The kind of music Timea would have stopped to appreciate. She’d have dropped rubles into his case with that smile that lit up everything around her.
Stop.
Alan checked his watch. 7:42 a.m.
Right on schedule.
The train roared into the station, brakes squealing against steel rails. The sound cut through him, sharp and metallic.
Doors opened with a hydraulic hiss.
A familiar figure stepped aboard.
No.
York Newgate stood ten feet away, head down, as if he was just a guy on his way to work. He wore an overcoat, a wool hat over his blond hair, and stood with his hands in his pockets, balancing in the car as it moved.Nothing to see here.
The last time they’d stood this close was at the funeral of York’s wife and child.
The last place Alan thought he’d see his old cohort was a subway in Moscow. Especially after what they’d both lost. But then again, grief could confuse a man, keep him spinning. No doubt York had tunneled into himself, emerged focused on the other thing he could do. The only thing he could be.
A spy.
York lifted his head, glancing around the car casually, not really looking for anyone.
Alan turned away, but not before he felt York’s gaze land on him.
He bit back a word. And then, why not? York didn’t know why he was here. He met York’s gaze across the crowded train car.
Surprise. Followed immediately by something that might have been relief. And only then did Alan realize—of course.York thought he was dead. And then the slight tightening around those blue eyes—that was concern.
Real concern.
Not now.
The doors opened at the next station with another mechanical hiss.
He stepped out, quick walked and got back on again. The crowd thinned slightly between stops, allowing him to move through the train more easily.There—a woman in a red wool scarf stood reading a paperback, dark hair obscuring her face. Damien’s contact.
Alan’s heart hammered against his ribs as he took position near her. Close enough to smell her subtle perfume.
“??????? ???????.” The words came out steadier than he felt.It’s cold today.
She didn’t look up from her book. “????? ??????? ?? ????????.”Spring will never arrive.
The coded exchange was complete. Simple as breathing. His fingers brushed rough canvas as he set the duffel down between them. Positioned it so she could easily claim it. The train lurched forward.
Two stops later, she disappeared with the bag into the crowd exiting at Teatralnaya. Gone. Absorbed into the morning rush as if she’d never existed.
Alan exhaled slowly.
Done.
Whatever moral compromises he’d just made, they were made. No going back now.
Maybe now they’d let him go.
Not that he had anywhere to be, really.