Justine Saracen - The Sniper’s Kiss

And, dear Lord, what would Alexia think of Washington? Mia loved to imagine the two of them curled up in her bed at the White House, but that was clearly a childish fantasy. In practical terms, a defector at the White House would present considerable embarrassment to a president.

She dropped onto her bed and hugged her pillow in despair. Jesus. What had she done?

When the call came, the caller was anonymous and merely announced that the soldier Alexia Mazarova had arrived in Moscow and could be fetched at the Kiyevsky train station. Presumably her release from the penal battalion did not include local transportation. But she was delivered alive, and in that respect, Molotov had kept his word.

“I’ll send you with Robert to bring her back here,” Harriman offered, and Mia gratefully accepted.

The October winds had already started, the gray sky portended snow, and when they arrived at the station, Alexia stood shivering at the entrance in a filthy uniform and padded field jacket. At least they’d left her the jacket. She carried no soldier’s pack or weapon.

Her somber demeanor changed to joy when she saw the embassy car pull up and Mia step out. “I’d hoped it was you who got me out,” she said as Mia pulled her into a one-armed embrace. “You’re looking better than you did in the medical station at Pskov.”

Mia stood back and studied her at arm’s length for a moment. “I’m sure I do, but I have to say, you look terrible. We’ll have to clean you up and get some hot food into your stomach. Then we have a lot to talk about.” She laid her good arm across Alexia’s back and guided her into the car.

“Hello, Corporal Mazarova,” Robert said over his shoulder from the front seat. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she said, and dropped back against the car seat, obviously still dazed. She turned to Mia. “No one explained what was happening or where they were taking me. They simply escorted me to a train and put me onto one of the freight cars. I rode for two days and nights, and twice, someone brought me food and water. When the train arrived in Moscow, somebody else escorted me off and told me to wait. I had no idea what was coming after that.”

“The bastard.” Mia snorted. “Releasing you was the condition I gave Molotov for not exposing his crimes to Stalin. He kept his end of the bargain—but only just. Nonetheless, I’ll keep mine. But now I want to hear about what happened after your arrest. I was so terrified they’d execute you for desertion.”

“Commissar Semenova would like to have, but Colonel Borodin didn’t want the army to lose a good marksman and convinced the judges to reduce the sentence to six months on a penal battalion. Semenova was furious. She’s just like Stalin. If you don’t die at your post, you’re not a good communist. But now tell me about what happened to you.”

“Oh, it’s long story. It seems I’m always trying to escape from ambulances and hospitals, and changing identities along the way. They fixed my collapsed lung and broken shoulder in Novgorod and then sent me to Botkin Hospital to finish recovering. I spent the whole time trying to come up with a way to get back to the embassy, and finally, believe it or not, Major Pavlichenko helped me. But no one must ever know that.”

Alexia sighed. “So much secrecy. It’s exhausting.”

At that moment, the car pulled up in front of Spaso House.

The ambassador met them as they entered and greeted Alexia in his slightly awkward but adequate Russian. The perfect host, he offered her a guest room next to Mia’s and an opportunity to bathe while her filthy uniform was run through the embassy laundry. During the hours the damp uniform hung over Mia’s oil heater to dry, she wore Mia’s clothes. They were a size small and made her look like Alice in Wonderland on the growth potion, but Mia knew it was a joke she couldn’t share.

Two hours later, they joined Harriman in the dining room for a late lunch. The situation was awkward in the extreme, but Harriman, the consummate diplomat, merely said, “Let’s all enjoy this lovely meal, without any political discussion. We’ll have time for that later, perhaps on our evening walk.” He swept his glance across the ceiling and around the room, and Alexia nodded understanding.

They ate potato and leek soup, chatting about Russian and American culinary traditions. Alexia remarked on the military diet and its recent enrichment with Spam. After a comfortable hour of small talk, the ambassador reiterated that the garden air was much fresher than inside and suggested they go for a stroll.

Mia threaded her good arm into the sleeve of her jacket, and Alexia buttoned it across the bandaged one. It was a tender, caring gesture, and for Mia, who thought of herself now as the protector, it felt odd.

Outside, the ambassador got immediately to the point. “It’s clear to me that Miss Kramer’s investigation, which was supposed to improve the Lend-Lease supply chain, has instead uncovered corruption at very high levels at the Kremlin. Unfortunately, revelation of this corruption would endanger negotiations between both our governments, so we must suppress the information.”

“We’re beyond the issue of corruption, Ambassador,” Mia said, but Harriman raised a hand.

“Please let me finish. At the heart of the scandal is Mr. Molotov, who attempted to have Miss Kramer murdered and may still do so.” He turned toward Alexia. “As the condition for her silence, Miss Kramer required that you be reprieved and brought back safely to Moscow. That leaves us here with the question of what we shall do with you.”

“It’s really up to you, Alexia,” Mia said. “Molotov handed you over, but he wasn’t happy about it. I think at this point, you have only two choices. You can declare your loyalty to country above all and go back to the battalion to finish your sentence, although you’re already tainted by association with me, so you may still be in trouble. Or you can… well, I have to say it. You can defect.”

“Defect.” Alexia winced, as if tasting the word in all its bitterness. “I never would have considered it.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry to have involved you in this whole mess. You were a good soldier and a loyal communist. I’ve taken that all away from you.”

Alexia exhaled. “No. All you really took away was my political innocence. You made me suspicious. When we arrived near Warsaw, where the Poles were rising up against the Germans, we were ordered to stand down, to let the Germans wipe them out. Only then could we advance and defeat the Germans on our terms. That didn’t seem right. Then I kept thinking of what Molotov did to you. So many things go on among our leaders that we don’t know about, that we would hate if we did know. I love this land, would still fight and die for it, and I’m still a communist, but I feel no loyalty to Stalin and his men.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to defect?” Ambassador Harriman asked coldly.

“It means I understand my choice is to return to the field and probably die for a government I can’t trust, or to betray it. Both make me terribly depressed.”

Harriman offered no sympathy. “I’m sorry if it depresses you. But you must choose, because if you want to defect, we have to plan for you to do so, and, ironically, it must be done legally. That is, the embassy can’t be part of an escape plan. We have to see to a discharge from active service and an exit visa. Only Molotov can issue those.”

“What are my chances if I go back?”

“To the penal battalion? Even if you survive and return to a normal unit, you’d remain a threat to Molotov because of what you know, and I’m sure he wouldn’t tolerate that. You’d be very easy to eliminate at the front.”

Alexia seemed to slump. “Well then. I agree to go to America. I’m not sure what I’d do once I got there, though.”

Mia felt her own disappointment growing. This was not what rescue was supposed to be like. “Please don’t worry about that part. I have a friend, a journalist, who thinks you’d have a good chance to get a job teaching Russian. You said you were already a teacher before you enlisted, so that should be an easy transition.”

Alexia resumed strolling, and the others kept pace with her. “Me, teaching in a school in America. I suppose that’s no stranger than Mia being a sniper in the Red Army, is it?” She murmured quietly, as if to herself, “Father Zosima would certainly approve of that.”

Consummation, Mia thought. Such a powerful word, suggesting a long, passionate courtship, a great drama of reunion, and an ecstatic joining. The war had brought them no end of drama, in which the suffering and sacrifices were all terribly real, but when Mia looked at Alexia across the table, it was rather with a sense of serenity that she knew they would belong to each other that night.

And because she knew, she didn’t need to hurry. They shared a quiet evening with the ambassador and some of his staff, exchanging the small talk they’d all become adept at making under the Soviet bugs. The conversation was a back-and-forth in both Russian and English. Alexia listened when the others spoke English, sometimes seeming to catch a phrase, and other times looking quite bewildered. They would have time enough to deal with that, Mia thought.

When the cook offered a late-evening meal of sandwiches, Alexia ate ravenously, making up for the deprivations of the battlefield.

Around eleven, the ambassador slid his chair back and announced his day was over and that he would meet his guests again at breakfast. One of the staff invited them for a card game, but Mia begged off with the explanation of fatigue.