Govno! Where the hell was she?
He continued methodically checking the North Quadrant offices just down from the Command Sector, hoping somebody there had seen her. The whole place was getting hectic now: last-minute briefings right and left. Whenever he'd spot a friendly Russian face, he'd collar its owner to inquire about her. Fortunately he had an A-level pass, so all he had to do was flash it to the security stiffs at each sector checkpoint and they'd wave him past. He'd just talked to a couple of flight engineers coming out of a briefing room who claimed they'd spotted her in the hallway no more than half an hour ago.
But why was she here at all? It made no sense. Unless she'd defected, gone to work for Mino Industries. Which was exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from one of those opportunistic KGB bastards.
Konyechnaya! There she was, shapely ass and all, just in front of him, headed for Sector Control and flanked by two Japanese security types. They were striding close by, probably showing her around. Maybe she was worried about safety here with all these sex-starved engineers.
Odd, but her walk wasn't exactly what he'd expected. Seemed a little too knowing. Guess that's what happens when you spend too much time in the decadent capitalist West.
He decided to just make his move right there in the hall. Truthfully she did look like a hot number. Nikolai wasn't kidding. This was going to be more interesting than he'd figured.
Zadroka! A piece!
"Strasvetye," came a voice behind Eva. "Kak pazhavatye."
She whirled around. Moving in fast was a tall and — admit it — not bad-looking Soviet major.
"Ya Yuri Andreevich Androv," he declared with a light, debonair bow. His Russian was cultivated, Moscow. "They tell me you just got here. Thought we should meet. You've probably heard of me."
"I have no idea who you are," she heard herself saying.
Where the hell did they take Michael? she was wondering. Right after he met with Tanzan Mino, he'd disappeared. And now she was being moved. She didn't know where, but she did know one thing: all the phony politeness was over. Things had gotten very rough, very fast. She was being relocated to a secure location in the Soviet section, or so she suspected, but she figured project management mainly just wanted to keep her out of the way.
Right now, though, she had an agenda of her own.
"I'm a servant of the people." The major who called himself Yuri Androv winked. "Like you. I'm frequently asked to try and kill myself in their behalf."
"I don't know—" she tried to answer, but the Japanese guards were roughly pulling her on.
"I'm the test pilot for the vehicle," he finally announced.
"How lovely." She glared at him. "I hope it's going to be a smashing success."
"I'm about to find out. Tomorrow morning. Right now all I want to do is try and get back in one piece. Which is why I need to talk to you." He caught her arm, temporarily blocking the two uniformed Mino Industries guards. Then he continued on in Russian. "I've got a problem. We've got a problem. I was hoping you could help me out."
When the two security men tried to urge her on, he flashed his A-level at them and told them to lay the fuck off, in explicit Russian. Startled, they froze.
That's when it finally dawned on her. This idiot must think I'm Vera.
Now he was withdrawing a white packet of English cigarettes and offering her one. Instinctively, she reached out.
"So how can I help you, Major Androv?" Eva flashed him a smile as he lit her English Oval with a match.
"It's the test flight tomorrow. Nobody should be near that cockpit who hasn't been certified to at least ten G's in the simulator. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen."
"Ten G's?" She was trying to keep him talking. "That's—"
"Damned dangerous. But we need it to bring the scramjets up to rated thrust, at least the first time. They've never been tested in flight. We just don't know."
"And nobody else here has been certified?" She wasn't even sure exactly what "certified" meant, but she tried to look concerned.
"Exactly. Now all of a sudden he wants to stick a couple of his Nips in the cockpit there with me, probably crop-duster screw-ups from Mino Industries." He finally lit his own cigarette, with a suggestive flourish. Christ, she thought, why do all Soviet pilots think they're God's gift to women. "I tell you it's idiotic." He exhaled through his nose. "You've got to help me make him see that, before it's too late."
She glanced sideways at the two impatient Japanese. From their blank faces she realized they hadn't understood a word.
Well, she thought, right now I've got nothing to lose.
"What you're saying, Major, is very disturbing. Perhaps we should have a word with the CEO right away. We both know time's getting short." She glanced down the hall toward the wide doors at the end: Command Sector. "Why don't we just go in together and see him?" She'd noticed the major's A-level, which seemed to carry clout. "Maybe you can deal with these flunkies." She indicated the Mino-gumi kobun posing as her guards. "Since I neglected to bring my pass, they have no idea who I really am."
He laughed. "Guess a few assholes around here are in for a surprise."
No kidding, she thought. Mainly you, flyboy.
God, nobody can strut like a Soviet Air Force pilot. Hard currency stores, scotch from Scotland, American cigarettes, French porno videos. They think they own the world. Bad luck, Romeo. You're about to have Tanzan Mino all over your case. Maybe you'll end up so rattled tomorrow you'll crash and burn.
He turned and waved his pass at the two guards. "Mino-san wa. Important business desu."
Then he seized her arm and pushed the guards aside. "Come on. Maybe you can get these fuck-ups fired after we're through."
"I'll see what I can do." She smiled again. "By the way, you're confirming that the big test flight is still on? In the morning?" She paused, still not sure exactly what the test was all about.
"Oh-nine-thirty hours. All the way." He was leading the way briskly down the crowded corridor.
"And you're going to… "
"Take her hypersonic. Mach 25. Straight to the edge. Brush the stars. And believe me, I've got to be alone. I can't be running a flight school." He was striding ahead of her now, talking over his shoulder. "Which is why you've got to help me talk some sense into that old fucker. Excuse me," he said, grinning in mock apology, "the CEO."
The guards at the wide double doors leading into Tanzan Mino's suite just gaped as Yuri Andreevich Androv flourished his A-level at them and then shoved his way past, oblivious to the clamor of Japanese shouts now trailing in his wake.
"Mino-san, pazhalsta," he said to the figure standing in the anteroom, scarcely noticing it was a woman, and too expensively dressed for a receptionist. Eva watched Vera Karanova lunge for a button on the desk as he pushed open the teakwood door leading into Tanzan Mino's inner office.
The first thing she noticed was the wide window behind the desk opening on a stunning view of the straits, the setting sun glancing off the tips of the whitecaps. Seated behind the desk, monitoring a line of computer screens, was a silver-haired executive.
So that's what he looks like, she thought. Perfect. Central casting couldn't have done better.
"Yuri Andreevich, what…?" he glanced up, glaring at Eva. "I see you've met one of our American guests."
"American?" Androv stopped, then looked at her, puzzled.
Better make this fast, she told herself. In about five seconds Comrade Karanova's going to take this Soviet hero's head off.