Elvis walked with him until Stickney read the sign on the door.
“This is it,” Stickney said. “I probably won’t be long.”
“No matter. I will be waiting.”
Elvis was turning away when Stickney said, “The old woman? That look she gave you? What was that all about?”
“She was being rude.”
“What did she say?”
“It was Tagalog,” Elvis said. “Isa pa. It means ‘One more.’ But she was being sarcastic. Like ‘Great, another one.’ I think she’s sick of being asked.”
Andropov called to tell Magda that a stranger, a foreigner, was on his way up the stairs.
They must have been watching close, she thought, to pick him up so quickly on the monitors. The Russians seemed to be spooked about this Marivic matter. Totoy had told her so over dinner the evening before. He said that they didn’t understand the fuss. Why would a couple of Americans—scary ones—take an interest in an insignificant province girl?
“The Russians don’t like unanswered questions,” Totoy had said. “It makes them nervous.”
Now another foreigner was showing up, and Andropov was practically coming apart.
“Get up to the front and intercept him,” he was saying in her earpiece. “If it’s about the girl, take him into your room. Don’t let him question the staff. String him along. See how much he knows.”
She was already out of her office, turning toward the door. Calm down, she wanted to tell Andropov.
Although it would depend on what they were hiding down on the island, she thought. Maybe they had good reason to be nervous.
The foreigner entered from the landing at the top of the stairs. About forty-five or fifty, dark-skinned, black hair flecked with gray. He wore a loose Hawaiian-style floral-print shirt that marked him as a tourist for sure.
Magda stepped between him and the woman at the front desk who usually handled any stray visitors.
“I wonder if someone can help me,” he began. A quiet voice with a soft accent that sounded vaguely British. “I wanted to ask about a girl. Actually, it would be a boy as well.”
He was taking a snapshot from the front pocket, ready to hold it out to her. She needed just a glance—not even that—to know who he was talking about.
She took the snapshot from him and smoothly reached for his elbow, moving him along as she said, “Yes, yes, of course. Why don’t we go into my office? It’s much more comfortable.”
Markov hauled Ronnie into the ops room, sat him in a swivel chair in front of a monitor.
“Who is he?” Markov said.
The boy squinted.
“I can’t see,” he said.
The boy’s face was swollen and bruised, his lips split. His eyes were nearly shut.
“Don’t screw with me,” Markov said.
Ronnie leaned close to the monitor.
“No, it’s too small. I really can’t see.”
It was one of the small monitors, maybe six inches across. Markov patched the feed into one of the bigger screens, off to the side of the console. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shoved his face toward it.
“Still too small?”
“No. I can see now.”
“And?”
“I don’t know him,” the boy said. “Please don’t hit me. But it’s true. I’ve never seen him before; I have no idea.”
Andropov was standing at the console, listening to the conversation in Magda’s office.
“He has a photo of you and your sister,” Andropov said. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know how he got it.”
“Must be a real mystery,” Markov says.
“Yes, it is,” the boy said. “It’s a mystery.”
Markov hit him across the face, a backhand blow that knocked the boy off the chair, down to the floor. He lay there, curled up, arms crossed over his face.
The two Russians turned away from him. They were watching the visitor’s image on the monitor, listening to his voice, understated and polite.
“I’m just a friend of the family,” he was saying. “The mother is distraught, you can imagine. I want to help any way I can.”
He spoke so quietly that the mics in Magda’s office almost didn’t pick it up. Markov had to crank the volume all the way up just to make out the words.
“I don’t know about the two in Tacloban,” Markov said. “But this one’s nothing. Totoy will know how to deal with this pussy.”
Andropov watched the monitor for a few seconds, and nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “This one’s for Totoy.”
She was lying. Stickney knew it from the start.
First it was the picture, the way she had almost jumped at it when he brought it out, snatching it