The Sniper's Kiss

Chapter Twenty-four

October 1944

Some time just before dawn and without fully wakening, Mia sensed Alexia slip away. She murmured something inane and fell back into unconsciousness. Two hours later, the sound of someone passing in the corridor awakened her again. She sat up and peered through the one intact window not covered with plywood, and the bright overhead sun told her it was past eight. She had missed breakfast.

She dressed quickly and rushed down to the dining room. It was empty. Only the cook was present, collecting dishes and silverware.

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Kramer. The ambassador said to tell you to stop by his office as soon as you were up.”

Embarrassed, Mia nodded her thanks and hurried to the office on the floor above. She was doubly chagrined to discover the ambassador in conversation with Alexia, who had obviously been there some time. She wore her uniform again—torn, threadbare, and with all signs of rank removed… but clean.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mia said, wincing. “I tried to hurry, but I can’t dress very fast with this shoulder.” She patted her upper arm, in case they had forgotten, then realized how pathetic the excuse sounded.

Harriman dismissed her apology with a light wave. “I’ve been thinking of how to manage what we discussed recently.” He began with appropriate vagueness, for the benefit of their Soviet listeners. “We still have regular transports of Lend-Lease material to depots close to the front lines, but now most start from airfields farther west. A few fly overhead, carrying raw materials to Chelyabinsk and the factories beyond the Urals. Very few go out from Moscow except for ones we engage for diplomatic purposes. Which is to say, it’s a system that’s hard to modify.”

Mia nodded slowly. He was saying it would not be easy and would be diplomatically costly. “But in view of the circumstances, could you make a case for special arrangements?”

“Possibly, in light of the fact that you were here representing the White House and now must return home. Besides—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador.” Another young corporal, of which there seemed to be half a dozen, stepped into the dining room. “There’s a call for you, from the Kremlin. Will you take it? It’s Stalin.”

“What? Of course.” The ambassador’s phone buzzed and he picked up the handset. “Good morning, Marshal Stalin.”

Mia glanced at Alexia, then back at Harriman, trying to make out the subject of the conversation. But the ambassador said little beyond an occasional “Ah, I see,” or “That’s good news, then,” and “I’m glad to hear it.” But the deep frown that formed suggested it was not good news at all.

Finally he said, “Thank you for calling. I’ll be happy to tell her. Good-bye, then.” And when he hung up he rubbed his face.

“What’s wrong? What did he say?” Mia asked.

Harriman gave a long exhalation. “Marshal Stalin called to thank you for your excellent work in identifying the thief of millions of rubles of American Lend-Lease goods. He promised to see that the culprit, Leonid Nazarov, and the factory foremen who worked under him would be appropriately punished for this act of treason.”

Mia grimaced. “Molotov has found a scapegoat.”

“Worse than that. He’s taken half of the credit, saying he worked closely with you to discover the thieves. He’s Stalin’s new best friend. The marshal’s last words before he hung up were, ‘You see how important it is to have good men around you, to help you ferret out the bad ones.’”

“That means—” Mia tried to formulate their precarious new situation.

“That means,” Harriman said abruptly, “that we must go for a walk in the garden.”

“The garden. Yes, of course. I’ll get a sweater.”

She returned in a few moments wearing one and carrying Alexia’s padded jacket, and the three of them filed outside.

As soon as they were ten feet away from the door, Mia summarized. “So, I assume that call from Stalin means Molotov has effectively eradicated any culpability he might have had.”

“Exactly. You can bet that Nazarov and anyone else involved is already in isolation, with no one to talk to until execution. So you’ll get no more concessions from Molotov for anything.”

Alexia spoke up. “We’re both in danger now, aren’t we?”

Harriman shook his head. “He won’t touch either of you while you’re here at the embassy. Especially not with Churchill arriving in a few days.”

Mia halted. “Winston Churchill’s coming? That could offer us a chance to get out of Russia by air, couldn’t it? When does he arrive?” She realized she’d asked three questions in a row, but only one needed answering.

“In four days. He’ll be staying at the British Embassy across from the Kremlin, but we’ll meet with him, of course. As for its being an opportunity, I don’t know. I’m sure the prime minister would be happy to give you a lift back to England, but he might balk at taking a deserter. On the other hand, he hates communism, and I think he’d consider it a coup if he could get just one communist to defect. We won’t know that until he answers our cable.”

Mia had already done an about-face. “Let’s send it, then.”

“Fine. I’ll call my code clerk to put it into code. You’ll need to reduce the message to its basics.”

“I can do that right now. ‘Harry Hopkins assistant here with dodgy companion. Need quick exit. Can they hitch back to GB with you?’ How does that sound?”

“Dodgy, eh? Well, that says it all.”

The prime minister’s reply arrived within twenty-four hours, also in code, but the ambassador translated.

And while they waited for his appearance, three days after receipt of the cable, the embassy buzzed with activity. Other cables came and went, and Harriman met with the British ambassador in Moscow. Mia was amazed at the running of the embassy, understaffed though it was, and was careful to stay out of the way. Her role as a representative of the White House was worn thin, and Alexia was an obvious liability.

But at the end of each day, the three preceding the prime minister’s arrival and the three while he visited, Mia and Alexia enjoyed a sort of honeymoon, hampered only by one immobilized arm and the need to talk in bug-resistant whispers.

“I like this,” Mia murmured into Alexia’s neck on one of the nights after passion had run its course. “It’s so much more exciting when it’s secret, forbidden, and silent. So when I touch you here and here, and you get all excited, you can’t make any sound.”

Alexia giggled. “Just imagine if we did. The NKVD men listening to us would get very excited and then go home to their wives. ‘Why, Boris,’” she mimicked. “‘Why this sudden passion when you come home each night from work?’”

Mia snickered but then grew serious. “Darling, I need to ask you something very important.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re really certain you want to come back with me? I know you agreed, but I also know you’re a patriot, and it must be like a leap into empty space for you.”

“It’s absolutely a leap. And I don’t really want to leave Russia. I still have a grandmother who doesn’t know where I am or even if I’m alive. But Russia doesn’t want me anymore. If Molotov didn’t have me killed, all that’s left is the Gulag, and when I came out of that, there’d be nothing much left at all. I think I’m forced to go, but at least I’ll be with you.”

“I love knowing you trust me so much, but there’s so much about me you don’t know. I’m afraid when you find out, you’ll pull away.”

“Tell me now and end the uncertainty. What could you possibly do that would make me love you less?”

Mia breathed for several long moments into Alexia’s hair, then leaned back and glanced away.

“I… uh… I killed my father.”

“What? How? For what reason?”

“Not with my hands, but with my words, by shaming him to death. I discovered that he’d seduced a woman who had been, briefly, my lover, and I called him a pig. He said, “We are both sinners, but I acted as a natural man while you are an abomination. I speak a father’s curse on you for it.”

Alexia covered Mia’s hand with her own. “How awful. What did you answer?”

“I laughed and said I spat on his pathetic curse. His words, ‘sinner, abomination, curse,’ were all magic words from his silly scriptures and couldn’t touch me. I could live with my ‘sin,’ but could he live with being a pitiful, hypocritical old fool? Our quarrel was overheard by neighbors, and that humiliation was enough to push him over the edge. Literally. He committed suicide by jumping from our roof.”

Alexia lifted Mia’s hand and brushed her lips over the back of it.

“Loyalty to the father, like to the homeland, runs deep in our souls, doesn’t it? When we withdraw it, we suffer a great guilt.”

Mia turned her hand and cupped Alexia’s lovely Slavic face. “Yes. It’s a Russian thing, I suppose. Even when they disappoint us.”

“Before I was a soldier, I was a teacher, and I believe in seeing things as they are, not what we wish them to be or what tradition tells us they are. Right now, I love only you and the comrades who fought with me at the front. All the rest is shadows.”

Mia could think of nothing to reply, and, like the Inquisitor’s prisoner, she responded with a kiss.

Winston Churchill and his secretary were already in the banquet room enjoying wine and hors d’oeuvres when Mia and Alexia entered. Harriman waved them over to join the group.

“Mr. Prime Minister, may I introduce Mia Kramer? And this is Alexia Mazarova, of whom I wrote you recently.”

Churchill offered his hand, the one that was not holding his wineglass and cigar. “Harry’s assistant, eh? I believe I saw you lurking behind him once or twice in Tehran. So, Harry sent you to Moscow but didn’t arrange for you to get home? And look at you. You’ve obviously been wounded in the line of duty. Shame on him.”

Mia chuckled, studying his square and slightly puffy bulldog face.

“Mr. Hopkins shouldn’t be ashamed. The mission took an unexpected turn, and he couldn’t know that I needed to return home at this particular moment.”

“Awfully nice chap, that Harry, but he should keep a better eye on you. No telling the things that can happen to a young lady alone in Moscow.”

Churchill turned finally to Alexia. “And this is the dodgy companion.” He stepped back, obviously scrutinizing her uniform. “I must say, you left out some important details, old fellow. I had no idea she’d…”

Harriman shushed him with a finger to his lips and a glance toward the ceiling.

Churchill nodded and changed course. “…that she’d be so attractive.”

“So, Mr. Prime Minister, you are scheduled to depart tomorrow at noon. Do you foresee any obstacles to your departure… as discussed in your cable?”

Churchill puffed on his cigar. “No, we’ve made our plans and shall stick by them. Unfortunately, Mr. Stalin has invited me to a festive dinner this evening, and you know how that always ends.” His mouth flattened out into a rubbery smile.

Mia translated his banter into Russian for Alexia’s benefit, though she, too, seemed frustrated by the apparent small talk and by the impossibility of discussing the escape plan.

Harriman was doing his best. “Miss Kramer would like to attend the departure. I’ll be giving a brief speech, about the promising future of Anglo-Soviet relations, and I expect you will have a few words to say yourself. Who will accompany our young lady?”

Churchill squinted for a moment, obviously trying to extrapolate from the remark the real information being requested, then seem to grasp it was merely a question of “How do we get the women past Soviet security?”

Again the prime minister puffed on his cigar, apparently formulating a coded reply. “Don’t worry about it, old fellow. General Ismay has a charming adjutant, Captain something or other. I’ll see to it that she’s well taken care of.”

Mia made a note of the information. She knew Ismay was a general in the prime minister’s delegation, and apparently his adjutant, who was a captain, would be the one to guide them onto the field. The captain’s name would probably emerge later in the dinner conversation. Things were moving along.

Mia and Alexia spent the rest of the luncheon following the group surrounding the prime minister and then eating a meal far superior to what they’d been given before. All of it was marked by superficial banter and political gossip. The escape plan the next day never came up again, nor did the aforementioned captain.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what’s going on,” Alexia said when they were alone after the luncheon.

Mia bent toward her and whispered, “I think you aren’t supposed to. It’s all small talk and false leads to confuse anyone listening. I have confidence the ambassador will tell us what to do tomorrow.”

“You trust your politicians?”

“This one I do.”

The morning of the departure of the British delegation, Harriman suggested one last walk in the garden. Once they were some hundred feet from the door, he said, “Churchill’s man is Captain David Laughlin. He’ll meet our car upon arrival, and while the prime minister and I are giving our little speeches, he’ll escort you to the airplane.”

“Anything special we have to do?” Mia asked.

“Yes.” He turned his attention to Alexia. “You must change out of that uniform and into some of Miss Kramer’s clothes again. A Red Army soldier will never get past the guard. You must pass as one of the British delegation. A secretary, perhaps.”

“Anything else?” Mia asked.

“Keep in mind that since Molotov has not provided an exit visa or official military discharge, what we’re undertaking will be a grave offense to the Soviets. It is critical that the prime minister, or my office for that matter, not be compromised at this critical time, so if anything goes wrong, if you’re stopped or recognized, we must disavow you.”

It was an ominous warning, but the alternatives had run out. “I understand.”

The driver brought the embassy car to a stop in front of the main terminal, and a young officer with a rather bland English face stepped toward them to open the rear door. As Mia struggled out, he offered his hand.

“Captain Laughlin?” she asked, shaking it. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, repeating the gesture with Alexia. “I’ll escort you to the prime minister’s plane while he’s addressing the public.”

“Who are we going to say we are?” Mia still hadn’t gotten the whole picture.

“You’ll be yourself. But this young lady will be Catherine Dunn, one of the prime minister’s secretaries.” He handed over an envelope of papers.

“Cassrin Don.” Unaccustomed to the “th,” Alexia repeated the name awkwardly.

“However. If she’s identified and blocked from entry, we will say the forgeries are Russian and that we do not know her. The prime minister is willing to appear taken advantage of but not complicit.”

“Ah, yes. Deniability. I recognize that. Fine.”

Ambassador Harriman checked his watch and instructed the captain. “It doesn’t look like Churchill and entourage have arrived yet, but the Soviets are already on the field. It’s best you get into position at the far end of the terminal. Stay within the crowd. When the prime minister’s plane tests his propellers, you can escort the women out onto the field. The flight crew should be expecting them. In the meantime, I’ll be seeing to protocol.”

The ambassador turned his head at the sound of the military band. “That’s the honor guard starting the ceremonies. I’ve got to go now. Mia, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Miss Mazarova, good luck to you.”

“Thank you so much, Ambassador,” Mia said. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you could arrange this. I hope I haven’t caused too many problems.”

“That’s quite all right. Sometimes one has to improvise. But please tell Harry he owes me one.”

Alexia was succinct. “Thank you for everything,” she said in Russian.

He shook hands with both of them and then was gone.

Captain Laughlin stepped into the lead, and they followed him silently. When they reached the end of the terminal, the crowd blocked their view of the field, but the distant sound of the British national anthem told them that Churchill had arrived.

“The Star-Spangled Banner” followed, and then the Soviet anthem, and Alexia looked pained. It was obviously not a good moment to hear patriotic music.

They edged forward and finally caught sight of the ceremonies. Mia could discern the main players: the tall, slender Anthony Eden; Molotov, looking nondescript; and the handsome, dark-haired Harriman standing next to white-haired Churchill.

Molotov stepped up to the microphone but was mercifully brief. Then Churchill addressed the crowd, and through the public speakers, she could hear his words. “The last two years have been ones of unbroken victory, the Russian Army has broken the spirit of the Wehrmacht, the final triumph will bring a better world for the majority of mankind.” A better world? God, she hoped so.

The British delegation’s B-24 bomber waiting out on the airfield tested its propellers, then taxied closer to the terminal to receive its passengers.

“Time to board,” Captain Laughlin announced, and marched ahead of them onto the field.

They were within a dozen yards of the plane when two guards approached them. “No one is allowed on board yet,” one of them said in Russian. Laughlin looked slightly perplexed. Alexia, who understood but dared not react, stared at the ground.

“We are authorized, and all of us have identification,” Mia said in Russian.

All three presented their papers, and Mia hoped the trembling in her hand was not obvious. But after several tense moments, they were allowed to pass. When they reached the plane, the captain opened the hatch toward the rear of the fuselage. Hands reached out and helped lift her inside.

The interior of the refitted B-24 Liberator heavy bomber was cavernous, no doubt the result of the removal of all the weaponry. The bomb bay doors were closed, and a temporary floor had been laid over the metal walkway, a portion of which was still visible at the far end.

Some ten rows of passenger seats had been installed, and she chose the last two seats at the rear of the plane, hoping to draw as little attention as possible.

The other passengers were largely military personnel, heavily decorated officers with their adjutants. Mia made no effort to talk to them.

After some twenty nerve-racking minutes, the hatchway opened again, and the rest of the delegation boarded: first Captain Laughlin, then more military, and finally Churchill and Eden. The prime minister appeared grumpy as he took his seat at the front and buckled himself in.

The plane began to taxi, and, in spite of the movement of the plane, one of the younger officers marched up the aisle to hand the prime minister a short glass of whiskey. He accepted it with a sullen nod.

The lack of windows made it impossible to tell how far they were from the terminal, but for Mia every moment they taxied brought them farther away from danger. In another five minutes, they’d be in the sky and on their way to freedom.

But the plane suddenly stopped. Churchill peered over his shoulder and grumbled, “What the devil…?”

Obviously someone from the control tower had contacted the pilot, because one of the flight crew left his post, came back to the hatch, and opened it.

Two Soviet officers stepped in, and their royal-blue caps revealed them as NKVD. Beside her, Alexia stiffened.

The prime minister had gotten out of his seat, as well as Captain Laughlin, and both stood in the aisle near the entrance way. Marching past them, the NKVD men stopped in front of Alexia. “Alexia Vassilievna Mazarova. You will come with us.”

Mia leapt up to confront them, but one of the men pushed her back down onto her seat. “No. You are required to leave.” The senior officer laid his hand on his holster.

“I say, what’s going on here?” Churchill gestured vaguely toward Mia with his whiskey glass.

The senior officer replied in English. “This one is Soviet citizen and deserter.” With that, the junior officer lifted Alexia from her seat with one hand and urged her toward the hatch. She offered no resistance.

Mia glanced desperately toward the prime minister. “Sir…”

He took a step toward the senior NKVD officer. “Oh, dear. I had no idea we had a stowaway. So sorry, Major. Please extend my heartfelt apologies to your government for this unfortunate incident. I shall certainly have words with my flight crew about that.” He stepped back and allowed the two men to escort Alexia through the hatchway and onto the tarmac.

Mia rose halfway up to follow, but Captain Laughlin laid a hand on her shoulder. “No. It’s best if you sit down again.”

Obeying the pressure of his hand, Mia fell back in her seat and watched with horror as the hatchway was sealed up again. Churchill turned away.

“Mr. Prime Minister, you promised. Why didn’t you do anything?” she called, outrage displacing all sense of propriety.

He turned back toward her again. “Sorry, my dear, but you must keep some perspective. Our negotiations with the Kremlin have not gone well. You may have lost your little deserter, but we’ve lost Eastern Europe.”

Holding his whiskey glass to his chest, he did an about-face and returned to his seat.

As soon as the prime minister was seated, the aircraft taxied onto the field. Moments later, they took off with a roar.

Stunned and broken, Mia laid her head in her hands.