Free By Any Means by Chris Culver Page B

yeah. She ambushed us and hit Michael with a lamp. He’s still trying to calm her down.”
    Kostya glanced at Lev. “Come on.”
    When they arrived in the kitchen, Michael stood at the top of the basement stairs, repeatedly calling for the girl at the bottom to calm down. It didn’t work, possibly because they didn’t speak the same language. Every time Michael spoke, the girl would respond in Russian so quickly that even Kostya, a native Russian speaker, had trouble understanding it. He put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and asked him to take a step back.
    â€œWhy can’t you leave me alone?” The girl’s voice was high pitched and breathless.
    Kostya answered in Russian. “We’re not here to hurt you. I’m an old man. I couldn’t hurt you if I tried. Can I come down and talk?”
    She hesitated. “No. I’ll hit you if you come. Stay up there.”
    â€œI understand,” said Kostya, speaking as he had to his own children when they were young. “Do you know Kara?”
    â€œYes. She’s my friend.”
    â€œShe was my daughter. She and her husband passed away this afternoon, and I’m trying to find out what happened to her. Can I come down now?”
    The girl didn’t say anything.
    â€œPlease,” said Kostya. “I need to find out why my daughter is dead. Will you talk to me?”
    â€œKara’s dead?”
    â€œYes,” said Kostya. “I loved her very much. I don’t know what happened.”
    The girl remained silent for a moment. “You can come down. Just you, though.”
    Kostya looked over his shoulder at his brother-in-law. They had worked with each other for so long that they didn’t need to communicate plans verbally anymore. Lev would stay at the top, but he and his boys would come down if they heard a scuffle.
    When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Kostya visually searched the basement for threats, an old habit he had picked up as a young man in a Soviet prison. Kara hadn’t finished the room, but it looked and smelled clean and dry. Someone had painted the cinder block walls white, while the floor was bare concrete. He found a couch, bookshelf, and bed in one corner and a washing machine and dryer on the other side. He looked at the girl last. She was exceed­ingly pretty. Fear, hope, and pain merged in her eyes to form a gaze that was simultaneously pitying and pitiful. At one glance, Kostya knew she didn’t pose a threat. She tried to hold his eyes for a moment, but then she looked at her feet.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she asked.
    â€œI’m not here to hurt you,” said Kostya. “So please don’t be scared.”
    â€œOkay.”
    She didn’t seem convinced. Kostya smiled, hoping to put her at ease. He had only looked at the passports briefly, but he hadn’t seen her before. He didn’t know what, if anything, that meant.
    â€œDo you live here?” he asked.
    She looked at the bed and nodded but didn’t try to make eye contact.
    â€œFor two weeks. Kara and Daniel took care of me. They were very good people.”
    â€œDaniel was her husband?”
    She nodded. “Kara talked about her father some. She said you might be able to help me, but Daniel said it was too risky to call you.”
    He wanted to ask what else Kara had said about him, but he refrained. They didn’t have time for that.
    â€œHow did you meet my daughter?”
    She hesitated at first. “She and Daniel saved me.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    She choked up. “I don’t know if I can.”
    Kostya knew what a frightened child looked like. He spoke softly.
    â€œTry to take it one word at a time. I need to know. As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you.”
    She stared at him, apparently trying to gauge his sincerity before walking to the bed and sitting down. Kostya sat nearby on the couch, his hands folded on his lap.