They were all waiting for a taxi. Suddenly, an unmarked black sedan pulled up. Elda glanced around to see whose car it was and was astonished to find that everyone had vanished.

She traipsed up to the car on shaky legs. The windows were tinted, and she could not see who was driving. The car was too clean to be a normal Moscow car. It appeared recently polished. Even the tires were new and inflated. The Russians in Moscow often let air out of their tires to get better traction on the slippery, unplowed roads.

The passenger-side window silently rolled down as Elda neared.

“Dobryy vecher,” Elda offered.

“Good evening,” the driver replied. “Please allow me to give you a ride.”

She pointed at where she had been standing “No, thank you. I am waiting for a taxi.”

“Yes,” the driver said, “but it is cold outside, and you never know when an accident might occur. It would be much safer if I gave you a ride to your hotel.”

Elda’s feet were freezing from lack of movement. Siberia could not be much colder than this. She opened the door and slid into the car, jostling to get her bulky coat around her.

The driver smiled at her and made a U-turn, driving away from the hotel. Ah crap, that couldn’t be good. Elda forced a smile back at him and offered him a cigarette. They sat smoking in silence while they sped over the near-deserted Moscow streets.

Elda analyzed the driver. Nothing distinguished in his looks. He was probably in his thirties or forties, with a slender, almost skinny, but athletic build. He had long, muscular hands. Probably able to strangle someone with them. She stubbed out her cigarette in the nearly full ashtray, cleared her throat to check that her voice came out strong, and asked, “So what do you do?”

“I’m a student at the university,” he answered. “What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher. We probably have a lot in common.”

He chuckled a throaty laugh. “Touché.”

Elda lit two more cigarettes and passed one over to him as she watched the landscape speed by. It was devoid of color, except for the occasional red, Russian hammer and sickle.

She glimpsed two stooped ladies cleaning debris in a park near the entrance to the metro station. There was no sense trying to figure out where they were going. She would find out soon enough.

“So, what do you do?” he asked again.

“I’m a teacher. I teach mathematics,” she answered and then asked again in return, “And what do you do?”

“I’m a student at the university,” he answered.

It was Elda’s turn to laugh this time. “Touché.” She handed him another cigarette.