"L'Amour, Louis - Last_of_the_Breed41" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

Forcing herself not to look back, she continued on, rounded a corner, then went off down another street. Then she came back to the little place of which Evgeny had spoken.
She went in. Several people were present, but no young officer. She ordered tea and a bowl of borscht that turned out to be surprisingly good.
She ate slowly and had another cup of tea. He did not come. At last she arose, paid, and left. At the door she took a moment to straighten her coat and put on her gloves, studying the street. Emerging, she looked again up and down and then deliberately chose a way that would avoid the street along which she had come. Her heart was pounding, and it was all she could do to avoid looking around to see if she was followed.
Several times she changed direction, but the streets were virtually empty in this quarter. She hurried on, returning to the little room in the corner of the old building.
Evgeny Zhikarev was waiting inside. He reached both his hands for hers, drawing her quickly inside, and then closed the door.
"Ah! You do not know how frightened I have been! I have imagined all sorts of things! Please, are you all right?"
"I am all right, but he did not come. Your literary lieutenant did not come. I sat and waited. I drank my tea slowly, but he did not come."
She took off her coat and hat, fluffing her hair a little after the hat's confining. "There was a car, a Volga with two people in it. The woman looked straight at me. For a minute I thought--"
"Two people? What was she like, this woman?"
"Dark hair, very striking. A handsome woman, she had manners like an official. She looked right at me."
Zhikarev could feel his heart beating, and there was a sick feeling in his stomach. "And the man? A tall, soldierly man? Very strong?"
"That's the one. Do you know them?"
"I know them." Evgeny Zhikarev sat down suddenly. "She is Comrade Kyra Lebedev. She works with Colonel Zamatev, and the man was Stegman." He gestured to his crippled feet. "He did this to me."
He limped across to the fire and added coal from the bucket. He straightened up. "We have no time, then. Why else would they be here but for us?"
"She knows you by sight?"'
"Of course. She has been to my shop. We spoke of furs together. She would recognize me at once."
For a long time they were silent, each thinking, frightened, understanding what impended. "We have no choice," she admitted. "I must return to the tearoom. I must meet Potanin. "
He shook his head. "I do not like it. If she looked at you, by now she knows who you must be. She saw you, and she is a very astute young woman. I have heard it said that she is Zamatev's strong right arm. His future depends on capturing that American, and if they believe you knew him they will try to discover what you know, or they will hold you to bring him in."
"How would he know?"
"They would find a way; believe me, they would." Zhikarev looked at her. "Would he come back for you? Give himself up for you?"
She shook her head. "I do not know. I hope not. They lie; they will promise and then do as they wish. I cannot let that happen. If they catch me I will kill myself."
He shrugged. "It is not easy to do. They will leave you nothing. Being captured by them is not good. Particularly for a woman.
"No," he said. "We must escape. We must escape now."
"I will try once more to see Potanin. This afternoon--"
"And I shall be ready to move. It must be today or tonight, no later. No matter what he says, insist."
When Kyra Lebedev realized who she was, would the search begin at once? Or would they try to locate her by other means? Or simply alert their people to watch for her to see with whom she was associated and where she was in hiding?
It was late afternoon before she took to the street again. "If I do not appear by shortly after dark you had best forget about me," she advised. "I will do what I can, but they might arrest me, so I'd be unable to return."
He went to the door with her. "See yonder?" he said. "That grove of birches by the river? If I must leave here, I will go there and wait for you until midnight. We should not try to cross by daylight, anyway."
"What of the Chinese? Will they let us enter?"
He shrugged. "It is a chance we must take. I have the name of a Chinese who might help. One never knows."
The small street was empty. She walked swiftly to the corner, then crossed and went into the street of the cafe, if such it could be called, avoiding the more busy street where she had seen Kyra Lebedev.
Only four tables were occupied when she entered the cafe, and she saw Lieutenant Potanin at once. He was seated near the door, and he was reading while sipping his tea. He looked up as she entered, and she crossed the room to his table. Surprised, he stood up.
She said, "Do you remember Ivan Karamazov, who wanted not millions, but an answer to his questions?"
He smiled. "I have read Dostoevsky," he said, "but do you have questions, too?"
"Several." She seated herself. "But very little time. I bring you greetings from a friend who deals in furs. He does not walk well."
He shook his head, smiling. "Will you have some tea?"
"I also bring you"--she took the book from under her arm--"Balzac's 'Le Pere Goriot'. It was a book of my father's."
"A gift?" His eyes searched hers. "What is it you wish?"
"My friend has furs awaiting, as usual. We would like to pick them up tonight."
" 'We?' Does it need more than one?"
"It does." She smiled at him. "I do not like being abrupt, and I know this is not the way such things are done, but I have no choice."
His eyes searched hers, and the smile disappeared. "I see." He took up the book she had placed on the table. "Fortunately, I read French." He spoke very softly then, keeping his eyes on hers and his face slightly averted from the room, although nobody seemed to be paying attention. "At fifteen minutes to midnight, then? No earlier, no later."
"Thank you." She arose. "Until then," she said, and turned to the door.
The street was dark but for the light from the cafe windows. Quickly, she crossed the street and stepped into the shadows of a doorway.
The street was empty, and snow was falling softly. Hesitating a moment, she stepped out into the snow. And then she heard the car.
It was coming up the street, the headlights pointing a lighted finger before them. With a step she was back in the doorway again and out of sight.
The Volga drew up at the cafe. A door opened and a woman got out. On the other side of the car the driver stepped out. He was a big, broad-shouldered man. The woman turned toward him, her face momentarily in the light.
It was Kyra Lebedev.