Just like clockwork

He shook his head, letting out a low laugh, “Here?” he asked, looking around the restaurant, “Da.” He leaned back, “New York? I think business will have me here for a while.” he looked her over, before pulling a pen and a small notebook out of his coat, which he always carried with him, tapping them on the table, “But I don’t think this is the last time we’ll see each other. Now, you can write down in this book how I would find you, if I wished to, and then be on your way, I won't tell anyone I saw you, unless what you wrote is not true, or if you compromise or even mention me to anyone. You may get a head start before I realise, but if the KGB knew where you last were, and how you got here, it would not take them long to find you.” He smiled, placing the book down on the table and pushing it towards her, “It would please me very much."  

Katya set her jaw and looked down at the book. Did he really think she was that stupid? Well considering how much she just divulged, probably, but she wasn’t going to go any further. “Of course.” She said, keeping her tone calm and steady. She took his pen and looked she was about to write something down, when she quickly poked him in the eye.

He listened to her reasons for leaving, feeling slightly disinterested, it would take a truly sick person to never question what they did at the KGB, or indeed with any organisation. They were sick and corrupt to the core, he knew that better than anyone. what she said next however did get his attention, contacts made sense as something necessary to escape. He had connections through most of eastern Europe, but this felt dangerous, he knew no one who would protect her over their own interests. He smirked at her questions, unsure what to do now, she had not given him as much information as she wanted, but he wasn’t sure how much more he would be able to get. He couldn’t hand her over, not without risking her spilling that he had taken an interest in her escape. He would be best, he decided giving her a bit of information, gaining a bit of her trust, and blackmailing her later. “I’m here on a job, dropping off information. There were enough people today I thought it would be easy to be discreet.”

He paused for a moment, up until now his plan had revolved around getting her to talk to him, he was yet to consider exactly what it was he wanted to know. He leant back in his chair, slowly looking her up and down, trying to decide where to start. “You have fled to KGB” this wasn’t a question, but he felt it led well into what he wanted to know. “Why, when?” and perhaps most importantly, “How?”

Artur smiled slightly when he heard the woman brush off her attempted escape as play. He knew he had a chance to get his answers. He smirked at her threat, knowing she would likely be dead before she had the chance, or would at least have given him time to alert some form of authorities to her whereabouts. Threats did not scare Artur. He nodded at her directions, keeping his arm firmly around her waist; he did not trust her not to run again. Not until they were away from the crowds.

The dinner was full, but there was a booth tucked away in the corner, that seemed far enough out of ear shot for Artur. He slipped into the seat, lifting up the menu. “I hope,” he said, not bothering to hide his accent now they were in a more private venue, “you don’t plan on running again.”

He swore under his breath as she slipped through his grasp. She was definitely hiding from someone. He began slowly jogging; keeping close enough that she couldn’t slip away, but he did not actively engage her, not yet.

Why he was so determined to pursue her he did not know, he could not hand her over, even if he wanted to it would raise too many questions about his own loyalties, and his continued presence in America, neither, however, could he allow her to get away.

He didn’t know why, but he desperately wanted to talk to her, to understand why she was hiding, and how she had managed to get away. He needed to understand. He picked up his speed, pushing past the two people in his way, until he was behind her. Not wanting to cause any more of a scene he let out a light, playful laugh, before wrapping his arm around her, bringing them to a halt, and pulling his jacket aside to press the gun cushioned their into her back. “Gotcha” he called out loudly, before dropping his voice to a whisper, “Now, why don’t we try this again.”

Feeling the gun, Katya froze. Seeing that a few people were now looking at her and Artur, she decided to follow his lead and smile, laughing lightheartedly. “I’ll be faster one of these days!” She teased, turning around to face him.

When she saw that people were moving on, thinking they had just witnessed a couple at play, her face became as hard as steel. “If you even try to shoot me I will break your arm, agent 57.” She hissed, her Russian accent back in full force. It had been years since she had spoken in that accent, but it had come to her so quickly and naturally, like a bird taking to flight after having a broken wing. “If you still want to talk, we can do so in there.” She moved her  head in the direction of a busy diner, full of families and laughter and cheer. “We will sit in the back and be quiet and I will answer your questions. That’s my only offer, take it or leave it.”

Artur let out a low chuckle at the attempt to mask her identity. Artur made a point never to forget a face. “No,” he said, offering her a smile, “No I really don’t think I have,”

His mind was working at a million miles an hour, trying to figure out what her game was, there was the unlikely possibility that she was trying to maintain cover, but if that was the case it was an unusual tactic, to ignore any connection at all, knowing it may spur the other on to keep pushing.

The other, and most likely option, which would also explain why he had not seen, or heard anything of her for a long time, and why she was in New York with a flawless fake accent, was that she was hiding from someone, or some group. “You know I could have sworn we went to school together, I never forget a face you see,” he placed a hand on her arm, motioning for them to move somewhere they could talk privately.

Katya looked down on the hand on her arm and felt herself tense up. She looked back up at Artur and took stock of her surroundings. There were a lot of people, enough to lose Artur in surely. But did she dare?

‘I have to.’ She thought frantically. ‘If I don’t, who knows what will happen?’ “I doubt it.” She said, remaining calm and polite. “I went to a boarding school that was all girls. Now, sir, if you please, I have someone to meet.”

Labour Day had never been one that Artur liked. In Russia it was an excuse for propaganda, to shove the brilliance of the communist idea of the eight hour day, and idea they had been convinced solely belonged to the superior social system of the USSR. Plus it had always been a reminder, for Artur, that from the age twelve, there had been no one there to enjoy it with him.

America during Labour Day was worse, much worse. Streets crowded with patriotic Americans were not a welcome sight for Artur. It was more important than ever that his accent remained hidden, that he seemed like the average American. He felt alien, as if he stood out like a sore thumb, even though he knew this not to be true. Most of all, however, he felt claustrophobic, he hated crowds at the best of times, crowds of Americans were his idea of hell.

His head turned as a mane of pretty blonde hair walked past. He felt an uneasy sense of déjà vu in his belly, as he began to slowly trail the figure, trying to place how he knew them. He had, he realised, seen them before with Alexei. He felt bile rise in his throat as he picked up his speed, determined to talk to them, holding back only to formulate his words in his mind.

“Excuse me, miss” he said, coming up next to her, relieved when his accent didn’t slip, “But I could swear I’ve met you somewhere before.”

Surprised, Katya turned around. She froze in her tracks and stared at the man behind her. It was Artur. The KGB’s top marksman. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Thinking quickly, Katya put on a brave smile. “I’m sorry sir, but I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else.” She spoke politely with her flawless accent. “I don’t recall ever seeing you.” She hoped he would accept that excuse. She didn’t want to go back to the KGB, not now that she had made a whole new life for herself. And if she did, she knew what was waiting for her.

Death.

There were floats from basically every major company based in New York and street vendors were calling out to passers by, selling hot dogs and pretzels and even sweets. Families were enjoying the day together, marveling at everything.

All of this made Katya feel happy and sure that she had truly made the right decision to leave for America. Back in Moscow, the military would be marching through the streets while people watched, starving and cold, and even a little afraid.

But there were no soldiers, no tanks, no fighter planes. The KGB was a continent and ocean away and Katya felt free.

“I actually came to see you, old friend.” Tatyana smirked at the woman, making no effort to hide her Russian accent. “Perhaps you’ll take your lunch break now so we might be able to catch up.” She wasn’t really making a request rather than a demand, that was just the KGB agent in her. It was obvious, however, Tatyana came to obtain more than just chit chat from the ex-agent.

Katya stared at Tatyana, wide eyed. What was she doing here? Did her presence in New York mean that there were other agents here? Did the KGB know she was here?

Swallowing nervously, Katya slowly rose. “Very well.” Hearing a Russian accent almost made her slip back into her old one, but she managed to keep the New York one she had been working on for so long.