Shadow Touch (23 page)

“I am not just worried about us.” Artur’s voice, though quiet, echoed dully off the cavernous walls around them. Low-level lights, set in the stairs, kept him from falling. The technology used in this bolt-hole was impressive. “I am afraid I have put you and your family in danger, Mikhail.”

“Of course. So typical.”

“I will make it up to you.”

“Nothing within your power could ever make up for that.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs; Anna switched on the lights. The room in front of them was small, filled to bursting with equipment, gun racks, tall metal cabinets, and a long center table covered by translucent plastic bins. The walls were made out of rough-hewn rock.

“Anna, get the camera.” Mikhail walked to nearest cabinet and pulled out four blue books: American passports. He tossed them on the table and pulled up a stool. Elena peered over his shoulder.

“Those look real.”

“That is because they are.” He waved his hand in her face. “Do not ask.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she muttered.

Anna returned holding a Polaroid camera. She gave them a tremulous smile and Artur felt guilty for frightening her. “Who first?”

They all lined up against a white screen for their passport photos. Anna set each one out to dry, and then set about cutting them with careful precision. Mikhail prepared the passports, and handed them back to the young woman.

“My niece,” he said proudly. “Smart girl. Multitalented.”

“You should take her with you,” Artur said. “You need to get your family, Mikhail. Load them and yourself on the nearest ship to Japan. There is always one leaving from the port, yes? No waiting, no good-byes. From there, fly to America. I assume you have everything you need down here or close by? Passports, money, your bags packed for emergency?”

“One might almost think you read my mind.”

Artur smiled grimly. “You are a survivor. You do what it takes and always plan ahead.”

“It is that or die. Despite the fact that I already planned for the possibility, I just wish it did not have to be this way. So unexpected. We were all finally getting settled in.” Mikhail reached into another cabinet and removed four small packs. He passed them out. “There is money in each bag. One thousand U.S. cash, with matching amounts in rubles. American-brand cigarettes, too. Marlboro.”

“I don’t smoke,” Elena said.

Mikhail shook his head. “So naive. Those are bribes. Little bribes, for little men. It is amazing what one pack can get you nowadays.”

Anna set aside one passport. In Russian she said, “I am doing my best, but without more time, I cannot guarantee these will stand up under close scrutiny.”

“Do your best. Artur, is there anything else you need?”

“A three-band cell phone, if you have one. Something that will let me make international calls.”

“Done, but I recommend waiting to make your calls until you are well out of the city. The encryption is good, but no need to risk smart eavesdroppers.”

“Where are we going?” Rik asked, adjusting his pack. “They’ll find us, won’t they? If we go too far? They’ve tracked us here, after all.”

“We cannot stay,” Artur said.

“No, we cannot,” Amiri said, “but the boy is right. We need more information. I assume you want us to keep trusting you.”

“Hey,” Elena said. Artur nudged her gently—ever gentle—because now required a soft touch, a quiet hand.

“What I want has very little to do with anything. I am not trying to keep you here, Amiri. If you or Rik… or even Elena wishes to go, you may. Just wait for the passports. You will need them.” Or rather, Amiri and Elena would. Rik might just turn into a dolphin and swim away.

Amiri shook his head. “I am not threatening to leave. Only, I am not a man who walks blind. I have never given my life wholly over to any person. Do not ask me to begin now.”

Do not ask me, do not force me, not when so much has already been taken from me. Leave me choice, leave me the illusion.

Artur slipped on his right glove. He extended his hand to Amiri. In the hush, the expectant quiet, the shape-shifter contemplated that gesture with a great deal of seriousness. He clasped Artur’s arm.

Artur’s gaze traveled slowly from Amiri to Rik, and finally to Elena. “I need to go to Moscow. Before Charles Darling appeared I would have suggested the three of you stay behind, perhaps take a ship to Japan. I no longer believe that will be safe.”

“Why Moscow?” Elena asked.

Artur glanced at Mikhail, who made no effort to hide his curiosity. No doubt he wondered how this little circus fit together. “Beatrix Weave is planning to unite, under her leadership, all the crime syndicates in Russia. She will be meeting with them eight days from now. I must stop her. I am sure you all can appreciate why.”

Rik shook his head. “This just gets better and better. If we go with you, we’re not escaping—we’re going right back to her. I won’t take that risk.”

“I agree. Which is why I am not suggesting you come with me. You have options the others do not.”

Rik’s eyes flashed gold. “Sure. Done.”

“Well, I’m not,” Elena said. “I’m going with you, and
not
because it’s my only option. You need help.”

“Tell me about it,” Rik muttered.

“We will talk about this later,” Artur said to Elena. He looked at Mikhail. “How are the passports?”

“Done,” said Anna. “Um, but this is four-day work I do in four minutes. Do not show to many, yes? If you do, maybe screwed.”

“That’s good to remember.” Elena took her passport. “And… this is not my name.”

Rik peered over her shoulder. “You sort of look like an Yvette.”

“Maybe, if this birth date didn’t make me fifty years old.”

Mikhail gave Artur a cell phone. “So. You have everything you need, but I would say we are still not even. You may have ruined my life today.”

“Fine,” Artur said. “I owe you.”

“If my family suffers too much from this, you will owe me quite a lot.”

At the other end of the room was a narrow crevice; Mikhail led them through until they reached a door. Beyond lay darkness.

“There is another door inside that room,” Mikhail said. “It opens up into a restaurant I own,
down by
the waterfront. Stay there. I will call you a car to take you to the train station. I recommend the Trans-Siberian for your return to Moscow.”

“A train doesn’t seem safe,” Elena said.

“Safer than the planes. The police there will check your passports. And let us be honest: that is the first place someone will look for you, because it offers the fastest way out of here. A train is slow. A pleasure ride. No one would be that stupid, yes?”

“Charles Darling found us easily enough,” she commented. “I don’t think
he
tried the airport first.”

Mikhail ignored her and clapped his hand on Artur’s shoulder. “Take care. Maybe we will see each other again.”

“You do not really believe that.”

“You are right,” Mikhail said. “I am such a fake.”

The restaurant was a crab shack specializing in just that—fresh crabs, only minutes from the sea. Steamed, boiled, fried—as many as a person could eat for pennies on the pound. No one looked askance at Elena or the others when they exited the door into the main body of the one-room restaurant. It was as though they did not exist—or just that everyone there was familiar with Mikhail Petrovich, and did not want to cause trouble. Out of sight, out of mind. If you pretend not to see something, then it does not exist. Simple enough.

The restaurant was half-f, with the windows thrown open and the door propped with a rock. Sunlight bathed everything in a white-hot glow. It was beautiful, cheerful, homey—and all Elena could think about was Charles Darling. She was afraid of him, but not for the same reasons as before. She knew she could kill him.

And that was the problem. While she was quite certain he deserved to die, that was a choice she did not want to make. She was weak, maybe. Cowardly. But it was a hard thing, looking into the dark mirror, seeing that everything you held yourself to be was no longer true. Healer? Sure. Killer? Quite possibly. All in the same breath, no less.

Artur stood in the doorway of the restaurant. Elena joined him, but he pushed her gently back.

“You must be careful,” he said.

“I think the same could be said about you.” Elena felt Rik and Amiri gather close; outside, people walked and talked, enjoying the sun. Beyond lay the waterfront, the jutting piers surrounded by boats. Rik stared; he made a sound, low in his throat. The diners behind them cracking crab almost drowned it out, but Elena was close enough to hear his misery.

“We need to find a place for you to enter the ocean.”

Elena said. “If you’re not coming with us, we have to make sure you’re safe before we leave.”

Artur looked at Amiri. “Will you be separating as well? If so, there are ships to Japan that leave every hour. I cannot guarantee their safety, but it would get you away from here.”

“And what would I do in Japan?” Amiri shook his head. “I think I will stay with you and Elena. I will trust just a little longer.”

“Even if it means your life?” Rik asked him, tearing his gaze from the ocean just long enough to look him in the eyes.

“Even so,” Amiri said. “And besides, I am already dead. It is written, the time and place. Until that moment comes, I am invulnerable.”

“Borges,” Artur said.

“You are educated.”

“No,” Artur said, “but I have tried to make up for that.” He glanced up and down the street. “I do not see the car, but there is a pier just across from us. Underneath, there might be a place where you can shift.”

They left the crab shack. Unspoken was the decision that they all go together. Perhaps not wise—as a group, they were highly visible from a distance—but no one wanted to be left alone. Pack mentality, maybe. Or just the fear of being left behind. The embankment off the road was easy to slide down; it was littered with crab legs, fish parts, old lines and hooks. The sun felt good on her face, though Elena worried about her foundation melting off.

It was cool and dark beneath the pier, a long, narrow space of sand and rock. No people. If someone looked their way from one of the boats anchored out on the water, they might be in trouble, but Elena suspected it was the best they could do in this city.

Rick did not take off his shoes or clothes. He crouched on the border between land and water. Dipped his hand into the sea. Licked his fingers, one by one.

“Now is the time,” Artur said. “Get away from here as fast as you can.”

“Return home,” Amiri said. “If you are able to without endangering yourself. Find your family.”

“Family,” Rik murmured.

He almost did it. He almost jumped in, fully clothed, fresh from the land. Elena saw the way his muscles bunched beneath his shirt, the subtle glow of his exposed skin. And then he stopped. Shook his head.

“I can wait,” he said, though the crack in his voice revealed the lie. “You need all the help you can get. I still owe you.”

“No,” Artur said, but Rik gave him a hard look.

“I owe you,” he said, in a voice brooking no argument. He glanced at Amiri, who stood quietly beside Elena. Slender and dark, like an elegant shadow. Rik’s lips tightened. “And there is my brother to think of. I never imagined meeting another of my kind. I can’t leave him now. Not when there’s danger.”

Amiri bowed his head. Softly, he said, “My decision to stay was not meant to force your hand. You are not obligated to me.”

Rik snorted. “Every man chooses his own obligations, Amiri. Leave it alone.”

He did. The four of them walked up from beneath the pier. Rik turned to gaze one last time upon the Pacific; his hair was tinged the same blue-gray of the horizon. Again that glow.

And then the light died. He did not look back again.

The car was there when they ascended to the street: a long black sedan with tinted windows, parked in front of the crab shack as if it were waiting on some visiting dignitary. The driver got out as soon as he saw Artur and the others. He was big, a well-dressed thug. He opened the back door and did not bat an eye at all of the strange foreigners filing past him. Artur said several quiet words to him in Russian. The only response was a solemn nod.

Elena studied the surrounding area. She did not see the Quiet Man. She did not even see the Hotel Ekvator. Mikhail’s secret passage emptied out in an area completely apart from where they had entered.
God love a crook
.

It took them less than five minutes to reach the Vladivostok terminal train station, which perched on the edge of a cobblestone road congested with coughing buses and small cars. Through a choking haze of exhaust, Elena studied the ornate cream-colored building with its carved triple archway and small turrets, the fine round dormers, and the huge red sign plastered to the front of the building. More tacky than lovely, the train station nonetheless carried a certain resigned charm.

“We’re still close to the water,” Rik said, almost to himself.

“Zolotoy Rog Bay is just behind the terminal,” Artur said. “It is not too late to turn back.”