Belly of the Beast (6 page)

“You lied,” said Niki. “You said you’d tell my mother you saw me.”

“And I will.” Yuri pushed his empty bowl to the center of the table. “Your mother is not dead; she’s just, well, empty. One day she was lamenting about leaving Russia, the next she was gone, except for her body. Now she just sits and stares blankly out the window. I will tell her about you, but she won’t know I said a word. She won’t respond.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Niki.

Yuri frowned. “Of course it matters.”

“I don’t care if she’s a mushroom. Just tell me where she is.”

Yuri leaned forward. “I thought she could save your son?”

“My son has leukemia. I need bone marrow, not conversation. In fact, it will be better this way.”

Yuri leaned back. “I begin to understand. I admire your quest to save your son, but you do not understand the situation. I don’t know if you are being followed. I don’t know if there is a tracking device in your shoe.”

“There’s nothing in my shoe, besides, why would—”

“The Soviet Union has unfinished business with your mother. They would like to drag her back to Russia no matter what her condition.”

“She was a teacher turned ski bum.” Niki almost laughed. “What would anyone want with her?”

Yuri took out his cigarette, tapping it again. “You really don’t know who she was, do you?”

“I thought I did.”

Yuri finally lit a match and took a long draw of smoke. “She was a defector, officially a traitor.” Smoke seeped with his words.

“I think you have been reading too many spy novels. Besides, the Soviet Union just collapsed or something.”

“Russia still was its heart and soul; it will never die.”

“If my mother defected, I’m glad,” said Niki. “There’s nothing good about Russia—and not much good about my mother. What do you care about her anyway?”

Yuri sat a moment, then smoothed his brow with two fingers. “At some point in life you learn what is truly important. I care simply because she is human. I forgive her faults and admire her strengths. She too fought to save a child.”

Niki stood. “I don’t have time to care what she did. I need to find bone marrow for Alex, and I need to find it now.”

Yuri put a finger to his lips. “We don’t need to talk so loud. I’ll take you to Lana, but on my terms. Now it is I who doesn’t trust you.”

Niki followed Yuri back to his car and got in.

“Where are you staying?” asked Yuri as he started the engine and flipped on the windshield wipers.

Niki looked through the rain splattered glass at the dark night. “The Sinbad Hotel,” she answered, “but the people at the consulate know I’m supposed to be there. If everything you say is true, they’ll be after me to get to my mother.”

“There are other hotels.”

“I left my purse on the plane. I called the airport before I called you. They found an overcoat, two hats, even a paint-on-felt portrait of Elvis, but no purse from my flight.”

Yuri smiled. “No doubt the Elvis portrait was left on purpose.”

“It’s not funny. Other people lose things too.” Niki slid her hand into her pocket and felt her money. “I have thirteen dollars and twenty-five cents. I called my son’s father to see if he could send some money, but he said that his credit card was over limit and he didn’t have any cash. Who does these days. I’ll worry about all that after I see my mother.”

“That will be tomorrow.”

“But you said—”

“On my terms. I have an extra room.”

Niki was silent.

“Don’t take that the wrong way. I have a son two years older than you and a granddaughter a little older than Alex.”

“You know our ages?”

“It was my business to know things. I knew where to send the letter to tell you your mother was safe. I have a place where you’ll be safe too.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Let’s just say I owe your mother a favor.”

Rain beat on the windshield. “Okay,” Niki finally agreed. “Thank you.”

Yuri scanned the street before he pulled into an underground garage. As he walked toward the elevator, he picked up a soda can and threw it into a trash bin.

“May we use the stairs?” asked Niki. “I have a problem with elevators.”

Yuri led the way, breathing with difficulty by the third floor. “You’ve had a long day,” he said as he opened the apartment door. He paused as he slipped off his shoes and looked at Niki’s muddy clothes.

“I’ve ruined your coat,” said Niki.

“As I said, I’ve learned what is important. Wait there. I’ll be right back.”

Niki felt out of place once again. She was dirty green nylon standing in a white-laced apartment. It was small, but immaculate.

Yuri returned with a woman’s robe and handed it to Niki. Niki stared at it.

“I am not without friends. I’ll wait in the kitchen while you change.”

Yuri returned shortly with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He offered Niki a seat at a small table, then poured two drinks.

“I stopped drinking.”

Yuri smiled. “I could use two.” He downed both glasses as if he was swallowing vitamins, then looked into Niki’s eyes. “You should know your mother was quite important. Secretary Khrushchev selected her to present a report on the
tractor factory
to top members of the Communist Party.”

Niki nodded; not in agreement, but from complete exhaustion. All she wanted was permission to sleep. She could have cared less about a tractor factory.

“She was quite pregnant too,” Yuri continued. “It was north of Leningrad, January fourteenth, 1962.”

Niki jolted upright. “Did you just say my mother was in Leningrad on January fourteenth?”

Yuri nodded. “1962.”

“Impossible. That was the day before my birthday, but I was born in New York.”

“She was in Sovetskiy on the fourteenth. I’ve read the report a dozen times. Your mother stole skis and headed toward Finland. KGB officers went after her. Her tracks ended in open water. No one knows how she survived, but she could not have made it to New York in a day.”

“My birth certificate said she did. It was one of the few things she left me.”

“Svetlana Mikhailovna was in Russia on January fifteenth.” Yuri capped the bottle.

“That’s really her name?”

Yuri nodded. “She should have left all remnants of it in Russia along with her love to ski. It was her fatal flaw. Two years after she defected she was seen skiing in Vermont. One of ours spotted that long gait of hers and the way she flipped her poles; you know what I mean. You were in a backpack carrier, and she still managed to get away.”

“‘One of ours’?”

Yuri nodded. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Pleasant dreams.”

Sleep did not come easily
. Yuri must be KGB. Was the can in the trash by the elevator a signal to dispose of me or something?
Niki slowly turned her thoughts to her mother’s paranoia, their late night moves, and the strange reception at the consulate. It all fit with what Yuri said, but like sliding a left hand into a right-hand glove, something wasn’t right.
I was born in New York on January fifteenth. My mother couldn’t have been in Russia.

Niki heard the apartment door open, then close, the bolt clicking. She shut her eyes to whatever would happen.

Niki woke to the smell of fresh coffee and hot bacon. Just outside her door she found her clothes, clean and pressed on a chair. Boxes were stacked beside it. Yuri was in the kitchen, immaculate in a pressed shirt, tie, and starched apron.

He removed a cigarette from his lips and asked, “Sleep well?”

Niki nodded. “Thank you for cleaning my clothes. I was exhausted. I didn’t hear you get up.”

“I did laundry at my place. I had to pick up a few things anyway.”

“This isn’t your place?”

Yuri turned the bacon. “I don’t use it much anymore.”

“You must be rich.”

Yuri broke eggs into a copper bowl. “Having a safe haven is not a luxury.”

Niki dismissed the thought. “Are we going to see my mother now?”

“Soon.” Yuri chopped red peppers and yellow onions. “Didn’t you like your new things?”

“New things?”

Yuri snuffed out his smoke, then rinsed the ash tray. “I had a few things delivered; open the boxes.” He smiled. “We’ll go to your mother after breakfast.”

Niki brought the packages to the kitchen and opened one. “Leather boots. I don’t understand.”

“A gift.”

Niki wondered exactly what was going on. “No,” she said. “I can’t accept these.”

“You need warmer clothes,” Yuri replied with a smile.

“I’ll be fine as long as I stay out of the rain. I’m going home tomorrow.”

“I cannot return them.”

“I don’t believe you. How did you shop in the middle of the night anyways?”

“I know people. At least look at the other things.”

While Yuri cooked an omelet, Niki peered inside the other boxes: a lined leather coat, wool sweater, two blouses, a pair of black slacks, and Calvin Klein jeans. “Thank you,” said Niki, “but I can’t accept these, and I can’t afford to pay you back.”

Yuri turned the omelet. “They are not gifts. I told you I owed your mother a favor. She could never stay anywhere long enough to give you a decent life, so this is how I will repay her.”

“It must have been some big favor. What did she do?”

“It doesn’t matter. Try something on. Merry Christmas.”

Niki pulled out the sweater and held it out. “It’s the right size. How did you know?”

“I had your old clothes. You don’t like the sweater?”

“Of course I do. Why?”

“You didn’t put it on and the expression on your face.”

“It’s just that I can’t wear it. I can’t stand to pull anything over my face.”

“Hunter Creek?”

“What?”

“The parka hood.”

“What are you talking about?”

Yuri arranged the bacon, sprigs of fresh basil, and the omelet on the plates, then turned to Niki. “Victor Malenkov pulled your parka hood over your face as he tried to drown you. Don’t you remember? Please, sit.”

Niki sat but made no move to eat. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. My mother told me to jump the creek, but I was scared. I fell in the water. I still have nightmares.”

Yuri poured two cups of coffee, then sat. “I’m not a psychiatrist, but I do know that sometimes we block what we cannot face. You didn’t fall. Malenkov held you underwater. Sugar?” Yuri held out the sugar bowl.

Niki shook her head. “Even if it’s true, how could you know?”

“I was there.”

Niki stood and backed away. “You were part of it? You tried to kill me?” Niki kicked the boots. “How dare you try to clear your conscience by buying me stuff.”

Yuri calmly put down the sugar, then spoke slowly. “Malenkov was sent after your mother, but she was getting away again. Torturing you was his way to lure her back. It could have been me, but I failed my training. I didn’t believe the end always justified the means as did Malenkov. He would have killed you, so I shot him.”

Niki swallowed hard. “You’re KGB, aren’t you?”

Yuri nodded. “Was.”

“And you shot a man.”

 “Better him than you, don’t you think? And Victor left me no choice. He was not one to listen to reason, especially when he was in pursuit. Your breakfast is getting cold. Please, sit.”

Niki finally sat and ate a bite. “I’m not saying I believe you, but if what you say is true, you were after my mother too.”

“Svetlana was Malenkov’s mission. I was just keeping an eye on him to avert any international ramifications.”

Niki shook her head. “She was just a teacher.”

Yuri locked his eyes on Niki’s. “They didn’t build tractors at the
tractor factory
. Your mother worked at a nuclear weapons facility, and she defected.” Yuri paused a moment to let it soak in. “What’s worse,” he continued, “was her timing. Three weeks earlier,
Anatoliy
Golitsyn
, a KGB major, had defected through Finland.
As you might expect, General Secretary Khrushchev was furious, and he was most difficult even when he was pleased. Every officer in the KGB was questioned, several by Khrushchev himself. Heads rolled, literally, and every available agent was put in pursuit. Khrushchev only diverted his attention to attend an armament conference at Sovetskiy. He was there when your mother skied away. You cannot imagine his fury. He had two guards executed on the spot and threatened
severe retaliation
if Finland aided any defectors from Russia. To this day, hard-line Soviets believe it is their duty to capture your mother and make an example of her. That would be most unpleasant. Some
examples
in Russia are slowly lowered into vats of molten steel.”

Niki covered her face with her hands. “She was just an ordinary person. An ordinary crazy person.”

“Sometime ordinary people are propelled into extraordinary situations. She did what she did to save a child. Niki, she stirred the wrath the Soviet Union to save you.”

“She said my father was chasing us.”

“It is not impossible.”

Niki uncovered her face. “How many people were after her for god’s sake?”

Yuri took a deep breath. “Many at first, then just Malenkov.”

Niki’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying that the man who was trying to drown me was my father?”

Yuri hesitated. “It is possible.”

Niki shook her head back and forth. “I was trying to give you the benefit of doubt, but everything Russian is evil: Malenkov, you, people who would dump people into molten metal. How could anyone be part of that? I hate—I hate Malenkov, I hate my mother, I hate everything Russian.”

“I understand that you’re upset,” said Yuri calmly. “I should have waited until after breakfast.”

“I don’t want your food.”

“I understand. What I am afraid you do not understand is that we are all born to circumstances that we neither comprehend nor control. Your mother believed she was working for the ideal of communism which was threatened by capitalist aggression. Don’t judge someone by what they think to be true. Judge them by what they know to be true. Your mother changed, and so did I. Malenkov didn’t.”

“And so you killed him.”

“Shot him through the shoulder. I don’t care for killing or shooting, especially before breakfast, but you needed help. I used his coat to keep you warm. Your mother wanted me to finish Malenkov off, but I thought it was enough to leave him lying in the snow without a coat.”

“My mother came back for me?”

“Of course, she lived for you.”

Niki closed her eyes. “She doesn’t in my nightmares. She didn’t when I fell from the tree.”

“Perhaps she thought you would be safer without her. Finish eating and we’ll go to her.”

“I lost my appetite.” Niki’s thoughts were more scrambled than the eggs in Yuri’s omelet. Some of what Yuri said made sense, but too much was still unbelievable, especially the part about Hunter’s Creek. And if Yuri made that up …

“You’ll need time to sort things out,” said Yuri. “Perhaps it would be best to wait before we go to see—”

“No. I need to see my mother now.” One thing was still certain. Alex’s best hope for an antigen match was Svetlana Mikhailovna.

Yuri zigzagged through the city, one eye always on the rearview mirror. Niki sat in her old clothes, but now they were clean, pressed, and dry.

“Svetlana Mikhailovna
Trepova
was her full name,” said Yuri as he slowed for traffic.

“It’s so Russian,” said Niki.

Yuri smiled. “Changing it didn’t help. Lana Michaels rang bells in the ears of agents from Vermont to Colorado.”

“You act like agents were all over the United States just waiting to find her.”

“You could have been sitting next to one on the airplane.”

“No, not a fertilizer salesman from Nebraska.”

Yuri smiled again. “Beware the least likely.”

“I’m not very comfortable with you, but at least you’re retired or something, aren’t you?”

Yuri glanced at his rearview mirror again. “I negotiate wheat contracts between Russia and the United States now; there’s a lot of money in the new capitalism.”

Niki looked over her shoulder. “You keep checking your mirrors. Why would anyone bother to follow a wheat salesman?”

“One’s past is a shadow. You can walk away from it, but it always follows.”

“Like Malenkov following my mother? I’m glad I didn’t know him. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“I only wounded him, though I left him for dead. He almost froze. Quite painful, I understand, losing body parts to frost bite. In the end, I was the one who put him on a plane back to Russia in a straight jacket. He was raving about revenge for the trinity as the door closed. That would be me, you, and your mother.”

Niki shivered. “My god, could he have really been my father?”

Yuri shrugged. “As I said, it is possible.”

“Then he could be an antigen match with Alex. Where is he?”

“Russia, if he’s still alive, but I only suggested he
could
be your father. Too bad Lana won’t be able to tell you more.”

Niki looked out the window. “I don’t want his bone marrow in Alex anyway.”

Yuri stopped for a red light. A building sign announced
Bay Area Nursing
. Niki was half out the door before she said, “There’s something I need. Swing around the block and pick me up—please.”

“Are you sure you’re coming back?” Yuri said to the closed door.

When Yuri made his second pass around the block, Niki was back at the stoplight, a bulge in her jacket pocket.

“Don’t ask,” she said when she got back in.

“We all have secrets,” said Yuri as he drove off.

“Is it much further?” asked Niki.

“Sorry, it is.” Yuri turned onto the Southern Expressway, and lit a cigarette.

He was on his second cigarette when he took a San Mateo exit, drove a few blocks, and stopped in front of an old Victorian house. English primrose lined the walkway, orange and yellow flowers warming the cool winter air. Empty rocking chairs sat on the porch.

Niki got out of Yuri’s Mercedes, then hesitated. “I’ve been trying to make sense of everything. You said my mother was in Russia the day before my birthday. How do you explain why my birth certificate said I was born in Messina, New York?”

Yuri thought for a moment. “There are three possible scenarios. Perhaps you were not actually born on January fifteenth or perhaps you were not actually born in New York. Forged certificates are as easy to get as are clothes in the middle of the night.”

“You said three possibilities.”

“Perhaps Svetlana Mikhailovna is not actually your mother.”