“Has anyone pointed out how warped your perspective is?” Kalinin asked.
“Not lately.” Christine smiled.
“Look around the world,” Kalinin said. “Terrorists streaming across borders, religious fanatics inciting genocide. These are the threats of the twenty-first century. You don’t need to worry about Russia.”
“Care to ask a few residents of Lithuania and Ukraine about that?”
“Those citizens may be disgruntled, but they won’t be killed or oppressed. They will wake up, go to work each day, and enjoy the fruits of their labor and the liberties of a democratic society. Does it really matter whether their government is Ukrainian, Russian, or independent? When you consider the true evils in the world, my actions amount to minor sins.”
Christine agreed there were significant issues facing Western societies. Whether Russia was at the top of the list, however, depended on Russia’s endgame.
She replied, “The problem is, we don’t know where you’re going to stop. How many countries you’ll gobble up before you feel safe.”
Kalinin replied, “You bring up an excellent point. Russia and the West are in conflict because we don’t trust each other, and there is no trust because we don’t understand one another. Get to know my country. Get to know me, and you will understand Russia poses no threat to the West.”
As Christine pondered Kalinin’s assertion, he said, “The offer I made during your last trip still stands. Any time you visit Moscow, it would be my pleasure if you joined me for dinner or even a weekend getaway.”
Christine couldn’t foresee a situation where she would take him up on his offer, but didn’t want to turn him down outright, so she just nodded.
When she didn’t reply, Kalinin asked, “Do you have any encouraging words to offer?”
“Not at the moment.”
Kalinin turned toward the balcony, placing his hands on the stone railing. “I see.”
Christine joined him, looking out over the city. “Now isn’t a good time for this discussion,” she said.
“I understand,” Kalinin replied. “My offer remains open.”
He turned abruptly and left.
Her eyes followed Kalinin into the ballroom, and Gorev and the two Security Service agents moved away with the president. Alone on the balcony, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had managed to piss off the two most powerful men in Russia, in less than an hour. Not the smartest moves.
She just didn’t have the patience anymore, not that she had a lot to begin with. The last few years in the administration had worn her too thin. She had signed up to be a paper pusher, with confrontations limited to those across a conference room table, not those that required a gun or a bloody ice pick. It was time to think about handing the president her resignation when the issue with Russia was resolved.
Christine was about to return to the ballroom when Boris Chernov stepped onto the balcony. Over his shoulder as he approached, Christine spotted Elena, wearing an unhappy expression. She shook her head slightly. She’d failed to snag Chernov.
“Hello again, Christine,” Chernov said as he joined her at the railing.
“Good evening, Minister Chernov.”
“Please, call me Boris.”
“Boris,” Christine said, then took a sip of her champagne.
“It looks like the summit wrapped up quicker than expected.”
“It did,” Christine agreed. “But we established a solid framework for future discussions.”
“Which I hope,” Chernov said, “will lead to a peaceful resolution of our differences.”
“There is always hope.”
“When do you head back to America?” Chernov asked, changing the subject.
“Not until Monday.”
“Do you have plans for the weekend?”
A sick feeling grew in the pit of Christine’s stomach. Chernov was making a move on her. She tried to deflect his interest onto Elena.
“I happened to notice that Elena is quite smitten with you.”
Chernov replied, “Hens don’t peck at pretty Russian faces.” When Christine gave him a curious look, he explained, “It’s a Russian idiom. An appropriate translation in English would be—beautiful Russian women are a dime a dozen. I prefer something more challenging.” Sliding closer to Christine, he said, “I want what Yuri wants. And I want it first.”
Christine resisted the urge to step back, creating ample space between them. Instead, she stayed close as she tried to figure out how to redirect his desire. America’s attack in the Persian Gulf couldn’t proceed unless the pipeline explosives were disarmed, and that wasn’t going to happen unless Chernov and Elena were alone.
“I think you would enjoy Elena’s company.”
“Not as much as I’d enjoy yours.”
“I don’t know, Boris,” Christine replied, searching for a solution. Finally, she latched on to an idea. If she agreed to his proposal, but gave him Elena’s room number instead of hers, it might work. With Elena opening the door while properly attired — scantily clad, that is — it’d be hard for Chernov to say no when she pulled him into her room.
“How about tonight. An hour from now. Hotel National, room 1051.”
Chernov shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have meetings tonight, which will run late. However, I leave for Sochi tomorrow morning. My first weekend off in months. I have a villa on the shore of the Black Sea and a yacht we could spend the day on. Much more pleasurable than dreary Moscow. I’ll have a driver pick you up at your hotel at seven a.m.”
Christine had painted herself into a corner, agreeing to a liaison with Chernov. Unfortunately, tomorrow in Sochi, with Elena in Moscow, wouldn’t work. Her mouth felt dry as she worked through the implications. Their plan to kill Chernov had failed, and now she was stuck with him for the weekend.
56
MOSCOW
Standing beside Christine O’Connor, Elena Krayev waited impatiently as the elevator rose to the tenth floor of their hotel. The doors slid open and she headed briskly down the hallway, Christine at her side. When they reached Elena’s room, she pulled Christine inside.
“We need a new plan,” Elena said after the door closed.
“Agreed,” Christine said with disappointment on her face. “You need to let your superiors know, so they can start working on it.”
Elena shook her head. “It’s unlikely we can gain access to Chernov at his villa, and once he returns to Moscow, an opportunity might not present itself soon enough.”
She pulled Christine to the bed, and both women sat on the edge.
“You, on the other hand, will be with Chernov this weekend.”
Christine stared at Elena for a moment, finally realizing what she was proposing.
“Not a chance,” Christine said. “I’m not a field agent.”
“You’ll do fine,” Elena said. “With the right equipment, you can kill Chernov quietly and no one will suspect. It will appear he died of natural causes. There is no danger to you.”
The last sentence, of course, was a lie.
“I know you can do this,” Elena said as she dumped the contents of her purse onto the bed: the usual assortment of cosmetics and feminine products, along with a cell phone.
“No,” Christine said emphatically. “I’m a White House staffer, not a trained assassin.”
“You have killed before.”
“Only because I didn’t have a choice. I have a choice this time, and I’m not doing it.”
Elena paused, reevaluating the situation. Time was critical; the United States needed to disarm the pipeline explosives and break the threat of a Persian Gulf blockade before the NATO resolutions were scuttled. The odds of planning and executing a new operation within the next few days were slim. She shifted tactics, reviewing Christine’s profile in her mind.