“Everything will be fine now,” Eugene said. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it out. We’re together now.”
He felt his own eyes becoming moist.
They remained that way for a few silent moments longer; the younger brother comforting the elder.
“I need to get away from this cabin,” Constantine said. “Need some fresh air. And I don’t want those bastards to be watching us. Let’s go outside. I will tell you the whole truth. I hope you can forgive me, brother.”
13
Constantine shifted his weight against the rail, not looking at the water below, the sun-filled sky, or the picturesque scenery. His attention centered on Eugene alone, just as Eugene was studying only him, compensating for the lost time.
Eugene tried to pick out the physical details that had altered in Constantine — the hair that was longer than usual, or his stronger physical shape — but then there was something that Eugene couldn’t distinguish, only feel.
The overall difference in his brother was intangible but noticeable, like two snapshots of the same person taken a year apart. Constantine was a year older; a year different. A year of each other had been robbed from their lives by Frolov.
“You’ve changed,” Constantine said. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes was unchanged, though.
“I was about to say the same.”
“Much worse, eh?”
“Different.”
“I do feel a lot different. And a lot worse.”
Constantine sighed, recollecting.
“I think our quarrel was the starting point, Gene,” he said. “Do you remember it?”
He remembered. Constantine had always held a grudge against him after he had joined the EMERCOM, feeling that Eugene served the government that had killed their father. In Constantine’s mind, it was betrayal.
Eugene had countered, saying that back in 1993 the opposition leaders wanted to pull Russia back into Communism, conning ordinary people to die for them. Besides, Eugene wasn’t working for some butcher government, he was saving human lives.
In the end, one such argument reached a breaking point. Tempers flared, and Eugene responded to the accusations with an analogy of his own.
Our father was the one who truly betrayed us. Mother begged him to stay with us, to keep away from that madness, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t swallow his pride. He went there and got himself killed.
It had become the mark of their alienation.
“My stupidity and stubbornness is to blame for everything,” Constantine said. “As the elder brother, I should have made amends. But I guess I couldn’t swallow my pride, either. I went soul-searching then. I ended up attending lectures at the Theological Academy. It was there that I met Metropolitan Ilia. He was a very kind and considerate old man. I shared my pain with him. Eventually, he confided in me that he could learn something about the man who destroyed our father.”
“And that man turned out to be President Alexandrov.”
“How do you know?”
“That was what Ilia told me as well.”
Constantine flinched.
“What? Ilia?”
“Ilia is alive.”
“Are you sure?”
“In fact, I met him a few hours ago.”
Constantine fell silent for a moment.
“How could they stoop to such treachery… making me believe… What did Ilia tell you?”
“He seemed less than sincere about the details, especially when his own involvement was concerned, but I could fill in the blanks myself. He also told me that your life was in danger and you had to hide in France. But why didn’t you ask me for help?”
“I could not allow myself to make you suffer from the mess I started.”
“You didn’t start it — the FSB did, unbeknownst to you or to Ilia.”
“Still, I was stupid enough to walk right into the FSB’s path. Of course they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use me. Now I know that most of the information they gave me on Alexandrov was fake, but I fell for it then. Just as Ilia himself had fallen for the dirt about the top clergy’s affiliation with the KGB. Anyway, they had to get me to France, and they did,” Constantine continued. “Ilia had been searching for the whereabouts of the Kremlin collection, and the only man who had the relevant documents wouldn’t pass them to an outsider. His name was Malinin, an emigre living in London. So their common paranoia for FSB agents led them to employ me as a conduit — exactly as the FSB planned all along.”
“Bastards,” Eugene breathed. “They used you and Ilia in their scheme twice, switching the roles. First they lured Malinin to Ilia through you, and then they lured me to you through Ilia.”
“But why, Gene? What do they want from you?”
“Whatever the reason, it’s not your fault. It’s all part of their sick plan, which has something to do with the girl I rescued.”
“The girl I saw on the riverfront? Who is she?”
“Asiyah Kasymova. She is the daughter of the President of Kazakhstan.”
“Kazakhstan? It can’t be. Oh no, it can’t be. How did it all happen?”
Eugene recounted the events beginning from the destruction of the Olympia and his mission in Sochi.
When he finished, blood drained from Constantine’s face.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Eugene asked.
“Some of the things I’ve learned from Malinin’s documents and the disc while I’ve been on this yacht can provide an explanation. But I believe there could still be more questions than answers in this affair, and I feel that Asiyah is the missing piece of the puzzle.”
14
Eugene found his own cabin to be empty. Frolov and his bodyguard were gone. With no one to challenge, he would have to search the New Star to find Asiyah — if she was indeed aboard the yacht. Frolov had never given any proof to back his words, and in reality she could be anywhere between the Lubyanka and the hands of the OMON goons. The thought made Sokolov sick to his stomach.
At 110 feet long, the New Star was in no way the biggest among luxury yachts, but still there were four guest cabins, a large dining salon, and a second lounge on the upper deck.
They found Asiyah in the salon. It was an oblong compartment dominated by a dining table. With the sunlight flooding in through a row of windows, every lacquered surface of the cherrywood interior gave off a sheen.
Asiyah sat alone at the empty table which was big enough to seat ten. Her hands were placed atop the pastel silk tablecloth, and her posture was rigid, her body unnaturally tense. She was immobile, her eyes closed, as if lost in prayer or meditation.
Eugene was both elated at seeing her and perturbed, not knowing what to make of her condition. As he and Constantine came closer, he was at a loss whether he should call her name.
Then suddenly their intrusion startled her, and she turned her head. She gasped, her eyes showing surprise at seeing someone other than she had expected — or feared.
Her eyes held Eugene, and he was powerless to utter a word.
On impulse, she sprang to her feet and pushed away the chair. When it seemed she was ready to rush into his arms, she caught herself in mid-stride, freezing as she regained her poise, making the moment all the more embarrassing. Eugene did not know if it was Constantine’s presence that held her back — or the awareness of the cameras — or maybe he had imagined the whole thing, simply wanted her to run to him and hold him tight.
She lowered her eyes, and then looked up again at the two men in front of her, and clasped her hands together nervously.