94
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
In her twenty-seventh-floor suite in the Swissotel Krasnye Holmy, Christine O’Connor examined herself in the full-length mirror before heading out. She was wearing a black V-neck evening dress with an hourglass cutout across her back, filled in with see-through gold mesh spreading across her shoulders, narrowing in the middle, then wrapping around her slender waist. Armed with black pearl earrings and pendant necklace set in eighteen-karat gold, along with black-and-gold heels and matching purse, she was dressed to kill.
Christine checked her watch. It was a few minutes before the appointed time. Kalinin’s executive assistant, Andrei Yelchin, who’d met her at the airport this afternoon, had requested she be ready at 7 p.m. Someone would stop by her room to escort her to dinner with President Kalinin. No further details were provided. As she waited the last few minutes, her thoughts drifted to her pending dinner with the Russian president.
Following his return to power, she hadn’t heard from him until a few days ago, requesting she join him in Moscow. He regretted not being able to spend time with her in a more romantic setting, but he thought it unwise to leave Moscow while dealing with the aftershocks of the military coup. He’d finally carved a weekend free and would be pleased if she could join him.
The secrecy shrouding their relationship remained in place. Kalinin sent a private jet, which she boarded at Reagan National Airport on Friday evening for the overnight flight to Moscow, where she was driven by limousine to the Swissotel, a luxurious five-star hotel in the heart of the Russian capital.
There was a knock on her door at exactly 7 p.m. Christine grabbed her purse, then opened the door to be greeted by Yelchin again, who escorted her to the elevator. They stepped inside, but instead of descending to the lobby, they ascended to the thirty-fourth floor where they were met by an attractive woman wearing a full-length red dress and holding two menu boards, standing between two Federal Protective Service agents in black suits.
“Welcome, Miss O’Connor,” the hostess said. “Please follow me.”
As the hostess escorted them down a short corridor, Christine whispered to Yelchin, “How does she know who I am? I thought my visit was supposed to be discreet.”
He replied, “The staff have signed confidentiality agreements. There will be no word of your or President Kalinin’s visit here tonight.”
“What about others having dinner?”
As Christine stepped from the corridor into the restaurant, there was no need for Yelchin to answer. Two things struck Christine immediately: the restaurant was empty, aside from a bartender and Kalinin at the bar, and the view was breathtaking.
They had entered the Space Bar and Restaurant, a flying-saucer-shaped, glass-encased restaurant with an elegant, modern decor, offering a stunning 360-degree panoramic view of the city. Christine had learned of its reputation during previous visits: a stylish, glamorous hot spot with pricey custom cocktails made by mixologists instead of bartenders, where wealthy men could be found with a beautiful woman on each arm, or where one could observe a man on one knee before his girlfriend, ring in hand, on an almost nightly basis.
Kalinin stood as Christine approached, while Yelchin departed. The hostess escorted Kalinin and Christine to their table on the outer rim of the restaurant with the glass exterior an arm’s length away. After Kalinin helped Christine into her seat and took his own, the hostess handed them menus, and a waiter arrived with two custom cocktails. Christine took a sip. She had no idea what it was, but it was absolutely delicious.
Dinner was ordered and quickly served, along with a bottle of wine — Cabernet Sauvignon, which Christine preferred and Kalinin remembered. They talked throughout dinner, the conversation remaining light except when Kalinin offered details on the recovery from the military coup. Surprisingly, he never steered the discussion toward their personal relationship. It seemed he would let things play out naturally, or perhaps let her be the one to broach the subject.
When dinner was finished, Kalinin escorted Christine to the bar, ordering two glasses of champagne. As Christine sipped her drink, Kalinin led her around the panoramic restaurant, pointing out the sights in the historic city. They concluded their circular tour with a view overlooking the Kremlin and Red Square.
“Now, where were we?” Kalinin asked, “the night we were having dinner, when we were rudely interrupted by General Andropov?”
“I believe we were about to put the past behind us and drink to the future.”
“I remember.” Kalinin raised his glass of champagne and Christine touched their glasses together. “To the future,” he said.
Christine had spent a great deal of time contemplating her future with Kalinin. He was an attractive man, and as far as wealth and power went, he didn’t leave much to be desired. But wealth and power had never mattered to Christine. There were far more important factors to be considered, with the most important being chemistry. She liked Kalinin and had to admit she was physically attracted to him, but there was no spark.
Over the last several weeks and during the long flight to Moscow, she had contemplated how to break the news to him. She was unsure how he’d respond, as men and women were unpredictable when spurned.
“About us. Our future.” She fell silent for a moment, then finally said it. “I don’t think we have one.”
Christine went on to explain her feelings for him, concluding that there wasn’t enough to sustain a serious relationship.
Kalinin nodded. “Your response is not unexpected. It is easy to see that your heart is elsewhere.”
Christine gave him a curious look.
“Your SEAL friend Harrison.”
Christine turned away, staring out across the city. Harrison. There was no future there.
Kalinin continued, “I had to pursue you to the end, just to be sure. Plus, there is another reason I wanted to see you. There is something I wanted to tell you in person.”
Christine turned back to Kalinin as he said, “I never thanked you for rescuing me in Gelendzhik. I must show my appreciation.”
She waited for him to explain.
“What you did to Gorev,” he said, “is forgiven. The SVR death sentence levied against you has been vacated.”
As Christine absorbed the news, it felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
“Is Director Hippchenko on board with my clemency?”
“It was his idea.”
“Thank you,” Christine said, “and please pass my appreciation on to Hippchenko.”
Kalinin nodded.
No words were exchanged for a while as they looked over the darkening city.
“This man, Harrison,” Kalinin said, “Are you dating him?”
Christine shook her head. “He’s married.”
Kalinin gave her an odd look. “Things are more complicated than I suspected.”
Christine laughed. “That’s an understatement. I probably won’t ever talk to him again.”
Kalinin fell quiet, and she could tell he was evaluating where to take the conversation next. Finally, he asked, “So what becomes of us? Good friends and nothing more?”
Christine pushed Harrison from her mind and turned to Kalinin. “We could be friends or friendly adversaries. Depends on your point of view.”
“I know what you mean. I’m aware your president has asked you to become the new CIA director.”
Christine’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that? We had a private lunch.”
“I have sources in many places. There isn’t much you Americans can do without me learning about it.” After a short pause, he asked, “Do you plan to accept?”
“Maybe I already have,” Christine replied. “Maybe I’m wired right now, recording every word you say.”