FEO TOOK US back to the Residence in his brown UAZ Pickup truck. Dinara sat in the second row and said nothing as we drove through the quiet city. It was a few minutes after two in the morning, and the roads were almost deserted. The apartment where we’d been captives was in a rundown estate in Solntsevo, to the southwest of the city. Our journey to Kuzminki took twenty-five minutes, and Feo tried to start a couple of conversations, before eventually reading the mood. He turned on the stereo, which played a Pink Floyd compilation.
Dinara looked shell-shocked, and she avoided meeting my gaze whenever I glanced back at her. We’d found our clothes and got dressed, but she looked as though she still felt exposed. We’d shared an extreme experience and had been forced to confront death. I felt ashamed I hadn’t been able to do anything to protect her. Did she think me weak? Did she hate me for my failure?
When we reached the Residence, Dinara made to go straight to her room without saying a word, but Feo grabbed her and uttered something in Russian.
She still looked distressed, but she nodded and went into the smaller of the two recreation rooms that lay off the lobby.
“I told her she needed medical attention,” Feo explained. “And so do you. Then you can rest.”
I didn’t object when he steered me toward the recreation room. As we got closer, I heard the rowdy chatter of a large group, and when we stepped inside I saw fifteen men and women seated around a large table. They were passing four large bottles of vodka between them. Dinara had taken a seat at the table, near Leonid, who noticed me enter.
“American! Boss man!” he yelled, clearly drunk. “I hear you had some problems.”
I looked at Dinara, who turned away.
“No matter,” Leonid said. “Vodka will fix you.”
“Medical attention,” Feo explained mischievously.
There were shouts of approval as I took a seat at the table almost directly opposite Dinara.
Someone passed me a shot glass, and my neighbor, a bald man with rough stubble, filled it. I necked the shot and immediately felt its warmth spread throughout my body. The glass was refilled to murmurs of approval, and I knocked back a second shot.
My glass was refilled a third time, and I realized this process would continue as long as I kept drinking, so I left the glass alone and the bottle moved on.
“I owe you my thanks,” I said to Leonid.
“Of course,” he replied loudly. “And to Lera and Kiril.” He gestured at a man and woman to his left, and I recognized them as the middle-aged couple from the bridge. “They did the real work.”
“Thank you,” I said.
My neighbors turned to the people on the other side of them, and I was left alone. Dinara threw a couple of furtive glances in my direction, but otherwise I sat surrounded by chatter I couldn’t understand. The alcohol eased its way into my system, and the tension I’d felt all night melted away. As I replayed events in my head, I found myself struggling to hold on to a memory long enough to blame myself for what had happened. Everything was foggy and distant and I glanced down at my shot glass and wondered just how strong the vodka was. Realizing I’d had enough, I got to my feet.
“Goodnight,” I said.
Everyone jeered.
“Never leave a full glass on the table,” Leonid yelled above the noise, and his words triggered fresh derision.
I raised the brimming shot glass and downed it in a single gulp. The jeers turned to cheers and I left the room to the sound of their drunken approval.
I walked through the building to the quiet residential wings and found my way to my room. I’d just stepped inside when there was a knock on my door.
I opened it and found Dinara outside. She looked up at me and hesitated.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and if she’d had anywhere near as much vodka as me, I could understand why.
“What for?” I asked.
“I should have seen it was a trap,” she replied. “I should have …”
I thought she was going to break down, so I held her by the shoulders.
“I shouldn’t have let us get in that situation,” I said. “It’s on me.”
We stood staring at each other, both blaming ourselves for what had happened. I could feel the warmth of her body beneath my fingertips.