36 Yalta Boulevard: A Novel (Ruthenia Quintet) by Olen Steinhauer

Author:Olen Steinhauer [Steinhauer, Olen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2005-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Farther north, Brano found a post office with a row of public telephone booths. He approached the woman at the desk and asked if he could place an international call. She accepted his deposit of schillings and the telephone number, and told him to wait in booth number 5.

He went in and leaned against the glass door, looking out at Viennese talking into their phones, Viennese in line to buy stamps, and sullen Viennese women behind the counters who took envelopes and gave out change.

The telephone rang.

“Hello?”

There was a series of clicks, followed by a long hiss through which he could barely hear a telephone ringing. Then a faint woman’s voice, in his language, said, “Importation Register, First District.”

“Regina, it’s Brano.”

“Hello?”

He raised his voice. “Regina! It’s Brano!”

“Oh, Brano! Where are you?”

He sighed, wanting only to listen to Regina Haliniak’s comforting provincial accent. But he said, “I don’t have time to talk. Can I speak to the Comrade Colonel?”

“Colonel Cerny?”

“Yes.”

“One minute.”

The phone clicked four times, then began ringing again.

“Brano? You’re on a clean line?”

“Public telephone, I think it’s clean. The Felberstraße safe house is no longer safe. Lochert must have sold it for another.”

“Right,” said Cerny. “Where are you?”

“Where do you think?”

“Don’t be smart.”

“I’m not being smart, Comrade Colonel. You’ve kept me in the dark. You wanted me in Austria from the beginning, didn’t you?”

He heard Cerny’s long sigh as static. “Brano, everything has gone to plan. Now hang up and return to your apartment on Web-Gasse and await further instructions.”

He almost didn’t say the words, but they’d come to him so many times over the last week and a half that by now there was no holding them back. “Have you abandoned me?”

Another pause. Brano glanced up at the man in the next booth, who was sinking down the wall, crying into his telephone. Cerny said, “Comrade Sev, you will receive your orders when I want you to receive them. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel. I just felt—”

“I don’t care about your feelings, Brano. Not at this moment. I care about the security of socialism. You’ll learn everything you need to learn, but only when you need to learn it. And stay away from our embassy—your presence is not their business. Are you reading the Kurier?”

“Every day, Comrade Colonel.”

“Good, Brano.” His voice lowered. “Just tell me that everything’s all right. You’re not hurt?”

“No.”

“You’re under observation?”

“Yes, but I’ve broken away.”

“Not for long, I hope.”

“No, Comrade Colonel.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Need?”

“Yes.”

“No,” said Brano. The man in the next booth had hung up the phone but was still in the booth, on the floor, weeping.

“Okay, Brano. My only order for you now is this—”

“What?”

“Be patient.” Then the line went dead.

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