In its absence, isolated sounds grieved for the sun, and for her. The plaintive cries of seagulls. A lone motor, droning away, only to fade as well.
But the vanished sun had left behind a dazzling vista that set the sky aglow with red, and the sea seemed to radiate from the bottom, so again there was no clear line to separate the two. The water carried flaming ripples on its waves, the last sparks of which touched Asiyah’s face.
The motion of the sea was lulling her, bringing calmness. A part of her mind wanted to indulge in self-pity, but she snapped from such mellowness, bringing herself back to the reality of her surroundings. She had noticed that she was still wearing her dress, lost in her reverie. Wearily, she flicked her high-heeled shoes free from her feet. As she was heading towards the bathroom door, she unzipped the stifling evening gown at the back, letting it slide down her legs on the carpet, and kicking it aside.
There was a soft rap on the door.
Ice spilled inside her chest. She stood paralyzed, like a deer caught in the glare of headlights. Motionless, she prayed she could be undetectable.
The knock became insistent.
Her breathing sounded amplified in her head, and she thought her heartbeat was too loud. What would she do? Give herself away, or wait silently until the visitor left?
A key scraped in the lock. Too late for thinking. Now her only hope to ward off the intruder was to raise her voice.
“Who is it?”
There was no reply.
Instead, the cabin door swung open, and Nikolai Alexandrov stepped in, shutting the door immediately behind him. As he sneaked the key back into the lock, dandruff fell from his white head like snow off a tree branch.
Turning around, he froze as he saw Asiyah standing before him in her black lingerie. There was a shine in his eyes.
“Ah, I see you have prepared for me. I will not keep you waiting.”
He moved across the cabin, towards her.
“No, listen, I am not going to—”
“Lovely stockings.”
He was close now. Dangerously close. She could feel his reeking breath, a byproduct of consumed cognac.
She backed away, her heart banging in her throat.
The President of Russia reached out, running his fingers over the smooth skin of her arm. He gripped her elbow and pulled her near.
“You’re so sweet…”
The bridge of her free hand knifed away his grey-haired wrist. The sharp blow snapped Alexandrov from his fantasy. His piglet eyes focused.
She glowered at him.
“Get the hell out of my cabin.”
Scowling, he pushed her with force onto the bed. Before she could do anything, his crab-like claws pinned her wrists to the mattress.
In a flash, her father’s commands raced through her mind.
“Submission will feel good. Don’t think about it. He’ll be done quickly. You must…”
No.
“Let go of me. Right now.”
She attempted to buck him off, but he smothered her spastic jerk with his weight. He stared into her eyes, his face so close to hers that she could hear the air whistling through his nose with each breath.
“Stupid girl… You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“I’ll scream.” It sounded so banal she almost regretted saying it.
“You’ll only compromise yourself. Relax.”
He drew closer, opening his vile mouth to kiss her lips.
Asiyah head-butted him in the face.
He rolled back, cursing, grabbing his mouth. Blood seeped through his fingers from the bruised lip.
As he looked at her in shocked bewilderment that grew into anger, she kicked him off the bed, and he thundered down on the floor.
“Still miss the point? Go back to your wife.”
With amazing agility, he rose to his feet. He was seething, his jaw clenched with rage, eyes wild. Blood covered his chin like smudges of smeared lipstick.
He paid no attention to his swelling face, as his hands were busy unbuckling the belt of his trousers.
“I’ll teach you a lesson…”
The leather sliced through the air, scorching.
The metal tongue of the belt buckle grazed her cheek. Asiyah fell back across the bed.
Alexandrov piled on top of her. His fingers tore away her stockings. Hastily, he raised her leg, placing it on his shoulder, groping inside her thigh.
Her leg seized, he fumbled one-handed to pull down his trousers.
Summoning all her inner force, Asiyah swung her free leg up, level with his head, and her thighs squeezed his neck in a viselike lock.
He tried to brush it off, underestimating her strength. She pressed harder, grunting. Choking, he struggled to break free, but her thighs clamped.
Alexandrov puffed. The veins on his temples bulged. Purple vessels burst in patches on his red face. His mouth agape, he wheezed as if to say something, but she was past listening.
Asiyah drew her arms back, grabbing the base of the bed, securing leverage. Tensing every muscle in her body, she twisted, one knee scissoring over the other, and Alexandrov’s head crunched sideways.
She released the hold, and the dead President of Russia tumbled onto the floor. She was panting, her legs dangling from the edge of the bed.
She forced herself to get up, and saw his body. The President’s neck was twisted at a grotesque angle. His pants were unbuttoned, to no avail.
Wasting no time to pick a new dress for the occasion, she crossed the cabin and unlocked the door.
5
On the lamp-lit main deck of the Olympia, an FSB bodyguard stood waiting. It was the same steward who had attended her in the dining room. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was there to dispose of her body once the President had made use of it. It wasn’t unlike her father, nor was it beyond Alexandrov.
He sucked on his cigarette to pass the time as his boss entertained himself in the cabin. When he heard the sound of the door, he flicked his cigarette into the sea, apparently glad that Alexandrov had been quick to finish. When he turned, he realized that the President’s leisure hadn’t gone as planned.
In the doorway, Asiyah stood stripped to her lingerie, her cheek swelling around the gash.
The bodyguard reached for his gun as she dashed at him. He was drawing his weapon out when Asiyah leaped, ramming a kick into his collarbone. As he fell, the bodyguard landed on his shoulder, the crack audible. He roared.
Asiyah ran up to the man sprawled on the deck and drove her foot into his midsection, knocking the air out of his lungs. Kneeling, she clutched a fistful of his hair, raised his head and crushed the windpipe, pinching it with her thumb and forefinger and thrusting.
She retrieved the bodyguard’s pistol, assessing her options. Her only chance lay in speed and stealth. There was no way to challenge the rest of the FSB security detail and the six-man crew in an open fight. Armed, she could escape any immediate attack as she made her way to the Olympia’s tender.
If she could only make it… The border with Abkhazia was a stone’s throw away, and from then on she had alternatives… A new identity, a new life… Too early to hope — she focused on her actions, calling on her survival instincts.
Holding the gun out, she followed the catwalk to the stern, up the steps where the tender garage was set in the bridge deck.
To her horror, the boat was gone.
6
Asiyah scurried back along the deck to the corpse of the FSB steward/killer, hurrying before anyone else was alerted to her resistance.