That fire is eating at my thoughts; its crackle conceals all sound. Beneath the table, Valentin’s hand falls onto my knee. Perhaps he means it to be comforting, steadying. But I only feel caged.
We are an experiment, I know this. The second wave of what started under Stalin; young, untrained psychics like Kruzenko and Rostov summoned forth to defeat the Nazi threat. But there is a vital component in the experiment that’s eluding me, hovering just on the periphery of my thoughts, darting from sight as I try to look at it dead on.
“One of the hotel guests did overhear some of the CIA team members discussing the meeting with the last wildling that they have scheduled for tomorrow,” Misha says. “But we couldn’t find anything that indicates they’ve made contact with any other members of the Veter 1 engineers. We don’t know if they’ve already stolen all the information they need, or—”
“Or the whole Veter 1 mission was only bait.” My heart sinks as I say it. “A secondary scheme to draw in their primary target—us.”
The table falls silent again. Silence tugs at us like gravity tonight, trapping our words in its atmosphere. It slumps Kruzenko forward, dulls her one-word answer. “Maybe.” Her uniform is too tight; the folds of fat under her jaw have grown more pronounced, and black bags swell under her eyes.
“What will happen to Ivan now?” I ask.
“If he awakens, then we will have to be very careful. We will need to determine whether the Amerikanski poisoned his thought process before scrubbing him blank. If so, then even if he is healed, he could be completely—I don’t know, rewired, perhaps, to act as an agent for the CIA.”
“If he awakens,” I echo.
Kruzenko nods. “The best thing we can do for Ivan right now is finish what we have begun.”
“I’ll go to Gorky Park tomorrow,” I say. “We have to stop the scrubber from wiping the factory boy, too.”
Valentin’s fingers tighten against my knee. “Yulia, please, no.”
“It is much too dangerous,” Kruzenko agrees. Masha stares at me wide-eyed, almost impressed.
“Please. We can’t let it happen again, even if it is to a wildling. Have our teams had any luck finding him?” I ask. Kruzenko doesn’t answer. “That’s what I thought. If we know exactly where he’ll be—if we have this one chance to stop the scrubber…”
Kruzenko meets my eyes, and I know she doesn’t need psychic powers to know how determined I am. “It will not be easy.” She grimaces. “At the slightest hint of trouble, I will end the operation immediately.”
“Whatever we have to do. Bring whatever backup we need,” I say. “Please. For Ivan.”
CHAPTER 32
“HE’S WAITING ON the park bench. No signs of the CIA team yet.” Masha’s brow wrinkles, shifting on the metal bench built into the inside of the van. “He’s very antsy. He has a suitcase with him…”
Kruzenko glances at Rostov, who nods. She leans back from the heavy microphone kit. “Continue monitoring. We cannot move in until we’ve located the scrubber.”
Valentin runs his finger down my arm. I flush and scan the truck to make sure no one else saw. “You’re certain you want to do this?” he asks.
“We owe it to this wildling,” I say.
Rostov’s grin oozes across his face. “We owe it to the Motherland to stop this threat.” There’s a dark glint to his eyes; I’m sure he’s hungry to add another medal to his uniform after today.
Masha jerks forward. “Someone’s coming. Down the hill, off the main sidewalk … I think he’s coming from the skating rink, though it could be the carnival rides.”
Kruzenko presses the thick button on the microphone’s base. “Agents, stand by. Comrade Rostov is moving in.”
“Do those poor agents have any idea what they’re up against?” Valentin mutters.
Rostov shrugs into his leather military long coat and tucks his radio into the breast pocket. “They know it’s their duty to do whatever I ask of them.” He climbs out of the back of the van and slams the door shut behind him.
Masha takes a deep breath, then shakes out her hands. “Rostov is on the right path. There should be a clump of trees that’ll give him cover from the bench. The scrubber is—” Here Masha shudders. “He’s in a heavy coat, fur hat, and … well, I can’t get a good look at him…”
Major Kruzenko relays the information over the microphone, then adds, “Agents, prepare to intercept.”
Masha’s face flushes with strain. “It’s hard to see right now. The air is too—crackly. I’m not sure where Rostov went, but the scrubber is reaching the bench now…” She winces. “I’m not feeling so good.”
“What do you mean? Where is Rostov?” Kruzenko mashes the microphone button. “Agents! Report in!”
“I can’t focus on their conversation, and Rostov is—”
Major Kruzenko shrieks as static overwhelms her headphones—I can hear it from the other side of the van. She yanks the headset off and leaps up. “Masha? What do you see?”