Siro by David Ignatius (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

be near and watch and make sure there were no tricks. But it is just as you promised. He knew the password. There was no KGB. You are mistaken. We are safe.”

“Why were you going back just now if you have already met with him?”

“To pick up the equipment. He has to bring it from a hiding place outside town. He told me he would bring it back in three hours. So now I am going to get it. Do not worry. There is no problem.”

“Walk with me to my car,” said Anna. The streets were empty, but still, she wanted not to rouse the attention of the local villagers. “I don’t think you should go back,” she said. “It could be a trap.”

“Impossible. Anyway, if it is a trap, I have already fallen into it. They already know who I am. If I don’t go, the only thing that happens is that I do not get the antenna. So I must go. I will not listen to any argument.”

“Please, Aram. This is crazy. I have a bad feeling.”

“This time you are wrong. I am the fortune-teller, remember? Do not be frightened. You come with me to the house, if you like. You will see.”

“No,” said Anna. “That would not be a good idea.”

They were almost to Anna’s car. Samvel had returned in the meantime and was holding a sandwich, stuffed with a spicy Armenian meat known as basterma. He evidently had walked to the next village to get it. He looked at Aram, then gave Anna a knowing look, as if to say: So this was what we were waiting for in Kiarki.

“How is your ankle?” asked Samvel sarcastically.

“Better,” said Anna. She pointed to Aram. “I met my friend here. He has an errand to do. I’d like to wait here a few more minutes to make sure he finishes his errand, then we will go.”

“Okay, okay,” said Samvel, looking at his watch.

Anna held Aram’s hand. “We shouldn’t be seen together anymore. When you get the package, go back to Yerevan alone. I’ll wait here until I know you’re safe, then I’ll go back, too.”

“When can I see you in Yerevan?”

“We shouldn’t meet again. It’s too risky.”

“Nonsense. You will come meet me tonight at my apartment. I will give you the address.”

“I know where it is. I got the address from your parents.”

“Nine o’clock,” said Aram. “Bring your toothbrush.”

He turned and walked back down the side street, toward the house of Sadeq Shirvanshir. Anna sat back down in the front seat of the Zhiguli.

“Nice guy?” asked Samvel.

“Yeah. Nice guy.”

Anna watched Aram’s clipped gait all the way down the street, till he reached Shirvanshir’s house and knocked at the entrance. The door immediately opened and a hawk-eyed man drew the Armenian doctor inside. Anna couldn’t see or hear any more. She could only sit and watch the empty space in front of the house.

The game inside Shirvanshir’s house took only a few minutes. The Azeri smuggler brought out a large waterproof bag, the kind that can be dragged behind a boat making its way across the Caspian Sea or strapped to the back of a mountain goat on the snowy ridges of the Caucasus. He handed the bag to the Armenian, who reached inside and withdrew a rectangular frame. He looked at it carefully, opening the cover to examine the electrical components inside, and pronounced himself satisfied.

“What about the other shipment?” queried the Azeri with a half smile.

“What other shipment?” asked Aram, his warm relief of a moment ago turning to ice. “What are you talking about?”

“The other shipment my cousins bring from Iran.” He opened the bag wide, so Aram could see what was at the bottom. There was a small pouch, containing a whitish substance.

Aram’s eyes darted back and forth. He looked at the Azeri and saw the face of a mercenary. A smuggler who needed to maintain good relations with the border guards, and who didn’t much like Armenians to boot. Aram looked about the room and saw nothing unusual, but he heard a loud creak in the floorboard behind the door to the kitchen.

“Who is the other shipment for?” demanded the Azeri. “Who will pick it up?”

“There isn’t any other shipment. Only this one.”

“You are wrong, my friend,” said the Azeri. He reached into the bag and slowly withdrew the package of plastic explosive. “I think you are planning to kill some of my Azeri brothers.”

“My God!” whispered Aram. Anna had been right. It was a double cross. He turned on his heel and ran for the door. As he did so the door to the kitchen burst open and a man with a pistol shouted for Aram to stop.

Anna watched the street, afraid even to blink. Aram had been inside one minute, then two, then three. She was counting every second. Finally she took a breath and looked away, toward the little playground near the center of the square. She didn’t understand, at first, didn’t think to ask the question: Where were the children? What had happened to the dozens of children who, an hour ago, were playing in the streets of Kiarki? They had disappeared. The streets were too empty; the silence was too pervasive.

Anna turned her eyes back to the door of Shirvanshir’s house. Something was wrong. She got out of the car and took a step toward the house, and then another. She saw the door open. An instant later she heard the shot reverberate through the village. Then she saw Aram. He stretched one arm toward her, waving her away; the other was at his side, bleeding from the gunshot wound.

He was still on his feet, half running toward her, shouting something she couldn’t hear. Two officers had emerged from the back of the Shirvanshir house, and two from across the street. They were trying to block Aram’s way—trying to subdue him without killing him; trying to keep him alive for interrogation. Aram ran right at the closest one,