Belly of the Beast Read Online Free PDF Page B

desperate search of a bone marrow donor changed that, but a fruitless search brought Niki back to believing her mother was dead. Niki couldn’t bear the thought of trying to resurrect her again, but Rob’s parting words caught up with her. He’s my son too . Niki knew her mother was the most likely donor match for Alex. All the stones had not been turned.
    The music stopped.
    “You’re Russian?” Niki asked the man in the doorway.
    “Maybe yes. Maybe no. For what does it matter?”
    “For nothing. I just thought—it’s nothing.”
    The man dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and twisted his foot on it. “What is nothing? You stare like owl five minutes then talk riddles.”
    Niki drew in a deep breath. “It seems there is a Russian community here. I just wondered how someone would find someone—if that someone was Russian.”
    “Someone might look in phone book.”
    “She’s not listed. I don’t know if she’s even alive.”
    “She? You narrow search to half. For dead person, I look in cemetery. For live person, I go to Soviet Consulate. They know too much everything.”
    “How would someone find this Soviet Consulate?”
    The man pointed. “Two blocks. Six story brick. Someone could not miss it. Got a cigarette?”
    “Sorry, someone doesn’t smoke. Got change for a twenty? I need to make some phone calls.”
    The man shrugged. “Would I ask cigarettes if I had twenty dollars?”
    Niki dreaded the thought of finding her mother, but it would be the best thing she could do for Alex. She walked toward the consulate. It couldn’t hurt to ask someone. Maybe I could call the airline from there too.
     
    Part of the consulate building emerged from the fog, a fortress entrenched in the steep hillside. An iron fence ran along its front on Green Street. The windows were mirrored and covered with bars. By the entry gate, the cold bronze of a sickle and hammer dripped water to a sign. Russian was handwritten over Soviet on the Soviet Consulate sign. Niki stared.
    Russia, America’s symbol of all that was wrong with the worldloomed ominously. Niki reconsidered what she was doing. He’s my son too, echoed again.
    Niki tried the gate. Locked. There must be another entrance. She followed the building around the corner down Baker Street. A hedge separated the sidewalk from the road, but nothing stood between Niki and the concrete wall of the embassy. Niki looked about, then stepped to the only window at eye level and pressed her face to the cold bars. Water dripped down her neck.
    A voice cut the air like razor wire. “What are you do?”
    Niki spun to face a man dressed in a gray overcoat, eyebrows thick, wrinkles set hard and deep, a bulbous nose red with capillaries, and a wire from his pocket leading to a small ear phone stuck in his left ear.
    “ Nechevoh ,” Niki replied instinctively to the heavily accented voice, then quickly corrected herself in English. “Nothing. I’m looking for my mother.”
    A steel tooth flashed. “You know Russian, but you are not Russian.”
    “I think my mother is Russian. I thought someone here might know where she is.”
    “And for why you not use front door?”
    “The gate was locked.”
    The man with the stainless-steel tooth shook his head. “In Russia one knows to use gate buzzer.” His lines softened. “Your mother, eh?” he closed his eyes. “I wonder where is my mother . . . best not to know.”
    “I don’t need to know either. I’ll just leave.”
    “I scare you. Best be scared, but not from me. You speak Russian, you look for mother. I believe.” He nodded toward the building. “Perhaps they know something. They know everything. They know nothing. I am Fedor. Follow me.”
    “ Spahsebah ,” said Niki in appreciation.
    “Best to not speak Russian. They will dismiss you. Be enduring. I will open gate.”
     
    Inside, a heavy wooden desk blocked the main corridor. A broad-shouldered woman manned it like a tank commander.
    “Miss Fullcharge,”