The Istanbul Decision (11 page)

The old woman stared back unflinchingly, then turned and left, locking the door behind her.

The room fell suddenly silent, except for the rush of air in the heating vent. For a moment Tatiana looked around, savoring her solitude. She'd been left to herself precious few times since coming to this awful place, and when one of these rare moments chanced to happen, it was not to be squandered wantonly.

She threw off the blanket, swung her feet out, and let herself down on the floor. Then using the bed table and the edge of the mattress for support, she pushed herself upright. She let go of the table and bed, and for one wavering, unsteady moment, was alone on the floor. Then she lost her balance and had to grab the bed to keep from falling.

Yes, she was doing nicely. With a few minutes' practice, the simple movements of walking and standing would come back to her. The exercises at night were paying off. The muscles were strong; they'd simply forgotten what to do.

She inched her way toward the foot of the bed. She would have to be careful. If Dilsey or the soldier saw her standing, the dancing would end, as the old saying went.

When she reached the end of the bed, she tore off the plastic cap from the top of a leg, moistened her finger, and pulled up an object that had been suspended in the hollow of the leg by a slender thread of bed linen. The object glinted in the light: a surgeon's scalpel, an instrument so sharp the mere weight of it would lacerate skin.

She held it by its thread and spun it, watching the sunlight flash on its blade. She'd stolen it from a careless doctor during one of the endless examinations. "Cough! Cough louder!" he'd said as she pulled it from the instrument tray. Then he d touched her breast in a most undoctorlike way, and it had taken all her self-control to keep from plunging it into his heart right then and there. But instead she gritted her teeth and slid the knife discreetly under her pillow.

This would be the tool of her vengeance, she thought, watching the scalpel spin. With it she would set into motion events that would free her from this confinement and bring about the death of Nick Carter, a consummation she wanted more than anything else in the world.
Soon,
she told herself.
The time is almost at hand.

The Americans had already parried. This she knew. How she knew was a combination of intuition and tradecraft, although which predominated was impossible to say. Her father had taught her the tricks of the agent's art — the suspicious turn of mind, the secretiveness, the prodigious powers of deduction, the constant alertness and attention to detail — at such a young age and engrained them in her so thoroughly, tradecraft and intuition had become indistinguishable in her thinking.

Three weeks ago she'd fallen asleep reading in bed and two hours had passed of which she was completely unaware. This was highly unusual. She'd always been a light sleeper, given to restless dreams, some of them so vivid they'd caused her mother a great deal of concern when Tatiana was a child.

But this was a dreamless sleep, and when she'd awakened she tasted something bitter on her lips, and her skin was achingly dry except beneath one earlobe. There was wax. Conclusion? Her food had been drugged, and while she was unconscious a wax impression had been made of her face. There could be only one reason: they were making a double of her to fool her father.

Whether or not this operation had succeeded, she had no idea. Daily she searched the faces of everyone around her for some clue, but their expressions revealed nothing. They were too stupid to be told, she concluded. And yet she lost sleep each night wondering if she'd unwittingly become the instrument of her father's destruction.

The time is coming soon,
she thought as the scalpel slowed. Soon she would be strong enough, and already the agony of not knowing was driving her into frenzies at night. Soon her own restlessness would force her to break out at any cost.

The door lock clicked, and the sound pierced Tatiana's body, bringing it rigid and alert. She was standing! For the sake of Lenin! They mustn't see her!

She hobbled to the head of the bed and tried to climb in, holding on to the bed table for support. But the table's casters shot out underneath, and it crashed to the floor — reading lamp, cards, water pitcher, everything. She scrambled under the covers just as the door flew open.

"What's going on in here?" asked Lieutenant Dilsey, staring down at the overturned table.

"I pushed it," Tatiana answered. "I was lonely. I don't like being ignored."

Dilsey's eyes went from Tatiana to the table, a dim suspicion beginning to dawn in them.

Tatiana looked down and to her horror noticed she'd left the cap off the bedpost. She still had the scalpel in her hand underneath the covers.

Dilsey picked up the table with some difficulty, then she rolled it back and forth across a small patch of floor, testing it. "These things don't fall over all that easy," she said thoughtfully. "You must have given it quite a shove."

"I was angry," said Tatiana sullenly. "I am still angry."

"You know something, Little Miss High and Mighty," said Dilsey coming closer and leaning down to the girl s face, "Bernie Green swore up and down you could walk, and I told her I thought she was crazy. 'Bernie, I said, 'you've just let that girl get to you. She can't walk. But you know, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Bernie wasn't right."

Tatiana's fear at having been startled now turned into anger. This, coupled with the resentment she'd harbored for weeks against this woman and the one they called Green, quickly proved too much for her restraint. With a lightning motion, she pulled out her hand with the scalpel set firmly in her fist and slashed the old woman's face, splitting the eyebrow, the eye, the nose, and opening a long slash in the cheek.

So quick was this movement and so fluid — and the scalpel so sharp — that Dilsey was not even fully aware of what had happened. She pulled back with a look of amazement, holding her hands out in front of her and examining the blood that was now rushing in a torrent from her face, down her neck, and dripping onto the floor. Slowly, as she realized what she was looking at, her mouth parted and she screamed a soundless scream.

In a flash Tatiana threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She was still weak, but she managed to gel behind the terrified Dilsey and loop an arm around her throat. "Not a sound, you silly bitch!" she hissed in the nurse's ear, holding the scalpel against the old woman's jugular. "One scream and I'll cut your head off!"

Dilsey was still looking at the blood dripping from her hands. She tasted its saltiness in her mouth. A whimper started deep in her throat, and her hands began to shake.

"Stop whining like a dog!" whispered Tatiana. Her legs were tiring. She was going to have to do this quickly. "Call the sergeant! Call him!"

"Sergeant," Dilsey said, her voice more a plea than a command. The door didn't open. "Sergeant!" she shouted in desperation.

The door unlocked and the sergeant came in. His eyes widened when he saw the nurse. "Holy…what the…" he stammered.

"Throw down your rifle or I'll kill her!" Tatiana said.

The sergeant's rifle clattered to the floor.

"Now — slowly — hand me your service revolver."

He undid the flap of his holster and held the gun out butt first, his eyes riveted on Tatiana.

Tatiana shoved the old woman toward the door until she was close enough to grab the gun. Dilsey offered little resistance. Once she had it. Tatiana quickly changed hands, flinging the scalpel across the room and putting the gun to Dilsey s head.

"If you don't do exactly as I say, I am going to kill this silly woman, is that clear?" asked Tatiana evenly.

The sergeant nodded, backing up to let the two women out the door.

"I m going to the Soviet embassy in Washington. I need a car and a driver. Run. Tell your superiors what has happened. Tell them to have a car waiting at the front door to the hospital. Tell them if they don't, they will scrape this woman's insides from the corridor wall. Run, pig, run!"

The sergeant hesitated only a split second, then turned, ran up the hall, and disappeared through a set of double doors.

"Now tell me the way out of here, bitch," she hissed, turning to the old woman. "And no tricks. If you try to trick me, I'll kill you."

She pushed Dilsey forward, still holding her by the neck, the gun barrel pressed against the back of her head. As they shuffled along, Tatiana half pushed and half leaned on Dilsey for support. It was only Dilsey's momentary confusion and pain that prevented her from realizing she was practically carrying the younger woman out of the hospital.

Word spread quickly, and along the corridors nurses, doctors, patients, and MP's stopped to stare at them as they passed, the number of onlookers steadily increasing until they reached the front lobby, which was filled with military police, guns drawn.

A young black man in a green uniform crisscrossed with white patent leather belts and a sergeant's patch on his arm called for them to halt.

"You cannot bluff me!" shouted Tatiana. "'You will not endanger one of your own, even if she is old and of use to no one. Stand back!"

The sergeant looked around helplessly. An officer standing in a corner gave a slight nod, and the sergeant gestured for his men to clear a path.

"Do not think I will not shoot her or that if I am shot from behind I will not have time to squeeze the trigger before I fall. I assure you I am highly trained, and right now my life counts for nothing."

Dozens of pairs of anxious eyes watched as the two women lockstepped toward the large front doors, one in a hospital gown and one with a gaping cut across her face from which blood still ran.

They stopped short of the big glass front doors, and Tatiana shouted to a nearby soldier to open them. He cast an uncertain glance at his sergeant, who nodded reluctantly, then he went out and held a door open for them.

A dirty, green, late-model sedan with INTERAGENCY MOTOR POOL painted on the side idled at the curb. It was thirty yards away down two flights of cement steps, but it looked like a million steps and an equal number of miles away. Tatiana's legs were like rubber bands stretched way beyond the snapping point. More and more she counted on the nurse to hold her up.

As they made their way slowly down the stairs, the thought of finally sitting down in the car began to gain importance in Tatiana's mind. It loomed larger and larger, blotting out everything else, until she no longer cared whether she got to the embassy or stopped Nick Carter from killing her father. Just to sit and rest her legs seemed the most important thing in the world.

And yet she sensed there was something wrong with the car. Intuition told her all this had been too easy. Surely they must have tampered with the automobile. She had no proof. Everything looked all right. But her instincts said no, and her father had taught her to trust her instincts.

"Get rid of that car!" she shouted to the men around her. "Bring me another. A cab. A city cab from Washington." She remembered how long the ride from downtown Washington had taken. She had counted the minutes, even though she'd been blindfolded. She would give them just that long and no longer, leaving them no time to tamper with the vehicle.

The lieutenant conferred at the bottom of the stairs with the sergeant and two plainclothesmen.

"Get rid of it now, or I'll drop her where she stands."

"All right, all right," said the lieutenant, motioning for her to calm down. "It'll take a few minutes."

"I know exactly how long it will take! Be quick about it."

In a few seconds the sedan jumped forward with a bark of its tires and was gone, leaving Tatiana and Dilsey alone on the sidewalk, encircled by a cadre of military police.

Minutes passed. The figures of the men began to swim in front of her eyes, causing Tatiana to grip the gun tighter and press it more firmly into Dilsey's scalp. Dilsey gradually regained some of her composure and began to talk to the girl.

"I need help," she said. "This cut has to be stitched. If it isn't closed soon, I'll lose too much blood. I'll pass out."

"Stop crying, old woman. If I can stand, you can stand. Remember, if you go down. I go down with you, and you'll get the first bullet."

Tatiana's legs felt like overcooked strands of spaghetti, and she tasted sweat at the comer of her mouth in spite of the balmy October breeze.

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. The lieutenant pulled back his coat sleeve and checked his watch. Hadn't he just done that a few seconds ago? And weren't they drawing closer, all of them? Did they sense she was on the verge of letting go completely, falling down, not caring any longer what happened to her, just to be able to ease the pain in her legs for a few minutes?

A cab jerked to a halt in front of the hospital, a big yellow Plymouth with CAPITAL CAB and a logo on the door. With the last of her strength she pushed Dilsey toward its passenger side, but Dilsey balked.

"I'm not getting in there. I'll never get out," she said with finality.

Tatiana put her mouth close to Dilsey's ear. Her only hope lay in frightening the old woman into submission. "Dilsey!" she whispered. This is the voice of your death, woman. Listen! You are nothing to me. Less than nothing. You have pained me. And for weeks I swore I would kill you when I got the chance. I killed my first man when I was twelve, a soldier who tried to rape me. Since then I've killed others. Many others. If it weren't for more pressing matters, I would kill you now just for the pleasure of watching you die. And let them hang me! Do you understand? Take my advice, you dried-up old bitch, and don't tempt me."

The old woman's head shook with terror and her eyes stared dumbly forward.

"Now, move!" Tatiana pushed her haltingly toward the car. "The door! Open it!" The passenger door swung open and scraped against the sidewalk. Then, still gripping the old nurse tightly, Tatiana sat down and pulled Dilsey in with her. "Drive!" she ordered. The driver hit the accelerator, and the door slammed shut with the momentum.