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“I’m not going to let that happen.”
“And neither am I. As strange as it sounds, you and I are playing for different teams, but we’re both on the same side. We can accomplish more by working together than we can apart.”
“We have a saying in Russian,” said Alexandra, as she stood up from her chair. “Having been burnt by milk, one blows on vodka.”
“Once burned, twice shy,” responded Scot.
“Exactly. I plan to continue blowing on my vodka. Goodbye, Agent Harvath, and good luck.”
Alexandra Ivanova turned and exited the Hermitage Café, leaving Harvath with only one option.
Chapter 40
Because of St. Petersburg’s northern latitude, the sun set very early in winter. Often, the arrival of evening was accompanied by brutally cold winds and this evening was no exception.
The sky was completely dark when Harvath collected his pack and followed Alexandra Ivanova out of the Hermitage. She appeared to be wandering aimlessly, which considering the weather made no sense. After strolling the famous Nevsky Prospekt and browsing in several shops, she backtracked and made her way toward the beautiful onion-domed Church of the Resurrection of Christ. Harvath waited several moments and then entered, staying hidden in the back where he could continue to observe her. Though it wasn’t as warm as the Hermitage had been, he was happy to at least be out of the cold.
After lighting a candle, Ivanova sat down by herself on one of the long pews in the center and closed her eyes. At first, Harvath thought maybe she had come to pray, but as she repeatedly stole furtive glances at her watch, he realized what she was really doing was killing time. Either someone was coming to meet her, or something else was going on.
Harvath watched as a stream of worshippers and tourists moved through the church, each guided by their own calling, but none of them tried to make contact with Ivanova. After an hour had passed, she glanced at her watch one final time and then stood up and walked slowly to the exit.
By the time she emerged, Harvath was already secreted on the edge of the small esplanade waiting for her. When she hailed a nearby cab, Harvath quickly followed suit, telling the driver in his somewhat passable Russian, “slyedooytyeh ta jensh-cheena.”Follow that woman.
They came to a stop in a neighborhood of run-down factories lying cheek by jowl. Up ahead, Harvath could see a line of people standing in the cold beneath a brushed aluminum sign that readbreathe.
Harvath watched as Ivanova walked to the front of the line, said something to the bouncer and was granted admittance to the club. Once she was inside, Harvath paid the fare and climbed out of the cab. He waited until the cabbie had driven away before casing the perimeter of the building and finding a place to hide his backpack. Bypassing the line just as Ivanova had done, Harvath approached the bouncer, slipped him a hundred-dollar bill and asked if it was possible to get a table.
The bouncer showed Harvath inside where a scantily clad hostess led him to a table, presented him with a menu, and wished him a pleasant evening.
Glancing around the crowded nightclub, Harvath could see that it had once been a foundry or a factory of some sort. The focal point was an enormous riveted vat with large portholes, around which the bar had been built. Harvath could see patrons with masks clasped to their faces indulging in the latest trend to sweep Russia-scented oxygen.
When the waitress arrived to take his order, Harvath was tempted to ask for a martini, but thought better of it when he realized the ice would be made from St. Petersburg’s foul-smelling, foul-tasting, pollutant-laden, giardia-infested water. Russian vodka could kill a hell of a lot, but Harvath doubted it could conquer what crawled out of local spigots. He opted for a beer instead.
By the time hisVena Porter arrived, Harvath had politely chased off three hookers. Obviously, word had quickly spread that there was a wealthy American at table number one. Knowing that it was much more difficult to hit a moving target, he left some money for his drink and got up to check out the rest of the club.
The clientele were all New Russians, sporting the latest in trendy designer fashions. While Ivanova’s outfit had seemed a bit much at the Hermitage Café, now it made complete sense. Though she was a tall gorgeous blond, there were a lot of tall gorgeous blonds here and she was proving very hard to locate. Harvath tried to put himself in her shoes. If he was going to conduct a clandestine meeting in a crowded, noisy nightclub, he’d want to position himself somewhere on the fringes of the action, someplace with the best view possible, yet concealed enough so that the meeting wouldn’t draw any undue attention.
Harvath approached the large dance floor and kept his attention on the clusters of seating areas on the other side. The DJ had just begun spi
He worked his way around the edge of the dance floor, trying to move through the thick crowd but as he got about halfway to the booth, something was wrong. Ivanova had disappeared.
Moments later a voice from behind said, “Why am I not surprised?” as Harvath felt something hard jabbed into his back.
“Of all the oxygen bars in all the towns in all the world-” he mumbled as he looked over his shoulder and saw Alexandra using her coat to hide the gun she was holding.
“Quiet,” she replied, turning him around. “I had a feeling I was being followed.”
“Guilty,” replied Harvath, as he tried to put on his most charming smile, “but now that I’m here, how about introducing me to your friend in the booth?”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” said Ivanova as she sca
“Probably,” replied Harvath as he watched Alexandra scan the dance floor yet again. She seemed nervous and very tightly wound. “Are you expecting somebody else?”
“I don’t know.”
Bad events seemed to radiate a certain electricity that Harvath was often able to pick up on. The hair on the back of his neck began to rise and seconds later he heard someone scream.
Alexandra wasted no time. She pulled the silenced Walther P4 from beneath her coat and ran for the booth.
When she finally fought her way through the crowd, she found the man in the bad suit laying slumped in the booth and bleeding profusely from several stab wounds to his neck and chest. It was soon complete pandemonium, with patrons screaming and ru
Harvath was only two steps behind her. He arrived at the booth with his H amp;K drawn and he Ivanova both saw the attacker at the same time, but it was too late. Expertly using the stampeding crowd as cover, the man smiled before disappearing into the sea of rushing people. Harvath had seen the man’s face before. It was the same man who had pulled off the attack at the King George, but how could he have followed Harvath all the way to St. Petersburg?It was impossible.
Harvath glanced at the man slumped in the booth and leaned in to feel for his pulse. It was very weak, and Scot was taken by surprise when the man suddenly reached out and beseechingly grabbed for his arm. He told him to stay calm, that help would be there soon, but the man just shook his head. He withdrew something from his pocket and pressed it into Harvath’s hand. He opened his mouth to speak and but collapsed before he could get the words out. Harvath once again felt for the man’s pulse, but there was none. He was dead.