Chasing The Storm by Martin Molsted

Author:Martin Molsted [Molsted, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The Resort

Back at the hotel, Marin wasn’t lurking in the lobby as he usually was. Rygg glanced around, then shrugged and went up to his room. He took a bath and read another chapter of Anna Karenina, then got out and dressed slowly. Two o’clock came and went with no one arriving to collect his rubbish. He ordered some coffee and sat on the balcony. The book was on his lap, but he wasn’t reading, just staring out at the passing crowds and the Moscow mix of BMWs and crappy Ladas.

A movement in a window across the way caught his eye, and he looked up. White lace curtains were drawn almost the whole way across the window, leaving just a smear of darkness down the center. And in the smear was a little sickle-shaped sparkle, which vanished as soon as it appeared: the glint of light reflected off glass. A lens? Someone was watching him. He glanced at his watch. Three o’clock. He was starting to feel uneasy, the little tickle that had been with him since they landed in Moscow now grown to fingers clutching his gut. Okay, what now? He wished Marin had stuck around, even in his Alex guise.

He didn’t feel that alarmed – it was full daylight, after all: what were they going to do? But he thought he should maybe signal that something had happened. If you feel in any danger, Marin had said. I’ll wait half an hour, he thought. But half an hour passed, and still no knock. So he put on his shoes and went out. In the elevator, he turned the latch of the briefcase in, toward his thigh. He walked into the lobby. Marin was still nowhere to be seen, so he passed through the revolving doors into the street.

The sun was cool, and the canted row of flags above the entrance cast writhing purple shadows on the sidewalk. He stood for a moment outside the hotel, turning this way and that to ensure that every angle got a good view of his turned-in briefcase. Then he set off diagonally across the street to a café on the far side, swinging the briefcase perhaps a little more widely than he normally would. He ordered a beer and drank it standing up, still holding the briefcase and watching the passersby. Nothing unusual. Then a girl went by and glanced in at him. She was wearing a kerchief and huge glamour-mag glasses, but he recognized her plump cheeks. It was Valentina, the girl from the dacha, and he was sure she’d seen the briefcase. Relieved, he drank down his beer, wiped the foam from his lips, and sallied out, heading back to the hotel.

In the lobby, he asked at the reception for his guide. “Little guy, round glasses, bit of a beard.” He held his hand up at shoulder height. “About so tall. You seen me with him, I’m sure.” The receptionist shook his head, looking down at his ledger, and Rygg was suddenly anxious again.

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