Heads You Win

“There he is!” the man shouted, as he dropped onto the pavement.

Three other men were standing in the hotel’s entrance staring all around them, so he quickly headed off in the opposite direction. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the men pointing, and then he started running down the hotel steps toward him.

Alex turned into a side street and broke into a run, aware that his pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He could see a main road looming up in front of him but didn’t stop running, narrowly missing being knocked over by a tram. He ran after the moving vehicle, praying it would stop. It squealed to a halt about a hundred yards ahead of him, sparks flying into the air. He wished he hadn’t missed so many training sessions.

Looking back, Alex saw his pursuers rounding the corner. He leaped through the tram doors moments before they closed, flung a kopek at the driver, remembering how much he paid the airport taxi, before slumping down into an empty seat near the back. He stared out of the window to see his pursuer, head down, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Alex knew only too well that within minutes the spider’s web of KGB operatives would be fanning out across the city in search of an American wearing a Brooks Brothers suit, white shirt, blue tie, and penny loafers. So much for going native.

He slumped down in his seat, aware of the occasional surreptitious glance from the other passengers—in Russia everyone’s a spy—as a succession of familiar landmarks from his youth passed by. And then he remembered that in a couple more stops they would be outside the main railway terminal—the end of the line.

When the tram pulled up outside Moskovsky station, he joined the trickle of passengers getting off. He walked cautiously toward the entrance, wary of anyone dressed in a uniform, or even standing still. Just as he reached a large archway, he ducked into the shadows, hoping for a few uninterrupted moments to form some sort of plan.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Alex turned in panic to see a slim young boy smiling at him.

“How much?” asked Alex.

“Ten dollars.”

“Where?”

“I’ve got a place just around the corner. If you’re interested, follow me.”

Alex nodded, but was careful to remain a few paces behind the youth as they walked down a dimly lit alley. And then, without warning, he ducked into a dilapidated prewar tenement block, not unlike the one Alex had grown up in. Alex climbed three flights of littered steps, before the boy opened a door and beckoned him inside.

The boy held out his hand and Alex gave him ten dollars.

“Are you looking for any particular service?” the boy asked, like a waiter offering him a menu.

“No. Just get undressed.”

The boy looked surprised, but carried out the request, until he stood there in his underwear. Alex took off his jacket, trousers, and tie, and pulled on the boy’s jeans, but found he couldn’t do up the top button.

“Do you have a jacket of any kind?”

The boy looked puzzled, but took him through to his bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and stood aside. Alex selected a loose tracksuit top that stank of marijuana, and rejected a New York Yankees baseball cap. There was no mirror to check how he looked, but it had to be better than a Brooks Brothers suit.

“Now listen carefully,” said Alex, taking a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. The boy couldn’t take his eyes off the money. “No more jobs tonight. Once I’ve gone, you lock your door and wait here until I come back, when you’ll get another of these.” He waved the bill in front of him. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just be sure you’re here when I get back.”

“I will be, I will be.”

Alex handed over the money and without another word left the boy standing in his underpants, looking as if he’d won the lottery. He waited until he heard the key turn in the lock before making his way cautiously back down the steps and out onto the street, mingling with the locals entering the crowded station. But when he was only yards away from the entrance, Alex spotted a policeman, eyes searching in every direction. It wasn’t difficult for Alex to work out who he was looking for. He turned back and walked slowly toward the main road. The policeman wasn’t interested in anyone leaving the station.

He spotted a taxi in the distance heading toward him, and raised a hand, quite forgetting what had happened at the airport when he’d first arrived in Leningrad. The taxi, three other cars, and an ambulance immediately pulled over, all wanting to give him a lift. Alex decided the ambulance would be his safest bet. He opened the passenger door and joined the driver on the front seat.

“Where are you heading?” asked the young man in Russian.

“The airport.”

“That’s going to cost you.”

Alex produced another hundred-dollar bill.

“That should do it,” said the driver, who pushed the gear lever into first, swept around in a semicircle, ignoring the cacophony of protesting horns, and sped off in the opposite direction.