Hard Passage. Don Pendleton

her small handbag and removed a thick envelope, which she slid across the table at the man. “That contains the dates and details of certain crimes committed by the Sevooborot but never solved by local police or Interpol. These are details never released. There are also the names of the perpetrators, where they can be found and the location of evidence that should be sufficient to prosecute them.”

      The man didn’t make a move for the envelope, something that surprised her. She had never practiced that part with Leo, and she wasn’t sure how to respond if the conversation took a turn in a direction that wasn’t part of the script.

      For a long time, the man said nothing. He just looked at her and smiled. Finally he said, “I’m sure there’s some validity to the contents of this envelope.”

      “There is, I can assure, sir. Check it out.”

      “Oh, you can be sure we’ll validate the information. You have no need to worry about that. But to arrange for the safe passage of these two young men out of Russia without the SMJ finding out about it will be much more complex. You see, Miss Naryshkin, the SMJ has a growing number of connections and supporters within St. Petersburg. That support has extended to places like Moscow and Vladivostok.”

      “Why should good and influential people wish to support a gang of hoodlums like the Sevooborot?”

      “It would take me too long to explain the politics of your question,” the man replied. “And this is neither the time nor place for such a discussion.”

      “You think me too naive or meager of intellect to understand it,” Naryshkin replied with a haughty raise of her chin.

      “I did not say that.”

      “You didn’t have to. I could see it in your expression and condescending manner.” She tapped a long fingernail on the table and let a moment of silence lapse before asking, “Do you know who my father is, sir?”

      “Of course.”

      “Then you know I am an educated woman,” she replied. “And you must also know that I have quite a number of influences inside the Russian government.”

      “I never said I doubted you, madam,” the man replied. He sat back in his chair, folded his arms and crossed his legs. “I’m simply trying to avoid any measure of antagonism by entertaining a conversation that can undoubtedly end in nothing but an argument, one that should serve no purpose as it pertains to Rostov and Cherenko.”

      “So there’s something about all of this you don’t wish to tell me,” Naryshkin concluded.

      The smile again. “That would be correct.”

      That’s how it began and everything seemed to move at a blinding pace after that. Within a few days she received a second envelope, this one in her mail slot, with another envelope inside of it stamped with the letters “LR” in block letters. When Naryshkin delivered it to Leo and asked him about its contents, he declined to talk to her further about it. She could understand his concern, his desire to protect her, and at the time she’d had the meeting with a man she assumed to be some type of British agent, she hadn’t even considered what would become of them if Leo left the country.

      “I don’t know yet,” he told her. “But I promise you that I will find a way for us to be together. No matter how long it takes me. I promise you. I love you.”

      More than a month had passed since their last meeting and she had neither heard from nor seen him. For all she knew, he’d already left the country along with the Cherenko. One of her closest girlfriends, Sonya Vdovin, happened to be part of the Sevooborot scene, partying at a lot of the same clubs as its members. But Naryshkin had decided not to publicly condemn her friend, rather she kept her mouth shut and pumped the young woman for any information she could get.

      “No, I haven’t seen Leo around,” Vdovin would say. “I haven’t seen Sergei, either. Which is really too bad because he’s quite…how do I say it, adept in bed.” And then a mischievous smile would play at her lips. “Yes, that’s a good word.”

      So Naryshkin lay alone in bed each night, wondering and worrying, finally drifting off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning after waiting for him to call. Eventually she started to give up and she hated herself for thinking that way. Leo had made her a promise and whatever else he might have done or not done, she loved him and she knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word. And then one night, this night, the phone rang.

      She answered it breathlessly. “Hello?”

      “Hello, my sweet.”

      “Oh, Le—”

      “Don’t use names!” he snapped.

      Naryshkin swallowed her voice along with a big chunk of disappointment. She yearned to see him, to talk to him, to touch him at that very moment but she didn’t dare. Finally she asked, “How are you?”

      “I am okay.”

      “Are you…” She hesitated, not sure how to ask the question, but then she didn’t have to worry about it.

      “No, I am not,” he said. His voice cracked when he added, “Something went wrong, dearest. Something went horribly wrong. Good people are now likely dead.”

      Before she could conjure a reply he moved away from the phone, a fit of coughing and wheezing having overtaken him. That cough and shortness of breath had grown progressively worse. Naryshkin had feigned an allergy to get a doctor friend of her father’s to prescribe an inhaler of powerful medicine. Medical care in Russia still wasn’t adequate to meet the needs of many people. She had provided the last inhaler to him more than a month ago, so she knew he had to have exhausted his supply of medicine by now.

      “You do not sound good,” she said. “Hello?”

      It was Sergei Cherenko’s voice that came on the line. “Hello.”

      “Is he okay?”

      “He’s not doing well. I’m worried about him. I am also worried for myself.”

      “Where are you? Let me come get you.”

      “No,” Sergei replied. “He would never forgive me if I put you in any sort of danger. In fact, I would never forgive myself.”

      “Don’t be silly.”

      “It is not silliness, it’s practicality! This has become a very dangerous game for us, and I’m not sure how much longer we are going to be able to play it. We need your help but the only way we’ll accept it is if you immediately get in touch with your contacts. Let them know things didn’t happen like they should have. Tell them ‘The meet did not happen. We are going to the alternate plan.’ Do you have that?”

      “Yes, I have it. But—”

      “I must go now.”

      “No, wait! Let me speak to him.”

      “He is still having trouble. He cannot speak right now.”

      “Okay,” she said, doing her best to be brave and hide the disappointment in her voice. “You take care of him. And yourself.”

      But Naryshkin then realized she was talking to dead air—Sergei had hung up the phone. She slowly replaced the receiver in the latch hook of the phone pedestal and considered this news. What had happened? It should have been so easy and yet here they were, calling her, still inside Russia—maybe still even in St. Petersburg—with the mother of all storms outside. She knew what Sergei’s comments had meant. The meeting hadn’t taken place and they were now going to their alternate plan, one that involved traveling to Murmansk where they would seek passage aboard a trawler or small cargo carrier.

      The woman started to pick up the phone and then thought better of it. Leo hadn’t wanted her to use any names, which meant he believed someone might be tapping her phone. In fact, members of the Sevooborot might even have her under surveillance, although she’d been mindful to keep her eyes open for any observers since