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Kathy woke with a sense that something was wrong. Immediately she put her arm out of the covers to feel for Dragov; he wasn't there. She heard a noise from the living room. Quietly she climbed out of bed and opened the door a crack. Dragov had cleared a space amongst the furniture and was working out, but this was no ordinary form of exercise, he was punishing his body, testing each muscle to its limit. It was as if he were taking a masochistic pleasure in the pain he was inflicting upon himself. Despite the intense cold, his face and body were streaked with sweat.
Kathy wanted to stop him but silently went back to bed. She remembered as she lay there the surging physical power of Dragov's body against hers, his flat stomach, hard muscular thighs, and back, and yet he had been gentle with her, considerate. She remembered the clean smell of his skin, the strong grip of his hands. Their lovemaking had been good for her, she hoped it had been for him too.
There was silence from the next room. She waited a few minutes then went into the living room. Dragov was sitting with his back against the wall, breathing evenly, relaxing.
"Good morning," he said and smiled at her. "I was coming to wake you up."
"Why do you do that to yourself?" Kathy asked.
"It's one of the hazards of my profession," Dragov explained. "I don't smoke, I drink very little. I need to keep a fit, well-disciplined body if I am to survive."
"You wouldn't work for anyone you don't want to, would you?" Kathy enquired. "I mean you wouldn't just kill anybody?"
Dragov raised his head and looked at her. His eyes went dark and vacant. "If you mean by that, do I have a conscience, the answer is no."
But Kathy didn't believe him; she preferred to rely on her instincts. "I'll run you a bath," she said.
She cooked up some eggs in the kitchen. It was still dark outside and raining. "Monday," she said to herself and wrinkled up her nose. "Listen," she shouted through the open door, "shall I take the day off and help you?"
Dragov was dressing. "That sounds good," he said. "But are you sure there won't be any trouble?"
"No, I'm just winding up my research and I'm right up to date with my work. I'll phone the library, it'll be O.K."
By mid-morning Dragov had finished sorting through the last of the files. Kathy was right, there was a lot about the woman but little about Pescadero itself. Dragov had not made much progress, except for a glimmer, a tiny germ of an idea that was starting to form in the back of his mind.
"Do you want me to try and find you anything else on Mischa Barton?" Kathy asked.
"No," Dragov answered. "I think our best chance is for me to contact your friend, Officer Dade when I get to California."
They had lunch out and returned in the afternoon. Kathy went up the stairs first, up to her eyes in parcels. Fumbling blindly with the lock, she got the door open and then backed in, noticing that the living room was in pitch darkness. She didn't remember drawing the blinds. She went up the step, making her way across the room to pull them back, when a voice said from the darkness: "Hello, lady." She heard the metallic click of a gun being cocked. The voice spoke again: it had a husky, sensuous quality. "Strip." A reading lamp flared in the corner and she saw a gun and then the face, a droopy mustache, high cheekbones, and the tawny hooded eyes with madness in them. She noticed the heavy sweet smell of hashish. "Strip," the man commanded her again. "Start with the skirt." He motioned with his gun and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Half-paralyzed with fear, Kathy began to lift her skirt.
"Good," the maniac said approvingly as her skirt rose over her thighs. "Very good."
Kathy heard Dragov at the door. The lights came on and she broke and ran to him. Dragov held her. When he made no move to take cover she looked around and saw that the maniac was watching them.
"Sorry," he said amiably to Dragov, "I didn't know she was your lady. Man," he added approvingly, "she's got nice legs."
"You know this guy?" Kathy asked aghast.
Dragov nodded. "He's the one I was waiting for."
Zoltan got up from the corner where he'd been crouching and came towards Kathy. He tossed his hair and his gold earring flashed. He was no more than thirty-three and looked much younger. Tall, lean, and loose-limbed, Zoltan had a tennis player's physique and a classically sculpted face.
"Lady," he said and grinned like a naughty child, "I'm sorry if I scared you."
Kathy's heartbeat began to slow down. Zoltan's good looks and easy charm soothed her.
"You read too many cowboy books," she said cuttingly."
"That's right," Zoltan agreed earnestly, thinking she understood him. "That's right, they are the only books I read." Zoltan saw the grocery bags. "No cooking," he said. "I'm taking you both out to dinner. Where do you want to go?" he asked Kathy. "Think of somewhere nice."504Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSl6Xmq1DHk
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Kathy chose the little restaurant run by a married couple where she had often been before. The owners had been good to her and now she wanted to return with her custom. The husband acted as head waiter and he greeted her warmly as they entered.
"I can remember a time when you came here by yourself and sat in a corner with a book," he teased her. "And now you come escorted by not one, but two men."
Kathy felt good. She liked being in men's company again, and Zoltan was so strikingly good-looking that she could feel every woman in the room turn and stare after them as they walked to their table. The owner took their order. Kathy excused herself and made her way to the ladies' room.
While she was away, Zoltan leaned across the table to Dragov. "Is it finished?" Dragov asked.
"Yes," Zoltan replied.
His hand went up and his right index finger, the one he used on the trigger, began to massage his temple. The stress had gone out of him, he was very relaxed, at peace, like a man after making love.
"You know," he said, "you get to feel the man, people say they are just targets, that's bullshit. If you're a professional each hit is exquisite. You wait and wait, you suffer cramps and cold and you barely eat. You can't close your eyes in case you miss him and you're all alone with your mind high up in some vacant place. All you think about is the man you're going to kill, what he's doing, who he's with, and you come so mentally close to him that you can get into his bones, and then when he's coming you can feel it, five days away you can feel it. Then suddenly he's in front of your rifle sight and after all the waiting you're with him, and when you kill him something in you goes out with him." Zoltan's trigger finger had closed. "I can't explain, you've got to feel it to understand. Man, you think I'm crazy," Zoltan said and laughed his crazy laugh. "But you're lucky I never came after you; there's a good price on your head, you know."
"That's what brings me here," Dragov said, watching him, knowing that Zoltan was growing more and more unstable, that he was more dangerous now than he had ever been. "I need your help."
"Yes, I remember," Zoltan nodded. "You told me, Viktor," he said almost pleadingly, "you're my brother; your quick thinking and my resourcefulness saved us both from certain death in Angola. I love you, you know that I'd never do anything to hurt you."
Kathy was making her way back to the table when the owner stopped her. "You're looking lovely," he said. "So fresh, so radiant, like a summer flower. Why haven't I seen you like this before?"
Kathy shrugged happily. The owner nodded towards the table. "Those men," he asked quietly, "where are they from?"
"They're Russians," Kathy replied.
"Defectors?" the owner enquired.
"I don't know," Kathy said. "I think so."
"The thing about Russians, Kathy," the owner warned her, "is that you never know what they're really up to."
"I'll be careful," Kathy promised.
"What are you two talking about?" she asked gaily as she sat down.
"We were just reminiscing about old times," Zoltan replied with a faint grin. He nodded to Dragov. "Talking about how we got started in our line of work."
"How did you guys get started in your line of work?" Kathy said.
"Here you go, Kathy," Zoltan said as he poured her a glass of Zinfandel, his tone growing reflective. "Back in the day, Dragov and I were just young men caught up in the tide of history. We started as soldiers, serving our country in the Red Army, but soon found ourselves recruited into the clandestine world of espionage. Life in Soviet Russia wasn't easy, let me tell you. We faced hardships, and scarcity, but also forged strong bonds with our comrades. Our training was rigorous, our missions perilous, but we persevered, driven by duty and loyalty to the Motherland. And now, here we are, reminiscing over a glass of wine in a far-off land.
"Ah, Kathy, you wouldn't believe the survival test Viktor and I endured on the Siberian steppes. Our superiors dropped us in the middle of nowhere, in the heart of the Altai Mountains, with nothing but the clothes on our backs. They expected us to succumb to the harsh elements, but we surprised them. We lived off the land, hunting game and foraging for roots and berries. It was a true test of our mettle and one that forged an unbreakable bond between us."
Kathy, puzzled by their ordeal, questioned, "But why would you want to go through all that?"
Zoltan, his expression reflecting a mixture of pride and resignation, replied, "The USSR was our country, Kathy. It's where we were born, where we grew up. The Party told us to serve, and so we served." However, his tone hinted at a complexity beyond mere obedience to authority.
Kathy inquired hesitantly, "Don't you have a family, Dragov? Aren't you married?" However, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, wondering if she should have broached such personal topics.
Dragov didn't answer her, and she would have said something else to change the subject, but Zoltan spoke.
"Viktor was in Tashkent," Zoltan began, his voice tinged with solemnity as he recounted the tragic event. "He was there on official business, training recruits for the KGB. But fate had other plans. When the earthquake struck, he found himself trapped in the heart of the chaos. Buildings crumbled like sandcastles, and the once-thriving city was reduced to rubble. His quick thinking and survival instincts saved him, but the devastation was immense. The quake claimed countless lives and left behind a trail of destruction, a testament to the unforgiving power of nature. Viktor, amidst the chaos, did what he could to help, displaying bravery and resilience in the face of unimaginable tragedy.
"After the earthquake in Tashkent, Viktor's world shattered along with the city. He wandered through the ruins, witnessing the devastation firsthand. The chaos was unimaginable, with disoriented citizens and soldiers firing on looters. Amidst the destruction, he stumbled upon a makeshift hospital where he learned the devastating truth: his wife and children had perished despite the doctor's valiant efforts to save them. It was a heartbreaking moment, one that shattered his spirit and led him to make a fateful decision. He resolved to defect, to escape the oppressive regime that had failed to protect his loved ones. And I, having witnessed his suffering and shared in his anguish, chose to stand by his side. Together, we orchestrated our defection to the West, navigating the treacherous path much like Kim Philby once did in his infamous betrayal. It was a desperate bid for freedom, a leap into the unknown, but for Dragov, it was the only path forward. Isn't that right, Viktor?"
Dragov was very pale; he couldn't bear to look at either of them. He got to his feet and pushed the table away.
"You two can make your way home, I need some air," he snapped, and before Kathy could stop him he had left the restaurant.
"Our first gig together was in Angola," Zoltan said, staring after Dragov, "tasked with taking out a high-profile target. I was the sniper and had to make a tough call that resulted in civilian casualties. Viktor never quite forgave me for it, always saw me as too trigger-happy after that."
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Dragov wandered the wet night streets of Paris trying to walk out the pain, make his mind too tired for the nightmares that would come if he slept. He walked the wide neon-lit streets and the people pushed past him on the pavement, and he walked the silent alleyways with only the sound of his footsteps following. He let himself back into the apartment in the early hours of the morning.
Zoltan was sitting in the living room, staring out of the window. He just nodded as Dragov came in. Kathy felt him undress in the dark and lower himself into bed. Her hand went out and touched him, he was cold, shivering. Gently she began to stroke him, running her hands soothingly over his back, moving her body closer to his to warm him. She rubbed his temples, his neck, and his arms, she massaged his fingers and warmed her feet with hers.
"I thought you weren't coming back," she whispered.
"So did I."
"I know you must have loved your wife very much," Kathy said, reassured in a way that he was human, that he had loved someone.
"When the earthquake hit Tashkent, I was away on assignment. But I've often wondered if I could have done something, anything, to save my family if I had been there. My father hailed from the rugged lands of Siberia, while my mother was from the fertile plains of Ukraine. Life for the common man in the USSR is harsh and unforgiving, a constant struggle against poverty and oppression. Party members enjoy privileges and luxuries that are denied to the rest of us, living in a different world altogether. My father, once a proud man, was arrested and shipped off to Novaya Zemlya for daring to speak out against the injustices he witnessed. It was a fate shared by many who dared to defy the Party, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of our so-called socialist paradise.
"It was during my time as a KGB assassin that I began to realize the stark difference between being a Russian and being a Soviet. I had seen the real world, beyond the veil of propaganda that Pravda spreads. As an assassin, I was offered power, influence, and the means to protect my loved ones. After serving my time in the Army, I was given an offer I couldn't resist, one that promised a better future for me and my family. Yet, despite the successful missions I carried out in the name of the people, I was still denied the privileges and luxuries of a true patriot. It became clear to me that my loyalty lay not with the Party, but with my country and its people. That's why I underwent the survival test with Zoltan, to prove to myself that I was willing to do whatever it took to fight for what's right, even if it meant defying the very system I once served.
"And so, Zoltan and I defected much like Kim Philby did. We had angered some of the most powerful men in the USSR, individuals who could be incredibly dangerous if crossed. They were high-ranking officials within the Party, members of the Politburo and KGB who saw us as threats to their power and influence. Our escape was perilous, but we were determined to break free from the shackles of oppression. We tunneled under the Berlin Wall under the cover of darkness, inching our way toward freedom with each shovel of dirt. It was a daring escape, fraught with danger at every turn, but we knew that we had to risk it all for the chance to live as free men."
"Are they still after you?" Kathy inquired, her voice laced with concern, as she glanced at Dragov with worried eyes.
"Yes, they've put a price on my head," Dragov affirmed, his tone surprisingly nonchalant. "But that doesn't bother me much. I suppose I've become a bit too capitalistic for my own good. Selling my talents fetches a far better price than loyalty to a regime that betrayed me." Reflecting for a moment, he added, "Perhaps I left my world too late. As for going back... well, there's nothing there for me now."504Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIGuav7ATrm
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Dragov was busy the next morning and Zoltan went shopping with Kathy. She found him a good companion, he laughed easily and carried her bags uncomplainingly. He walked with a relaxed hip-swinging grace, wearing a battered old windcheater and faded jeans. The fact that his clothes likely hid a gun made it all that much more unreal. Kathy stopped taking him seriously and began to enjoy herself, flattered by her attention.
They met up with Dragov at lunchtime in the snack bar of Au Printemps, the fashion department store on the Boulevard Haussmann. Some of Kathy's happiness brushed off on Dragov, he seemed at ease, enjoying being with her.
"Oh, God," Kathy exclaimed, running her hands along a rail of dresses. "Will you look at these clothes?"
"Do you want it?" Dragov asked as she lifted out a dress.
"Oh, no," Kathy said. "I was just looking.
Dragov persuaded her to try it on.
Kathy came out of the cubicle. Passersby stopped to admire her. She knew she looked sensational in that dress and Dragov was proud of her. Another man caught her eye: it was Zoltan, standing back by the lifts. He looked first at the dress and then at her and nodded his approval and appreciation. Dragov bought the dress for her. Kathy was radiant: in the company of these two men, she felt very feminine and very beautiful.
They started down the escalators, making for the ground floor, and now Zoltan began to stalk Kathy. He would suddenly appear at the bottom of an escalator, or across a counter, or at the head of the stairs, delighting in surprising her and then vanishing again. She realized he was flirting with her, showing off his skill as a hunter, and a sophisticated game of hide and seek developed.
She and Dragov would leave Zoltan on the stairs and take a lift but somehow, when the doors opened at the bottom, Zoltan would be there---then he would toss his head, his gold earring would flash and he would be gone. It was as if he could just melt into his background, and become invisible as and when he chose.
They carried the game onto the streets and as Kathy crossed the road with Dragov she would find Zoltan waiting for her, leaning nonchalantly against a lamp-post. When she thought he was ahead he would come out of a side street behind them. In the end, she was totally confused and couldn't tell from which direction he would appear.
"I never see him," Kathy complained.
"If you did," Dragov answered, "he wouldn't be any good at his job."
They made their way back to the apartment. Zoltan came bursting in a short while later and threw himself exhaustedly down in a chair, scattering parcels on the floor.
"That lady of yours thinks I'm a pack mule," he groaned.
Dragov went into the kitchen where Kathy was making coffee. "Beware of Zoltan," he warned. "I've known him a long time----time changes many people and it changed him most of all."
Dragov always seemed to be down on Zoltan.
"Leave him alone," Kathy said defensively. "He's cool."
"He's very dangerous," Dragov realized she could have no idea of the kind of man Zoltan was. "He may not ever mean it, but one day if you catch him the wrong way he might hurt you."
Kathy and Dragov went to the corner bistro that night; Zoltan wouldn't join them. When they returned, Kathy found him sitting by the window, the big Dragunov sniper's rifle cradled in his arms. He was leading on the people passing below in the street, pulling the trigger as they came into the sights, dry-firing, willing them dead.
"Look at all those bastards down there," he said. "What gives them the right to live?"
"He's coming down off a high," Dragov told her quietly. "His nerves are beginning to jump. It's time we left----California could be very dangerous for us now," he said. "I don't want you to come."
Kathy tried to protest but they'd been over this ground before, and Dragov stayed firm.
"O.K. I'll stay here with Michael. Call me as soon as you can."
The next morning he said to Zoltan, "We're leaving for California, the U.S.A., can you get me a weapon?"
"Sure," Zoltan was excited at the prospect of action. "No trouble, just tell me what you want. I know a man who'll sell us anything."504Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡweRGQYw1QI
