street, perhaps because he was worried his target was trying to lead him into a trap in the warren of monuments. The big Russian stepped into the trees now himself, began walking slowly and carefully, expecting to come up behind some crouching man peering across towards the east, weighing the danger of continuing the foot-follow against the desire of his superiors, whomever they were, for him to get the intel they wanted.
Semyon himself had lived through many moments like this while working surveillance.
The big Russian did not draw his pistol from its shoulder holster; he wasn’t going to get into a gunfight tonight, but he did have a hooked-blade knife in a sheath behind his belt buckle, and his left hand hovered close to it while he spoke softly into his phone.
“Target has turned in to that monument thing.”
“What monument thing?” Inna asked, her voice still breathless as she rushed to move into a position to intersect Zakharova.
“For the dead Jews.”
Inna answered back quickly. “I’m passing it on the south side now. I’ll go in and cut her off. Have you taken care of the shadow yet?”
As she asked the question, Pervak saw the man he’d been tailing. He was dead ahead, standing still and staring towards the memorial across the street through the trees. It was almost completely dark here, and the Russian knew that with the man’s attention focused elsewhere, he would be able to close on him easily.
“Consider it done.” He tapped his earpiece to end the call, and he slowed his advance, hunting Zakharova’s shadow by moving slowly through the shadows himself.
* * *
• • •
Zoya Zakharova ventured deeper into the intricate memorial; her hand was shoved inside her purse, her fingers folded loosely on the grip and trigger guard of the little SIG Sauer P365 that she had already drawn from its pocket holster.
If this was, in fact, a Russian assassin behind her, the only thing that would stop him from acting right now was the very real possibility that he would suspect he was being led into a trap. Even so, a hitter sent after her would not be sent alone, so she knew to be on the lookout for others moving in from the street on her right, or hiding somewhere ahead.
That seemed unlikely to her, because no one would have been able to predict she would pass through the center of this thick maze of columns, so no one would know to lie in wait here in the middle of the all-but-abandoned memorial.
Not long after she considered this possibility, she walked by monuments one, two, even three meters over her head. It was nearly dark here, and she felt she was coming to the end of the block. She turned to the right, hoping to make her way out onto Hannah-Arendt-Strasse, just to the south.
But as soon as she turned, she saw a silhouette of a woman standing just meters ahead of her in front of a tall column, her arms raised.
A feminine voice spoke Russian. “Ne strelyay.” Don’t shoot.
Zoya pulled the pistol out of her purse, aimed at the woman’s chest, then spun a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain the man she’d seen wasn’t slipping up behind her. After a moment, fighting a jaw that wanted to clench from terror, she said, “Who are you?”
The woman slowly began lowering her hands, and Zoya pushed her arms out straighter, aiming the pistol between the woman’s eyes now.
The woman’s hands went back up as she spoke.
In Russian she said, “I’m an old friend, Sirena.”
And just like that, Zoya knew without any lingering shred of doubt that the Kremlin had tracked her down.
THIRTY-NINE
Zoya kept her weapon on the mysterious Russian woman in front of her, but again she spun her head left and right, still worried about the tracker from the street.
She moved closer to the woman, both to get a better look at her face in the horrible light and to put some distance between her and anyone who might show up behind her in the columns.
At only four paces away, the face in front of Zoya became distinct.
She knew who this was, and she also knew it meant nothing good.
The woman said, “Prevet, Zoya.” Hello, Zoya.
Zoya kept her gunsight on the woman’s throat. “Prevet, Inna. Kak zhizn?” How’s life?
Sorokina shrugged now, her hands still raised. “You know, the usual. Take a train to some town, eliminate a target, take a train out of town and on to the next.”
“That