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CHAPTER 49
IT WAS ONE o’clock the next morning when Meed and Irina first saw the village. They were still half a mile up the mountain. The whole place looked smaller than the school grounds. In fact, from this height, the buildings looked like a set of toys.
“Wait,” said Irina, tugging Meed down behind a fallen tree. Irina pulled out a set of binoculars and scanned the streets below. They were too far up to see address numbers, but the map left no doubt that they were headed for the right place. It was the only human settlement for miles around. Irina stood up and started angling her way down the slope. Meed followed close behind, placing her feet in Irina’s footprints.
They both knew how far sound could carry in the mountains. From here on, there would be no talking. Meed was grateful for that. She was afraid that her voice would reveal her shakiness about the assignment—the fact that she was about to graduate from student to killer. If Irina had any concerns like that, she wasn’t showing them.
As they got closer, a winding trail spilled onto a small field at the far edge of the village. Now the girls could see the actual scale of the place. It looked cozy, with neat two-story frame houses and tree-lined streets—like a place that hadn’t changed in decades.
The streets were empty, but the main route was well lit. On the side streets, the street lamps were placed only on the corners, spaced far enough apart to create shadows at the center. Irina led the way, glancing at the map, picking her way block by block. Meed followed at her elbow, so close that anybody looking might have seen one shape, not two. After scouting for a few minutes, they huddled by the side of a dark drugstore and peeked out across the side street. Irina pointed to the brown house directly opposite. Meed squinted at the porch and saw three numerals lit by a small bulb above the door. 4-6-6. That was it.
The girls wound their way all the way down the block through backyards and alleys before crossing to the other side. Meed tried to tamp down her emotions and focus on the task. Her brain was pulling her two different ways. Part of her hoped that something would happen to force them to abort the mission. The other part just wanted to get it over with.
As the girls passed behind a corner house, the door to the rear porch opened, slamming hard against the outside wall. They crouched down and held perfectly still. Two men came through the door holding beer bottles. They were laughing loudly and almost tripping as they stepped. One man rested his bottle awkwardly on the porch rail and lit a cigarette. The other man tucked his bottle under his chin, unzipped his fly, and urinated off the porch. Irina tugged Meed’s sleeve. They melted back into the shadows, picking their way toward the brown house farther down the row.
When they arrived, they sat on the soft ground behind a low wood fence and watched for a full ten minutes, looking for any movement. On Irina’s signal, they moved forward. The fence had a simple latch gate. Irina opened it and slipped through. As they walked softly across the small backyard, Meed suddenly stopped. Her stomach roiled and her mouth felt sour. She bent over a bush and vomited. Irina quickly scanned the house and the neighbors for any reaction. Meed wiped the spittle from her lips. Irina leaned in close.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. She didn’t speak it. She mouthed it.
Meed made one final cleansing spit into the bush and looked up. “I’m fine,” she mouthed back. Even though she knew she wasn’t.
The porch looked old and likely to creak. Irina climbed the steps on all fours, distributing her weight. Meed followed her up the same way. When they reached the back door, they found it secured with two sturdy locks. Top quality. Professionally installed.
It took Meed a full twenty seconds to get them open.
CHAPTER 50
THE INSIDE OF the house was as modest as the outside. Neat and well organized.
No children’s toys on the floor to avoid. No sign of a dog. No security cameras. A lingering aroma of vegetables and herbs hung in the air. Potatoes. Onions. Garlic. Rosemary. Meed felt the bile rising in her throat again. She swallowed it.
The girls moved through the kitchen and into a hallway intersection. One path led to the front of the house. They could see a small living room to the left and a dining room to the right. The other path led lengthwise across the back of the house. The bedroom corridor. The door to the left was open to a small empty room with bare wood floors and a solitary window. The door in the middle of the hallway was ajar, revealing the corner of a porcelain sink. The door at the other end of the hall was closed. Meed jabbed her finger toward it. It was the master bedroom. She felt it.
They moved slowly down the hall, hugging the sides, where the floorboards were less inclined to squeak. When they reached the door, Irina turned the knob slowly and pushed it open. It gave a tiny groan near the end position. By then, Meed and Irina were both inside. Meed held her breath. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid Irina could hear it.
The room was simply furnished. Dresser. Dressing table. Double bed. End tables on each side, with matching picture frames. Two people asleep in the bed. Male on the left, female on the right. A shaft of moonlight came through the small window over the headboard. Irina stood on tiptoe to get a better angle on the faces. She nodded and held up two fingers, close together, then dipped them forward. Confirmation.
Meed’s head felt spacey and light. She fought to keep her focus. All her training told her not to hesitate, not to judge, not to worry, not to think. But she couldn’t help it. Who were these people? Why were they chosen? Why did they deserve what was about to happen to them? And could she really do it? She thought back through all the death she had seen. She understood that it had all been meant to harden her for this exact moment. Now. Or never.
On the street in front of the house, a truck banged over a pothole, causing a loud metallic shudder. The girls shrunk back. The man in bed stirred and rolled over onto his side. Then, suddenly, he sat up. Early fifties. Bearded. Slightly built, wearing a light-blue T-shirt. For a split second he froze in place, peering at the two shapes against the wall. He settled back down, facing the outside of the bed, as if he thought he’d been dreaming.
Irina was not fooled. As she took a step forward, she saw the man’s hand snake into the open drawer of his side table. Suddenly, he was upright again, wide awake, his upper body thrust forward, a black pistol in his hand. The barrel was pointed at Irina’s head.
“Don’t move!” he shouted. “What do you want?”
At the sound of his shouts, the woman jolted awake. She stared toward the foot of the bed and grasped her husband’s shoulders. The woman had dark hair and a lined face. She looked older than her picture.
Meed instinctively stepped to the side to split the man’s attention. Give him two targets instead of one. Make him choose. As she moved, the barrel of the pistol followed her. She heard the hammer cock, then a quick swish and a thud. The man fell back against the headboard, eyes wide and frozen. Irina’s throwing knife was buried in his heart. Meed jumped back in shock. The woman screamed and reached for the gun as it fell onto the blanket. She picked it up. Her finger found the trigger. Meed pulled a knife from her sleeve. For a split second, she hesitated, her hand trembling. She felt Irina grab the knife out of her hand. All she could hear was the woman’s voice.
“Stop!” she was yelling. “Whoever you are, just…”
Another swish. Another thud. Another kill shot. The woman’s gun hand dropped limply onto the bed. The other hand flailed out and knocked into an end table. A framed photograph flew off the table and landed at Meed’s feet as the glass shattered.
Meed looked down. In the pale light from the window, she could see the picture clearly. It showed an infant girl sitting against a white pillow. Meed gasped. Her mind reeled. Kamenev’s office. Garin. The file. The photograph. The infant girl in the bassinet. Same age. Same copper-colored curls.
Oh, dear God!
Meed looked up from the picture to the bleeding shapes on the bed. That was the instant it all clicked. Irina stepped forward to pull the knives from the bodies. Meed put her hands over her mouth, suddenly feeling sick again.
