shook his head. “Nyet.”
Phillips looked at her again and nodded, as if to say she should go while she could. When she didn’t move forward, her hovering guard gave her a slight shove that sent her into the hallway. There wasn’t much else she could do for the investigator but hope and pray that nobody stood in his way of leaving the embassy.
The guard gripped her elbow and escorted her down the hall. If she hadn’t dug her heels into the tile when she passed the restroom he would have marched her all the way to the exit.
Emily pulled free of the hand holding her arm and ducked into the bathroom. For a moment she thought the guard would follow her. When he didn’t, she breathed a sigh as the door closed behind her.
What she had translated that day left her shaken.
The investigator had been hired to follow the ambassador’s daughter and to find out where she had been going in Washington, DC. Apparently she’d had a number of unescorted clandestine assignations with a young man her father considered dangerous to his position as the Russian ambassador to the US. The investigator had stopped short of naming names but the look he’d exchanged with the ambassador had been clear. The ambassador knew who she was seeing.
The anger Emily had heard in the ambassador’s voice led her to believe that he was livid enough to kill the young man and possibly even his daughter, Sachi.
Emily hadn’t been altogether sure that she would make it out of the embassy alive. Though she’d never felt threatened before when she’d come to do translations within the Russian embassy, the anger in the ambassador’s demeanor left her feeling anything but comfortable.
She quickly splashed water on her face and dried it with a paper towel. Then she straightened her shoulders and pushed through the door to exit the bathroom. As she emerged into the hallway a man wearing a press badge was being escorted into the embassy by two guards, each gripping one of the journalist’s arms.
Emily was certain she’d seen the young man before but she couldn’t quite place him at the moment.
The guard who had led her from the conference room grabbed her elbow and jerked her toward the exit. Emily was in just as much of a hurry to get out of the embassy as the guard was to get her out. She no longer felt safe.
As she worked her way to the door, a sense of urgency filled her. She had to get out of the building as quickly as possible. At the exit, she was stopped by another guard. The two burly men spoke in Russian, their speech so quick she only caught half of it. It appeared the guard at the door was reluctant to let her leave, whereas the other guard wanted her out as soon as possible. Finally her guard escort got her through the door and gave her a little push toward the gate leading off the embassy compound.
Hugging her purse against her body, and pulling her jacket tightly around her, Emily hurried for the gate. Again, she was stopped and questioned as to why she was at the embassy. She told them she had been there to translate. The guard at the gate waved her through and she was free.
Emily didn’t look back. Instead she kept going, walking faster and faster until she was almost running down the street. She didn’t stop running until she was several blocks from the embassy. Her heart beating fast, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, she finally stopped long enough to remember where she had parked her car. She had to backtrack to the lot where she had paid to park earlier that day.
As she crossed the street, a vehicle raced toward her without slowing. She quickened her pace but realized she wasn’t going to make it across in time. The vehicle barreled forward, increasing speed rather than slowing, as if the driver didn’t see her or had made her his target.
Emily dove for the sidewalk and rolled to the side. The vehicle rushing at her bumped up on the curb and nearly ran over her. If she hadn’t rolled once more, it would have crushed her. The driver didn’t stop to check that she was all right, but sped on, leaving her to pick herself up and dust the dirt off of her clothes.
A man reached down and gripped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
Emily nodded, her heart still pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. “I’m okay.” She tried to get a look at the license plate to report the reckless driver, but the car didn’t have a plate on the rear bumper.
Turning to the stranger, she said, “Thank you,” and gave him a weak smile. Moving past him, Emily glanced down at the damage done to her trouser leg, which now sported a dirt stain and a tear, wondering what her knee looked like beneath it. It stung and hurt when she flexed it. She couldn’t take care of it until she got home. After another glance around, she continued toward the car park. With nothing but a description of a dark sedan having nearly run her over, she gave up hope of turning in the man behind the wheel for reckless driving. Instead she slipped into her car, paid the parking lot attendant and drove out of downtown DC, putting distance between her and the Russian embassy.
Out of the downtown traffic, Emily drove onto a six-lane highway, crowded with people hurrying to get somewhere. A white van behind her sped up, swerved around her to the left and slammed into the side of her vehicle.
Emily held on to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, struggling to keep from hitting the vehicle on her right. The driver on the other side of her honked as she crossed into his lane. Ahead of her, the van dodged in and out of traffic, leaving Emily behind before she could get a look at his license plate.
She slowed, unable to pull to the side of the road. The car behind her honked, the vehicles on either side boxing her in, keeping her moving steadily forward. She had no choice but to continue toward home. Shaken and paranoid, Emily held on tightly to the steering wheel, bracing for the next potential hit-and-run driver. What was wrong with people? Why were the drivers all bent on trying to run her over? After her encounter at the Russian embassy, she could swear they were deliberately attacking her. Or was she imagining it? Traffic was scary enough without aggressive people expressing their road rage with a three-thousand-pound deadly weapon.
By the time she drove into her neighborhood, Emily was tired, stressed and ready to kick her feet up and drink a glass of wine to calm her nerves.
The traffic light ahead turned green as she approached. She pressed the accelerator and entered the intersection.
A dark blue sedan shot out of the side road, completely ignoring the red light.
If Emily hadn’t been ultra-aware of her environment, she wouldn’t have reacted as quickly as she did. She slammed her foot on the gas pedal, pulling ahead just enough to avoid being T-boned by the other car. It missed hitting her rear bumper by a hair.
“What the heck?” Emily cried. She didn’t slow, pushing past the speed limit to the next street. A glance in her rearview mirror showed the vehicle that had almost plowed into her was turning in the middle of the intersection, aiming toward her.
After this third vehicular incident, Emily got a clue. Instead of driving straight to her apartment she drove past her complex, watching closely in her rearview mirror as the dark sedan followed.
She turned at the next corner and the trailing car continued on straight. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward her apartment, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. From all she could tell, no one was following her. She made a circuitous trip around the block before she pulled into the parking lot of her building.
Her heart still pounding, Emily slowed her vehicle and started to turn into her usual parking space.
Although
