He should have told her they needed to devise some code when she left the cabin to get tea, a sticky note on the door . . . something, but there was no point now. They would exit the train when it pulled into Irkutsk in a little less than an hour. “We need to talk about how we’re going to handle things when the train stops.”
She sat on her berth. Jenkins sat across from her but further up the bunk to make room for his knees. “I’ll exit the front of the carriage and look for ‘a friend,’ whoever he or she is. If I find the person on the platform and everything is okay, I’ll drop my backpack onto the ground. That will be your cue to exit from the other end of the car. If I don’t drop the backpack, don’t depart. Stay in the compartment and lock the door.”
“I understand,” she said. “But unless this friend has purchased a ticket, he won’t be on the platform. He’ll be on the other side of the train station, waiting in the parking lot.”
She was right. Jenkins had not considered that possibility. He gave it a moment of thought, then said, “If I don’t see anyone on the platform, I’ll continue into the terminal. You’ll need to follow, but try to blend in, as you did when we boarded. Again, if I get outside the terminal, meet a friend, and everything is okay, I’ll drop the backpack. If not, use your ticket to get back on the train. It is good to Vladivostok.”
Kulikova nodded stoically, but Jenkins could see her nerves in the slight tremor of her hands, which she held in her lap. She projected a strong image, and Jenkins surmised that she had done so for many years. He thought of her telling him that every day, for decades, she had gone to work thinking that day could be her last, that every day she had thought she might bite down on her pen and crush the cyanide capsule, taking her life. He had no doubt of her strength, but even the strongest person would get weak-kneed when they got this close to the finish line, this close to being free. He knew this was the moment when panic could set in. Training and planning often went out the window. His job was to project confidence and to hold things together—for both of them.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “stick to the plan. If something goes wrong, get back on the train. If they could get us a note once, they can do it again. We just have to stay positive.”
“I will try.” She looked down as if in thought, then glanced up at him. “Tell me what my life will be like in the United States.”
Jenkins deduced she’d changed the subject to calm herself. “Initially, you’ll spend some time being debriefed with CIA officers. After that, the relocation center will work to provide you with a new life—a new name, new identity, new background. You’ll be treated well, given a nice house in a nice neighborhood.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“You’ll be free,” he said.
“To do what?” She asked a simple question, though Jenkins realized it was anything but. She had never been free. She’d always been trapped within the confines of her spying. It had occupied her every waking moment and thought.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“I wish I knew, Mr. Jenkins. For years my day was predetermined to the minute, and many of my nights as well. When I wasn’t working, I thought of work, of the things I had done, and that I would have to do. I prepared for the possibility that each day would be my last. I fear I won’t know what to do without that burden that took up so much of my life, that filled my every waking hour.”
He wanted to tell her he had lived for many years just as she had lived, alone with his guilt. He wanted to tell her how Alex had popped into his life and changed everything. He wanted to tell her that age was just a number, that old dogs could learn new tricks. But it would just be words. She needed to find out for herself.
“Don’t try to think too much about what is to happen,” he said. “My mother used to tell me that life is a lot like reading a book. You don’t know what is going to happen next unless you turn the page and read to the ending. That’s the beauty of reading. The journey.”
“I hope, Charlie, that your mother was reading a good book. One with a happy ending. I would like that very much.”
“So would I, Maria.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost time.” He tried to smile, to project confidence.
She reached across the aisle and squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Let us turn the page together, Charlie. And see what happens next.”
Jenkins looked out the window as the train neared Irkutsk, but at just before four in the morning the view remained pitch-black, not a glimpse of the sun yet on the horizon. According to the brochure, the train snaked along the Angara River, which flowed through the middle of the city from the southern end of Lake Baikal, the deepest freshwater lake in the world. Of the hundreds of rivers that flowed into Baikal, the Angara was the only one that flowed out. Jenkins hoped that served as an augury, that he and Kulikova would also get out. The train station was built along the river, several miles from the lake.
Jenkins put on the gray sweatshirt, pulled the baseball cap low on his brow, and lifted the hood over the hat. He slid the backpack onto his shoulder and tightened the straps. He stepped to the window as the train rolled into the Irkutsk train station, the platform illuminated by streetlamps. He surveyed the faces of the people waiting on the platform as the train rolled past. Irkutsk was a main hub on the Trans-Siberian Railway, and a considerable number of tired-looking people waited to board the cars. The train lurched to a stop. Jenkins slid between the bunks to the door and turned back to Maria. “Remember. If I take off the backpack, we’re good. If I don’t—”
“I’ll get out of there as fast as I can.” She smiled and he knew it was to calm him.
He pulled open the door. Despite the early hour, sleepy passengers trudged down the train toward the exits, dragging rolling suitcases behind them. Jenkins shut the cabin door and heard Maria lock it from the inside. He shuffled into the line. At the exit he looked out at the faces on the platform. No one he recognized. He felt the cool morning air, a strong breeze blowing in from the river. The provodnik advised each passenger to watch his or her step. On the platform Jenkins walked with the mass of travelers toward a covered stairwell, again searching for a familiar face and waiting for someone to approach and tell him they were “a friend.”