low gears for the slightest climb. Two vehicles passed them, though she couldn’t identify who was in them. And then after nearly an hour she saw a car, far enough behind them to be tailing the truck. The truck was so slow the car should have overtaken them, but it hung there emerging then disappearing, as the fog rolled across the hills. An hour later the truck she was in came to a crossroads high up in the Crimean peninsula.
The red truck stopped. She glanced back at the car. It had pulled over, just visible where the fog was closing on the road. She looked around for an escape, but she could only see less than a few hundred yards. The land absorbed the colourlessness of winter, but the rain had eased leaving a dampness that hung in the air. The truck was going straight ahead across the road. Anna had told the driver she was going along the road to the left, that was the way to Vihogradovo. She climbed down and the woman sitting nearest to the window opened it.
‘Thank you,’ Anna said.
‘It’s another twenty-five kilometres,’ the driver replied.
‘How will you get to Vihogradovo?’ one of the women asked.
‘I’ll get a ride. If not, I’ll walk.’
The driver wasn’t going to offer her a ride.
‘Good luck,’ one of the women said and patted her arm through the open window. The truck pulled away and disappeared over a ridge and into the fog.
She stood alone at the crossroads and looked back. She saw the car pulling out on to the road behind her and watched it approaching slowly. The moment of truth. She saw now that there was only one person inside it. She had upset their plans, confused her pursuers. She waited by the road where it turned to the left on the way to Vihogradovo and the car turned too and began to approach. The man would have to make a decision; drive on by and risk losing her, or stop. If he didn’t kill her in the opening few seconds, it would be fatal for him. And she knew they wanted her alive. They’d wanted her alive in the four years since she’d defected from the KGB. She was to be paraded at The Forest before her interrogation began. That they wanted her alive was now their biggest and most deadly weakness.
She put out her hand in the pretence of hitching a ride and the car hesitated. The man was there to watch her, she knew, not to come into contact with her. But then the car pulled over towards the verge and crawled the few yards to where she stood before it stopped. It was the man with the black hair that came over his collar. He wasn’t wearing the grey cap now, she saw it on the passenger seat. Through the window, she could see indecision in his eyes. He needed help, orders, this was beyond his knowledge. He didn’t want to act alone, or maybe he couldn’t. Her approaching him – that was not in the book – she was supposed to be running from him, leading him to her secret destination.
There was no preparation for this. It seemed that it was suddenly too big for him. And then she saw in his eyes the possibility of personal glory, to be the officer who captured Anna Resnikov.
She opened the passenger door. ‘Sevastopol,’ she said. ‘I’m going to
She threw her pack into the back of the truck before he could change his mind and climbed in using the wheel as a step. As the truck pulled away, she looked back for the first time. The second man she had seen in the alley near the boulevard was now talking into a mobile phone. She saw the grey leather cap and the black hair coming out at an angle over the khaki collar. They had lost one man and now they had no back-up but him on the bus. Perhaps there was a vehicle following the bus, but for now he was alone. Like her, they would now have to improvise. The man didn’t look at her but she knew it was him.
As the truck pulled away from the main road and up into the hills, the thin mist turned to fog.
The road wound its way through villages and across moorland. The journey was slow, the old truck dropping to low gears for the slightest climb. Two vehicles passed them, though she couldn’t identify who was in them. And then after nearly an hour she saw a car, far enough behind them to be tailing the truck. The truck was so slow the car should have overtaken them, but it hung there emerging then disappearing, as the fog rolled across the hills. An hour later the truck she was in came to a crossroads high up in the Crimean peninsula.
The red truck stopped. She glanced back at the car. It had pulled over, just visible where the fog was closing on the road. She looked around for an escape, but she could only see less than a few hundred yards. The land absorbed the colourlessness of winter, but the rain had eased leaving a dampness that hung in the air. The truck was going straight ahead across the road. Anna had told the driver she was going along the road to the left, that was the way to Vihogradovo. She climbed down and the woman sitting nearest to the window opened it.
‘Thank you,’ Anna said.
‘It’s another twenty-five kilometres,’ the driver replied.
‘How will you get to Vihogradovo?’ one of the women asked.
‘I’ll get a ride. If not, I’ll walk.’
The driver wasn’t going to offer her a ride.
‘Good luck,’ one of the women said and patted her arm through the open window. The truck pulled away and disappeared over a ridge and into the fog.
She stood alone at the crossroads and looked back. She saw the car pulling out on to the road behind her and watched it approaching slowly. The moment of truth. She saw now that there was only one person inside it. She had upset their plans, confused her pursuers. She waited by the road where it turned to the left on the way to Vihogradovo and the car turned too and began to approach. The man would have to make a decision; drive on by and risk losing her, or stop. If he didn’t kill her in the opening few seconds, it would be fatal for him. And she knew they wanted her alive. They’d wanted her alive in the four years since she’d defected from the KGB. She was to be paraded at The Forest before her interrogation began. That they wanted her alive was now their biggest and most deadly weakness.
She put out her hand in the pretence of hitching a ride and the car hesitated. The man was there to watch her, she knew, not to come into contact with her. But then the car pulled over towards the verge and crawled the few yards to where she stood before it stopped. It was the man with the black hair that came over his collar. He wasn’t wearing the grey cap now, she saw it on the passenger seat. Through the window, she could see indecision in his eyes. He needed help, orders, this was beyond his knowledge. He didn’t want to act alone, or maybe he couldn’t. Her approaching him – that was not in the book – she was supposed to be running from him, leading him to her secret destination.
There was no preparation for this. It seemed that it was suddenly too big for him. And then she saw in his eyes the possibility of personal glory, to be the officer who captured Anna Resnikov.
She opened the passenger door. ‘Sevastopol,’ she said. ‘I’m going to
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