“This is different,” I insist. “He was trying to tell me something.” The mass in my brain starts to unwrap like a wad of tinfoil, one layer at a time. I stand up a little straighter and sift through the thoughts that flake away with the first layer. “He wants us to go to Berlin.”
Valya and I look at each other. It’s as if we’re hearing the same song—I’ve never heard it, but it is suddenly familiar; I know its contours just before the melody glides along them. I remember flying through the air, a thumb pressing on my forehead. But I don’t remember this song or what it means.
“We can find a way out there,” Valya says, at the same time the exact same words ring in my head. But of course we have to go. Why would we ever consider anything else? I squint against the too-bright snow. Escape; I dream of running free. No guards or scrubbers or spies tethering me.
Suddenly I crave this escape more than anything, more than a hot meal in the coldest depths of starvation, more than the taste of Valentin’s sea-breeze lips. It’s not the frantic escape plan of a caged animal, like when I ran through the Metro tubes. This has weight to it. Crisp edges.
Valya presses his finger to my lips. “Please. Do not say it, do not think it. Whatever you know … we must keep it safe.”
“How?” I ask. “Rostov’s pried thoughts from my head before, even when I tried to suppress them. I don’t know if there’s anywhere safe in my head.”
“You’ll just have to fill it with other things.” He sighs, his breath hanging white between us. “I’m sorry. I wish I had a better suggestion, but anything else I might do could hurt you—”
“Perhaps not everything.” I circle my arms around his waist. I’m hungry for escape. For freedom. For the music that swells between us. “I can think of a few thoughts to fill my head with.”
I kiss him fiercely, my gloved hands gripping clumsily at his sides and his fingertips cradling my jaw. His thumbs trace my cheekbones as his mouth slips open and absorbs mine. We part to gasp for humid breaths that cling to our skin, shielding us from the sapping cold. Our eyes lock for a second before Valentin’s lips inch up my cheek, to my earlobe, kissing it faintly. “Yulia,” he whispers, savoring the vowels. “I’d follow you anywhere.”
Snow crunches behind me. I whirl around, untangling from Valentin’s arms. Major General Rostov staggers down the snowbank, fists plastered to his thighs as he fights for balance. “Children. What are you doing out here? It is not safe.”
“We were looking for…” Valentin looks from me to the bench to Rostov again. “Well, I think we were looking for you. Kruzenko was worried—”
“Nonsense. I’m perfectly all right. Come, quickly, we must report back.” He turns back onto the path toward the van, walking in jerky, pistonlike steps. Valentin and I stroll along behind him. I find myself whistling a strange tune—a silly song, really, meandering around yet repetitive. Perhaps it’s something Zhenya made up a lifetime ago. Or maybe I heard Valya playing it. I smile at him and his blushing face. I have this music in my head and his taste on my lips and I feel grand.
But Valentin hunches his shoulders tight, jamming his fists down in his coat pockets. “What happened to you, Comrade Rostov? You went to find the scrubber, but then you wandered off, and—”
“What? No, of course not. Why would I do such a thing?” He barks a dry laugh. “No, I overheard the conversation perfectly. The vile CIA team means to attend the secret Veter 1 launch in Berlin next month.” The strange three-note melody swells around us. “I fear they may attempt to sabotage the launch. We must stop them.”
Yes. Yes. Yearning grabs hold of my spine and yanks me forward. I want this, too—to go to Berlin, to find the CIA team, to witness the launch. The melody fills every gap in my brain, caulking up the empty, bruised hollows and concealing the faint shape of something I think I’m trying to forget. “You’re absolutely right, Comrade General. We will stop the scrubber in Berlin.”
Rostov’s smile breaks through his face as he looks back over his shoulder. Normally, it might send a shiver through me, but now it matches the phantom melody. “I am so glad you agree.”
CHAPTER 34
SERGEI CLUTCHES THE CARDBOARD TUBE, brandishing it overhead like a claymore before swinging it down and around. It strikes the plastic chess piece in a direct hit, sending it tumbling end over end until it cracks against the plaster wall and sticks.
“And just like that, I scored on our top goalie!” he roars, throwing down the tube and tossing his hands in the air. “The crowd went wild! Luzhniki Stadium shook to its foundation!”
“I thought you said this was during practice?” Masha asks.
Sergei wiggles the chess piece out of the cracked plaster. “Well, if there had been a crowd, it would have gone wild.”
“Congratulations,” I tell Sergei. “Now could we have our chess piece back?”