I’d rather free Mama and Zhenya for myself.
I steal a glance at Rostov, sitting like a tsar in his high-backed chair, the disheveled chandelier illuminating every last medal pinned to his officer’s uniform. His painful power seems well suited to torture. Is that what awaits Mama and Zhenya if I disobey? I need patience—I’ll need to play the KGB’s games until I have all the information I need.
I take careful, small slurps of soup as Sergei works a tower of toast into his mouth. My stolen knife presses into my calf, tucked into my woolen sock, but I’m afraid to break into Kruzenko’s office now that Rostov’s around. I uncross my legs under the table, trying to get comfortable, and accidentally kick Valentin across from me, but he keeps his laser sight trained on his plate.
“All right, children,” Rostov says, “I believe Major Kruzenko promised you all a surprise this evening.” He throws her a tight, mirthless smile. “Though we were given a splendid opportunity in Cuba to halt America’s aggression once and for all, Comrade Secretary Khruschev chose not to take it, and of course I respect his decision.”
That smile never wavers, but I recognize his tone. Saying one thing when you mean another. I suppose even KaGeBezniks deviate from the Party line now and then, but what sort of man regrets that we didn’t start a nuclear war? Just a year ago, the United States and Russia were staring each other down in Cuba, fingers hovering over the nuclear triggers, waiting for the other to flinch. A “missile crisis,” they called it in the news. My stomach turns to think Rostov craved something more severe.
“But we are asserting our supremacy in other ways. Comrade Yuri Gagarin has already dealt another blow to America’s space program by becoming the first man in space, but Khruschev wants us to aim higher. We have been asked to investigate the secret Veter program, which is designed to circle the moon. Unfortunately, despite the secrecy, there is some concern that members of the spacecraft’s design team have been compromised by foreign agents who want to steal our superior Soviet technology. Which is where you come in.”
Masha squeals. “Our first real assignment?”
Rostov nods. “I believe you have proved yourselves ready for field work, though you will continue with training missions, as well. Once I am satisfied everyone is prepared for this task—” He glances toward me. “Then we will begin the operation in earnest.”
Sergei lifts one eyebrow, like he’s excited despite himself. Valentin’s face is sharp as ever, but his foot brushes against my shin under the table. I can’t tell if he did it on purpose—there’s no message in the jazz music he leaves on my skin. Larissa and Ivan’s faces are blank, but they lace their fingers together on top of the table. “Whatever the Motherland requires of us,” Ivan says. Larissa nods once, decisively, at his words.
Rostov spends the rest of the meal deflecting questions from Misha and Masha, assuring them that he’ll tell us more about the operation once we’re ready. “But we’re ready now,” Masha insists, gesturing to her brother and herself.
Sergei nudges me when Major Kruzenko excuses us for the night. “Want to listen to the radio? Spartak’s playing Dinamo tonight,” he says.
I hesitate. Ivan and Larissa are already slinking off, and I know better than to follow. Misha and Masha are latched on to Major Kruzenko like thistles on a sock. If Rostov leaves, it might be my perfect opportunity to break into Kruzenko’s office, if I can ditch my spider entourage. Or I could approach Valentin, who’s watching me from the doorway—this morning he hinted at knowing something and information is the most valuable currency.
But then Colonel Rostov approaches us. “Come, boys. We must work on our special task, yes?” He laughs, but Sergei and Valentin both abruptly hang their heads, as if he’s just scolded them, and—even I am not paranoid enough to imagine this, I swear it’s true—both their gazes dart toward mine for one guilty, piercing second before they follow Rostov into Kruzenko’s office.
In this moment, I decide to trust no one. I can’t count on Larissa and Masha, who won’t tell me the truth of who, what I am. Not on Ivan and Misha, too absorbed in their own success to consider breaking free. Not on Sergei who gives up his life for a morning on the ice. And especially not Valentin, with his heavy, lovely, intrusive eyes.
I will have to find freedom for myself, though I fear it will take longer than I’d first hoped. I can bide my time until I find out where Mama and Zhenya are being held—I can smile and mimic Masha’s enthusiasm until I have everything I need to make my escape. But as Rostov’s psychic noise echoes through my skull, I’m not certain I can even trust myself.
CHAPTER 9