Honeytrap Read online

  Yet they continued to see him: he did not leave campus. “You’d think that he would run home to his powerful father,” Gennady mused.

  “He must not think Dad will come through for him this time,” Daniel said. “Maybe stealing Dad’s war trophy was the last straw.” He thought about it for a moment. “Or he’s afraid of his father’s disapproval.”

  Of course all of this boded well for getting a confession eventually: Peter Abbott behaved like a guilty man who was likely to crack under pressure. But nonetheless Gennady felt a frenzy of impatience. What if they were recalled before they caught him? To be demoted and sent back to Moscow had been good enough when it seemed to be his only option, but now that they had found Peter Abbott, when they only needed to get a confession from him, and they simply could not get two words with him…

  It was maddening.

  “We need to take a more aggressive approach,” Gennady told Daniel.

  “What? Beat him up?”

  “Very funny. How will we beat him up if we cannot even get close enough to speak to him? No,” said Gennady. “We need to trap him. I am thinking, we will position you so that he will see your FBI suit and turn to run in the opposite direction. But we will pick a point where there is only one route of escape, and I will stand at the other end, and catch him there.”

  “Oh.” Daniel nodded. “That’s a good plan. Do you have a place in mind?”

  “I am thinking his applied mathematics class,” Gennady said. “We have not been there since the first day, and we know he has been attending it” (Daniel had become quite chummy with the registrar), “and there are only two staircases down from that floor. If you stand at the end of the hall by the classroom, you will block the east staircase.”

  “And you’ll catch him at the bottom of the west stairs?”

  Gennady nodded.

  “And you won’t beat him up,” Daniel said, almost reluctantly, as if he hated saying it but couldn’t help himself.

  “Of course not,” said Gennady, and added, just to appall Daniel, “After all, he is the son of an important man.”

  “Gennady – ”

  “No, no. Honestly,” Gennady said, a little peeved, “we do not beat people up nearly as often as you Americans think.”

  ***

  The plan went like clockwork – at first. Gennady secreted himself in a doorway where he had a view of the stairs without being easily visible to the students, and waited till he saw Peter Abbott go up. Then Gennady positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs.

  Gennady just had time to light a cigarette before Peter Abbott came rocketing back. “Peter Abbott?” Gennady said pleasantly.

  Peter’ flailed to a stop at the landing halfway down the stairs. His face blanched. “They’ve sent a KGB assassin,” he gasped.

  Gennady flicked his cigarette aside with an insouciance that he felt befitted a KGB assassin. “What did you expect,” he asked, with his heaviest Russian accent, “when you tried to assassinate our dear Khrushchev?”

  “I didn’t kill him!” Peter cried. “I didn’t even hit the train car!”

  “But you confess you tried?”

  Gennady took one step up the stairs as he spoke. Peter let out a frightened animal squeak. He turned to go back up the stairs – just as Daniel appeared at the top.

  Peter froze in terror. Then he plunged down the stairs.

  Gennady moved just in time to block Peter’s escape. Peter crashed into him, knocking out his breath, and Gennady did not see it when Peter pulled a knife from his pocket.

  He felt it, though, when the knife slashed across his side. No pain at first, but a streak along his skin like something very hot or very cold, a feeling of skin sagging open like torn cloth.

  He shoved Peter away. The knife skittered across the floor, and Peter did not stop to pick it up, but cannoned through the door.

  Gennady followed. But he couldn’t seem to run, and by the time he had pushed through the front door, Peter’s long legs had already carried him halfway across the lawn. Gennady went down the steps, puzzled that he could not move faster; then missed the last step, and his foot came down hard on the sidewalk and sent a jolt all through his body so that he stumbled against the rail.

  Then the pain hit Gennady. He looked down at his side, and saw the whole side of his shirt red with blood.

  “Gennady!” Daniel caught him by the shoulders. “You’re bleeding – Gennady – ”

  “Go after him!” Gennady shouted.

  “Gennady…”

  “Go!” Gennady shouted.

  And only then – far too late – Daniel took up the chase. Peter Abbott was already out of sight.

  Chapter 14

  “Idiot!” Gennady shouted.

  Daniel felt weak with relief at the sound of his voice. He had come right back after he’d lost Peter Abbott, and when he caught sight of Gennady sitting on the steps of the mathematics building, his side bloody, his head hanging low…

  Daniel had thought he might be dead.

  “Idiot!” Gennady snapped again. “You lost him?”

  “He got a head start,” Daniel said.

  “Only because you did not give chase at once!” Gennady lurched to his feet, and swayed, and batted Daniel away when Daniel moved forward to catch him. “Stupid!”

  “You got stabbed!” Daniel protested.

  “So? As you see, it’s not fatal. You should not have stopped, you should have gone right after him. Not one step back!”

  Daniel got the chance to steady Gennady, after all, because Gennady nearly fell when he came down the steps. Daniel could smell his blood and sweat.

  “We should get you to a hospital,” Daniel said.

  “Wonderful,” Gennady gritted out. “Take me to a hospital and tell them my Russian friend got stabbed as he tried to assassinate a Congressman’s son.”

  “You weren’t trying to assassinate a Congressman’s son.”

  “But who will they believe? The Russian spy, or the Congressman’s son? No,” said Gennady. He had steadied himself again, and removed his arm from Daniel’s hand. “No hospital. We have to go talk to Mack.”

  “Gennady – ”

  “We have to tell him that Peter Abbott confessed!”

  ***

  As far as Daniel could tell, Gennady stayed upright on their way to the car mostly by force of will. He looked terrible when he finally sank down in the passenger seat: pale and sweaty, his face so tense that it looked like a mask.

  “Are you still bleeding?” Daniel asked.

  Gennady gave him a withering look. “It is the nature of wounds to bleed.” His Russian accent sounded thicker than normal.

  “You realize it’s not going to do anyone any good if you bleed to death. Especially when you’re the only one who heard Peter’s confession. What did he say?”

  “That he did not even hit the train.” Gennady’s face sagged. All of a sudden the ginger went out of him, and he glanced over at Daniel, young and hurt and lost. “It is not a very good confession, is it?”

  Daniel smacked a hand against the rim of the steering wheel. “Christ, it’s good enough. Now that he’s gotten started, he’ll tell us everything if only we can get out hands on him again.”

  “Yes,” said Gennady, and the acerbity was back in his voice. “If only.”

  Daniel stopped at a stoplight, and closed his eyes, just for a moment. He should have pursued Peter immediately. It was only…

  He had forgotten everything else when he saw Gennady bleeding.

  “Daniel.”

  Daniel opened his eyes to find that the light had turned green. He gunned the engine.

  “I thought you were going to die,” Daniel said, trying to excuse himself.

  “Yes, well, so. He missed the vital organs. A slice across the side, that will heal. And I got a confession,” Gennady repeated, as if that were the most important thing. “So everything is fine.”

  ***

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Mack shouted.

  Gennady’s face was very pale. His lips looked badly chapped. He moistened them, but didn’t answer, so Daniel had to say, “Peter Abbott stabbed him.”

  Mack stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. Daniel found himself straightening to attention: a private about to receive a well-deserved dressing down. “Hawthorne,” Mack said, “do you understand what a fucking problem it will be if a Soviet agent dies on American soil? Do you realize the magnitude of the international incident that could cause? Next time one of you gets stabbed I want it to be you. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Didn’t I tell you this before? The very first time you came into my office? Protect him like you’re a Secret Service agent and he’s the president. Does a Secret Service agent let the president get stabbed?”

  “No,” Daniel said.

  “Then why the hell is Agent Matskevich bleeding in my office?”

  “No excuses, sir.”

  “Sir.” Gennady’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat, and continued, “It was my fault. I insisted that we had to catch Peter Abbott. He heard the accent and thought, a KGB assassin, and he began to cry out that he didn’t shoot Khrushchev, he only hit the train car.”

  “He said that? He confessed?”

  Gennady nodded. Mack smiled like a jowly cherub. He threw open the office door and shouted, “Sanders! Esposito! Washington! Drop what you’re doing and – ”

  He was telling them to go after Peter Abbott, oh, and someone grab a First Aid kit, and do you have any idea where the kid might try to hide out, Hawthorne?

  Daniel did his best to answer Mack’s questions, but he kept glancing at Gennady. Spots of blood showed on his suit coat where he had his hand pressed to his side. “Why don’t you sit down?” Daniel suggested, and tried to herd Gennady toward the couch.

  It ought to have been easy to move him when he was having trouble even standing, but Gennady planted his feet. “I’ll bleed on it.”

  Mack, orders handed down, closed the door. “It’s all right, kid,” he said, his voice gruff, and when Gennady didn’t move, Mack grabbed up his newspaper and spread it over the couch. “There you go. Siddown.”

  Gennady sat gingerly. Mack crouched down beside him. “Jesus,” he said. “You’ve wrecked that suit. Hawthorne, you’ll have to take him to the department store tomorrow and get him a new one.”

  Daniel’s mouth went dry. So he’d have to watch Gennady try on new clothes, after all. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now we’d better get a look at that wound,” Mack told Gennady.

  Gennady’s face lost what little color it had. He clutched his suit coat around him. “No.”

  Mack frowned. “Kid – ”

  Gennady shrank into the couch like a kicked dog. Daniel moved to Gennady’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got a first aid kit in the car,” Daniel told Mack. “Gennady and I could clean the wound up at the motel. I’ll put a tarp over the bed to keep the blood off. You know that newspaper’s not going to protect your couch for long.”

  The newspaper rustled as Gennady shifted. Mack looked skeptical. “You think a first aid kit’s gonna cover it, Hawthorne?”

  “If it won’t, the motel’s close to a hospital.”

  “I’m not going to a hospital,” Gennady insisted.

  Mack heaved himself to his feet. “Take him to the hospital if you gotta,” he told Daniel.

  “I’m not – ” Gennady’s voice rose uncontrollably. He shut his mouth so tightly that his jaw jumped.

  “Sorry, kid,” Mack said, and he rested a hand lightly on Gennady’s hair, just for a moment. “If Hawthorne thinks you’d better go to the hospital, you’re going. I can’t have you dying on us.”

  “No one would care much,” Gennady said.

  “Oh, they’ll care if it gives them the chance to write headlines about American treachery,” Mack told him. “Trust me. Now go.”

  ***

  “I would care,” Daniel said.

  “What?”

  They were driving back to the motel. It had gotten dark while they were talking to Mack, and Daniel was driving very carefully to give Gennady the smoothest possible ride. The car smelled like blood.

  “If you died,” Daniel clarified. “I would care.”

  “Oh, well. You would care, my grandfather would care, and my aunt Lilya and my cousin Oksana and even her jackass husband Alyosha. My friend Sergeyich, even Galya, maybe, although I’m sure she has a new boyfriend now, perhaps married already, who knows? Many people would care, but no one important, no one with power. Why do you think they chose me for this mission? If I die, it is easy to forget me.”

  Sweat broke out on Daniel’s upper lip. Somehow that felt worse than when he had taken Gennady’s No one would care literally.

  “You’re not going to die,” Daniel said, and hoped his voice was steady.

  “No. Worse luck.” Gennady’s voice was taut.

  They went over a pothole. Gennady gasped painfully. Daniel blurted, “Why don’t you have a cigarette?”

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Gennady glance at him. “Really? In your car?”

  He sounded so relieved, so hopeful, that Daniel felt like a monster for not thinking of it before. “Yes, absolutely.”

  The window crank squeaked. Daniel came to a stop sign and glanced over to see Gennady biting his lip with pain as he rolled down the window. “Here, let me do that,” Daniel said, and leaned over Gennady to do it. He could feel the heat of his body, smell the blood, the scent so thick that he could taste it at the back of his throat.

  He was careful not to touch him – he would have given anything not to hurt him – but Gennady made a little noise anyway, a sort of grunt, and Daniel’s face grew painfully hot. It wasn’t sexual, exactly. He wanted to take Gennady in his arms and hold him and keep him safe from everything.

  God, if only he’d grabbed Peter Abbott. But no, he’d stopped at the top of the steps to savor the moment, and Peter Abbott bolted like a cornered rat and stabbed Gennady, and if he’d stabbed just a little to the left Gennady would have bled to death on the tiles in the lobby of the mathematics building…

  Gennady was fumbling with his lighter. Daniel took the lighter and lit the cigarette for him, and Gennady took a long drag and relaxed against the seat. “Feel better?” Daniel asked.

  “The worst is yet to come,” Gennady said. His voice had taken on a distant, rather hazy quality, as if the cigarette had affected him like a narcotic. “We’ll have to clean the wound.”

  ***

  Daniel left Gennady in the car as he set up the motel room as a meatball surgery: draped his tarp over one of the beds, arranged the contents of his first aid kit on the bedside table. A roll of bandages, a pair of tweezers, a big bottle of iodine. The radiator coughed anemically when he turned up the heat.

  He’d wrap Gennady up in blankets after the wound was cleaned. That’s what you were supposed to do for an injured person, wasn’t it? Keep them warm and hydrated.

  He filled a glass of water and set it on the bedside table, too, and set his flask of brandy beside it.

  Then he took off his suit coat, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and went out to fetch Gennady.

  Gennady was leaning against the car window, eyes closed. In the harsh lights of the motel parking lot he looked bone white, and Daniel jerked open the car door with a sudden surge of dread.

  Gennady got out of the car neatly enough, but then his legs nearly gave out under him: he practically fell into Daniel’s arms. “Oh,” Gennady muttered, and Daniel held him, just for a moment longer than necessary, and breathed in the scent of his hair.

  “All right,” Daniel said. His voice sounded gruff. “Come on.”

  Gennady leaned on Daniel as they walked into the motel room. He sat heavily on the tarp, which rattled beneath him, and awkwardly removed his suit coat.

  The thick dark fabric of the suit had shown little blood, but the right side
of his shirt was sodden. Daniel gagged. Gennady started to giggle, a jagged sound that rasped on Daniel’s nerves.

  “You are like my boss Arkady,” Gennady said. “Such a horror of blood. Perhaps it is wrong that we laugh at him for it, we ought to respect a Stalingrad soldier…”

  “I’ll be all right,” Daniel insisted. Already the wooziness was passing. “I’ll just go get some hot water. Okay?”

  It took the bathroom tap some time to warm up. By the time Daniel had returned with an ice bucket full of hot (well, lukewarm) water, Gennady had removed his button-down shirt. Goosebumps riddled his bare arms. His blood-stained undershirt clung to his skin. “The undershirt…” Gennady said, with a feeble gesture toward it.

  “We’d better cut that off,” Daniel decided.

  Gennady stirred. “Wasteful.”

  “Do you really think you can salvage this?” Daniel asked him, and Gennady blinked and looked down at the blood-soaked undershirt, with one side torn where the knife had sliced through.

  “Maybe not,” he conceded.

  “It’ll just reopen the wound if you try to pull it over your head, anyway,” Daniel said. He slit the t-shirt from hem to neck with his pocketknife and slid it off Gennady’s shoulders. It stuck to the dried blood on his side, and Daniel sacrificed a handkerchief to soak the stuck parts in warm water, softening the blood until the shirt came off.

  Now Daniel could finally see the wound: a long slice, just deep enough to bleed like hell, although the bleeding seemed to have slowed, thank God. It was hard to tell with Gennady’s side still such a mess of blood.

  Daniel took a deep breath, which filled his mouth with the taste of blood and made him feel woozy all over again. He let the breath out slowly, then continued to clean the wound gently with his handkerchief.

  At least the knife hadn’t gotten close to any vital organs. Gennady’s ribs had protected him. “Thank God you moved so fast.”

  Gennady shook his head. “He aimed badly. I think he has never stabbed someone before, he could not do it.”