Upon entering the ballroom, Elena transitioned from the quiet, reserved woman in the car to an outgoing, enchanting personality. Christine watched in fascination as Elena turned on the charm, gathering a small crowd around her. The intended victim of her charm — Defense Minister Chernov — was nowhere to be found, however.
The three women engaged various diplomats, with Elena translating on occasion. Christine kept an eye out for Chernov, eventually spotting him enter the ballroom, stopping to chat with a representative from France. Elena also noticed Chernov’s entrance, and the two women broke from their conversation with several Italian and Russian diplomats.
As they headed toward Chernov, Christine whispered, “Are you ready?”
Elena replied, “I’ll have him eating out of my hand in no time.”
Boris Chernov turned his attention to the two women as they approached, commenting to the French diplomat as Christine and Elena joined them, “Are there two more beautiful women here tonight?” He eyed Christine briefly before turning his attention to Elena. “And you are?”
Christine answered, “I’d like to introduce Elena Krayev, our translator for the summit.”
Elena extended her arm, her hand bent at the wrist as she greeted Chernov in Russian. Chernov’s eyes took in Elena’s body as he bent slightly forward and kissed the back of her hand.
He turned to Christine. “An ethnic Russian translator. I commend you on the upgrade.” He said something to Elena in Russian and she laughed.
Stepping closer to Chernov, Elena placed her hand on his arm as she said to Christine, “You never told me what a good sense of humor Minister Chernov has.”
As Elena turned back to Chernov, Christine glanced over his shoulder and spotted Semyon Gorev, head of Russia’s SVR, standing along the ballroom perimeter, intently watching Christine and Elena’s interaction with Russia’s defense minister.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Elena said, then she wrapped her arm around Chernov’s and pulled him away for a private conversation. When Chernov and Elena drifted off, Gorev headed in Christine’s direction. As the SVR director approached, the French diplomat excused himself.
“Welcome back to Moscow,” Gorev said. “What game are we playing tonight?”
Christine’s pulse quickened. Had Gorev deciphered their plan?
“I’d like to redeem myself,” he added.
Christine’s concern subsided when she realized Gorev was referring to their encounter during her last trip to Moscow, when he barred her path in the hallway outside Kalinin’s office and she tricked her way past him.
“No game tonight,” Christine replied. She knew she shouldn’t antagonize the head of the SVR, but couldn’t resist. “I don’t want to embarrass you again.”
Gorev smiled. A tight, malevolent smile. “Well then,” he said, “perhaps we could play a game of my choosing.” He glanced around the crowded ballroom. “When there are fewer witnesses.”
Christine had already decided she should probably avoid Gorev during this visit. Now, she was certain.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, then turned and left him standing alone on the parquet floor.
Ambassador Natasha Graham wasn’t far away, and Christine joined her, Dawn, and several Russian diplomats who had homed in on America’s ambassador and secretary of state. The conversation was quite cordial; from the moment Christine arrived at the Kremlin Senate that morning, the Russians had done everything possible to create a business-as-usual atmosphere, as if they were here to discuss a minor dustup at a border crossing.
She glanced periodically in Gorev’s direction; he engaged various dignitaries, both Russian and foreign, and every once in a while she caught him looking at her. As the evening wore on and she lost Gorev in the crowd, Christine decided she could use some time alone. She had introduced Elena to Chernov and figured her job was done. She retreated from the ballroom onto a balcony overlooking the city, stopping at the stone railing. Her eyes swept across the venerable city, surveying the historic buildings in the distance and the sparkling lights blending into the horizon.
Christine broke from her thoughts when Elena passed through the doorway onto the balcony, her cool facade replaced with a frustrated look. She stopped beside Christine.
“It’s not working,” Elena said. “The bastard doesn’t seem interested.”
Elena’s news was unexpected. With Chernov’s reputation, it hadn’t crossed her mind that he’d turn down the advances of a woman as beautiful as Elena.
“What do we do now?” Christine asked.
“I keep trying,” Elena said. “I need to be careful I don’t raise suspicions by coming on too strong, but I have no choice but to dial up the charm.” She looked down and adjusted her dress, exposing more cleavage. “Wish me luck,” she said, then headed into the ballroom before Christine could reply.
Christine contemplated returning to the ballroom as well, but wasn’t in the mood for more frivolous banter with Russian and NATO diplomats. She turned and looked out over the city again, letting her eyes fall on Red Square. The Victory Day banners that had draped the buildings had been taken down and the bleachers disassembled, leaving redbrick facades framing a gray cobblestone square. On the north end of the square, the iconic multicolored bulbous domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral rose skyward.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a man stopped beside her, offering a glass of champagne. She turned and was surprised to see President Kalinin. She glanced toward the ballroom; through the entrance, Gorev was watching, as were two Presidential Security Service agents.
“Welcome back to Moscow,” Kalinin said.
“Thank you,” Christine said as she took the champagne glass.
She took a sip, and there was an uneasy silence between them until Kalinin said, “Considering I ordered the invasion of two countries, you must think despicable things about me.”
“Pretty much,” Christine replied.
Kalinin smiled. “You certainly do speak your mind.” After a short pause, he added, “Is there anything I can do to make amends?”
“You can withdraw your troops from Lithuania and Ukraine.”
“Is there anything reasonable I can do to make amends?”
“That’s reasonable.”
“Not from my perspective.”
“Has anyone pointed out your perspective is warped?”
“Not lately,” Kalinin replied.
Christine debated whether to continue the conversation. It was pointless; a discussion on a Kremlin balcony wasn’t going to convince Kalinin to withdraw his troops. However, Kalinin was the president of Russia, and she couldn’t abruptly terminate the conversation as she’d done with Gorev. If nothing more, continuing the dialogue gave her the opportunity to deliver a few barbs to the man who had invaded two countries. He seemed not to mind so far, remaining in a good mood. Then again, he controlled southern Lithuania and eastern Ukraine, and it looked as though NATO was on the verge of capitulating. He had good reason to maintain a cheery disposition.
She took another sip of champagne. “So what’s next? What countries do you have your sights set on?”
“None at the moment.”
“At the moment?”
“One cannot predict the future. The world is a dangerous place, and I will do what is necessary to protect my country.”
“You’re right,” Christine replied. “The world is a dangerous place. Primarily because of you.”