The Cross and The Sickle by R. D. Zimmerman

Author:R. D. Zimmerman [Zimmerman, R. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Russia, Spy, Spies, Thriller, USSR, mystery, Kiev, Espionage, Ukraine
ISBN: 9781614460152
Publisher: ScribblePub
Published: 2011-06-29T04:00:00+00:00

XV

“And then Linda ran into this Russian in a… she ran into him in a store quite by accident. Only when he saw her, he got scared and ran away. You know, at first he was shocked to see her and then without saying anything—as fast as he could—he just cleared out.”

With his large hand, Mayakovsky reached over and stopped the cassette tape player. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, and the early morning sun seeped through the trees. It had the makings of an exceptional, even hot day. Sitting on a rusting bench in the Hydropark, he braced the tape player with one hand and turned the control to fast forward. He had listened to it a dozen times since the tape had been brought to him in the middle of the night, and he knew just where to stop it.

“…should I tell Linda? What's your advice?”

Mayakovsky turned the machine off and stifled a yawn. “I didn't get much sleep last night. Need you hear more?”

“No.” Olga, preoccupied, sat on the opposite end of the bench. Hollow-faced, she sorted over and over the events of the previous night and their ramifications.

“It's pleasant out here, isn't it? An island park in the middle of the Dneiper River. No cars. Nice and quiet.” Shifting his large-framed body, he checked about, searching the shrubbery with his youthful but wrinkled eyes. “Some of the guides go out running in the morning, but I doubt they'd come this far. Still, you never know where they're going to show up. You don't object to meeting here, do you? The exhibit grounds would have been unsuitable. Our Mr. Miller is just the type to wander around where he shouldn't.”

Olga was silent, still unable to believe how fouled things had become.

“The tape continues. As I said, in the end they advise Miller to never fully trust a Russian unless he invites you into his circle of family and friends.” He raised his shoulders indifferently. “Perhaps. Then the phone rings and the woman has some nonsense conversation with a friend by the name of…”—Mayakovsky massaged his sleepy face,—“Larissa. The equipment, however, did a rather poor job of monitoring both the phone call and the rest of the conversation between Miller and the fellow. There was this incessant humming. Didn't anyone test it before installation?” He made a tight fist. “Damn, I can't rely on anyone.” He shook his head in disgust. “It's quite clear, isn't it?”

“Yes.” Olga was ashamed. She felt both beaten and defeated. Her superior's conciliatory tone further humiliated her, even though she tried not to express this.

Mayakovsky stared at her, this attractive blonde in whom he had taken a personal interest and whom he had tried to teach so much. “I placed great faith in you. More than in any of the others. Evidently that was my error.” Though he was running his finger along a crack in the bench and appearing very relaxed, Mayakovsky was waiting, curious whether she would volunteer further information of her evening with Miller.

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