Justine Saracen - The Sniper’s Kiss

“Then you are about to fall as well. This discussion is over.” She brushed past him to return to the embassy.

He let her go five steps, then called out. “Wait.”

She halted and turned slowly toward him, now as coldhearted as he. She wanted nothing more at that moment than for his own tyrannical government to humiliate and then execute him.

“I can contact the head of the battalion. If she’s still alive, I’ll have her transferred back here. But only if you maintain complete silence and drop the whole investigation. Tell Mr. Hopkins it was bad bookkeeping. Tell him anything.”

“Complete silence. That’s what you’ll get. But only so long as I am sure Corporal Mazarova is safe. If, at any moment, I learn that she has been killed, or imprisoned, or harmed in any way, your trashy little scandal will go first to President Roosevelt and then to The New York Times. I understand Marshal Stalin has The New York Times read to him every morning over his breakfast tray.”

“Assuming I can arrange her transfer and subsequent exit, what do you plan to do with her?”

“That’s none of your business. Until then I have the entire story written out with dates and names. I reside in the White House so can hand it personally to the president. As soon as Corporal Mazarova arrives here at the embassy, I will turn it over to you.”

“That’s a promise that only an extremely naïve person would accept. How can I trust that you won’t simply write it again?”

“I don’t know what kind of betrayals you are used to, but that is not my way. I actually keep my word. Your fall from grace, or liquidation, if it came to that, would be of no benefit to me.”

“And Ambassador Harriman? Of what benefit could it be to him?”

“He knows only bits and pieces of the story, and as a diplomat trying to keep communication and goodwill between our governments, such a scandal would not benefit him either. In any case, he has left the entire matter in my hands.”

He glanced away, and she could see his jaw moving slightly. It amused her to think he might be grinding his teeth. “All right. I will look into the status of Corporal Mazarova and send word tomorrow morning.”

Dry leaves crackled under his feet as he marched away.

* * *

Harriman joined her in the garden later. “I’m glad you’re giving Molotov a taste of his own medicine, but do you have a master plan? If so, I need to know it.”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve been playing this whole thing too much by ear, and I know that diplomats don’t have that luxury.”

“True. But diplomats are not usually kidnapped to be murdered for uncovering a scandal. So you have my complete sympathy. But when you spoke with Molotov, you made a deal not to expose him if he met your conditions. What were those conditions?”

“I’ll give you some background. When I was shot at Pskov, a soldier who was also a personal friend saved my life by dragging me out of the line of fire. She had to leave her post to do it, and for that she was arrested for desertion. As a result, she was put in a penal battalion, where, as you know, the fatality rate is very high. They are sent out to walk through minefields, for example, to set off the mines before the other troops pass. That sort of thing. I said I’d hand over my report to him if he removed her from the penal battalion and had her brought to Moscow, and then here.”

“Here? I can see wanting to save her, but why can’t she go back to her own unit?”

“Because she also knows about Molotov’s dirty deeds. And her association with me puts her in the same danger that I’m in. I think the only way to save her is to take her out of Russia.”

“Out of Russia? You mean defect.” He took a step back. “Miss Kramer, have you thought this out? What if she doesn’t want to? And if she does, what can she do in the United States, a woman who speaks only Russian and has killed scores of men?”

“She can learn English, the same way millions of immigrants have done, and as for the body count, thousands of young American men are also going home from this war with the blood of dead Germans on their hands. Why would it be different for her?”

Harriman frowned slightly in what looked like agreement. Still, his question was a fair one.

“Of course, we have to ask her what she wants to do. But if she does defect, I can think of at least one job that would fit. When Major Pavlichenko was in Washington on her lecture tour, Georgetown University offered her a position teaching Russian. She turned it down, but Lorena Hickok told me they do have a Russian department and always need staff.”

“Well, that’s plausible. All of this would have to be done with extreme discretion, without embarrassment to either the White House or the Kremlin. And if it blows up, you’re on your own.”

“Ambassador, I won’t be any more on my own than I was crashing on the battlefield in Belarus and stealing the identity of a dying soldier.”

* * *

As promised, the news arrived the next morning in a letter delivered by motorcycle currier. Corporal Mazarova was still alive, and orders had been sent for her immediate transfer to Moscow.

“Immediate” was a frustratingly indefinite term, and while she waited, Mia paced the corridors of the embassy like a specter. So many issues could not be resolved until she had spoken with Alexia herself. What if she had completely misjudged her? What if Alexia was bitter and blamed her arrest on Mia? The thought was excruciating. And would she defect? What if Mia’s entire extortion scheme was for nothing, and Alexia remained a loyal Soviet patriot, prepared to die, even in a penal battalion, for the motherland?

She rubbed her forehead with her good hand, as if it could soothe her tormented conscience. But it simply allowed her anxiety to shift to another set of questions. If Alexia did want to defect, just how would they do that? On what plane? With whose permission? Mia herself had come to Russia on behalf of the White House, so the ambassador had the authority to put her on an American military plane home. But did that include a Soviet defector?

And, dear Lord, what would Alexia think of Washington? Mia loved to imagine the two of them curled up in her bed at the White House, but that was clearly a childish fantasy. In practical terms, a defector at the White House would present considerable embarrassment to a president.

She dropped onto her bed and hugged her pillow in despair. Jesus. What had she done?

When the call came, the caller was anonymous and merely announced that the soldier Alexia Mazarova had arrived in Moscow and could be fetched at the Kiyevsky train station. Presumably her release from the penal battalion did not include local transportation. But she was delivered alive, and in that respect, Molotov had kept his word.

“I’ll send you with Robert to bring her back here,” Harriman offered, and Mia gratefully accepted.

The October winds had already started, the gray sky portended snow, and when they arrived at the station, Alexia stood shivering at the entrance in a filthy uniform and padded field jacket. At least they’d left her the jacket. She carried no soldier’s pack or weapon.

Her somber demeanor changed to joy when she saw the embassy car pull up and Mia step out. “I’d hoped it was you who got me out,” she said as Mia pulled her into a one-armed embrace. “You’re looking better than you did in the medical station at Pskov.”

Mia stood back and studied her at arm’s length for a moment. “I’m sure I do, but I have to say, you look terrible. We’ll have to clean you up and get some hot food into your stomach. Then we have a lot to talk about.” She laid her good arm across Alexia’s back and guided her into the car.

“Hello, Corporal Mazarova,” Robert said over his shoulder from the front seat. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she said, and dropped back against the car seat, obviously still dazed. She turned to Mia. “No one explained what was happening or where they were taking me. They simply escorted me to a train and put me onto one of the freight cars. I rode for two days and nights, and twice, someone brought me food and water. When the train arrived in Moscow, somebody else escorted me off and told me to wait. I had no idea what was coming after that.”

“The bastard.” Mia snorted. “Releasing you was the condition I gave Molotov for not exposing his crimes to Stalin. He kept his end of the bargain—but only just. Nonetheless, I’ll keep mine. But now I want to hear about what happened after your arrest. I was so terrified they’d execute you for desertion.”

“Commissar Semenova would like to have, but Colonel Borodin didn’t want the army to lose a good marksman and convinced the judges to reduce the sentence to six months on a penal battalion. Semenova was furious. She’s just like Stalin. If you don’t die at your post, you’re not a good communist. But now tell me about what happened to you.”

“Oh, it’s long story. It seems I’m always trying to escape from ambulances and hospitals, and changing identities along the way. They fixed my collapsed lung and broken shoulder in Novgorod and then sent me to Botkin Hospital to finish recovering. I spent the whole time trying to come up with a way to get back to the embassy, and finally, believe it or not, Major Pavlichenko helped me. But no one must ever know that.”

Alexia sighed. “So much secrecy. It’s exhausting.”

At that moment, the car pulled up in front of Spaso House.

* * *

The ambassador met them as they entered and greeted Alexia in his slightly awkward but adequate Russian. The perfect host, he offered her a guest room next to Mia’s and an opportunity to bathe while her filthy uniform was run through the embassy laundry. During the hours the damp uniform hung over Mia’s oil heater to dry, she wore Mia’s clothes. They were a size small and made her look like Alice in Wonderland on the growth potion, but Mia knew it was a joke she couldn’t share.

Two hours later, they joined Harriman in the dining room for a late lunch. The situation was awkward in the extreme, but Harriman, the consummate diplomat, merely said, “Let’s all enjoy this lovely meal, without any political discussion. We’ll have time for that later, perhaps on our evening walk.” He swept his glance across the ceiling and around the room, and Alexia nodded understanding.

They ate potato and leek soup, chatting about Russian and American culinary traditions. Alexia remarked on the military diet and its recent enrichment with Spam. After a comfortable hour of small talk, the ambassador reiterated that the garden air was much fresher than inside and suggested they go for a stroll.

Mia threaded her good arm into the sleeve of her jacket, and Alexia buttoned it across the bandaged one. It was a tender, caring gesture, and for Mia, who thought of herself now as the protector, it felt odd.

Outside, the ambassador got immediately to the point. “It’s clear to me that Miss Kramer’s investigation, which was supposed to improve the Lend-Lease supply chain, has instead uncovered corruption at very high levels at the Kremlin. Unfortunately, revelation of this corruption would endanger negotiations between both our governments, so we must suppress the information.”

“We’re beyond the issue of corruption, Ambassador,” Mia said, but Harriman raised a hand.

“Please let me finish. At the heart of the scandal is Mr. Molotov, who attempted to have Miss Kramer murdered and may still do so.” He turned toward Alexia. “As the condition for her silence, Miss Kramer required that you be reprieved and brought back safely to Moscow. That leaves us here with the question of what we shall do with you.”

“It’s really up to you, Alexia,” Mia said. “Molotov handed you over, but he wasn’t happy about it. I think at this point, you have only two choices. You can declare your loyalty to country above all and go back to the battalion to finish your sentence, although you’re already tainted by association with me, so you may still be in trouble. Or you can… well, I have to say it. You can defect.”

“Defect.” Alexia winced, as if tasting the word in all its bitterness. “I never would have considered it.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry to have involved you in this whole mess. You were a good soldier and a loyal communist. I’ve taken that all away from you.”

Alexia exhaled. “No. All you really took away was my political innocence. You made me suspicious. When we arrived near Warsaw, where the Poles were rising up against the Germans, we were ordered to stand down, to let the Germans wipe them out. Only then could we advance and defeat the Germans on our terms. That didn’t seem right. Then I kept thinking of what Molotov did to you. So many things go on among our leaders that we don’t know about, that we would hate if we did know. I love this land, would still fight and die for it, and I’m still a communist, but I feel no loyalty to Stalin and his men.”