His gaze roamed the cell as if it, too, were a verdant wilderness humming with life and he were a man free to enjoy it.
Then his eyes stopped. In the granite wall to the left of the cell door one of the women had scratched "God save me. God save us all."
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside Carter's cell. He walked to the door and stared out between the high bar. It was Anna. Limp. Unconscious. Her blond hair streamed down her blue snow suit almost to the floor.
Two Silver Dove guards supported her under the armpits at they dragged her down the hall past Carter's cell.
"Where do we put her?" one of the guards said to the other in Russian.
"Anywhere there's room," said the other.
The second man was the Russian with the square face and the bushy black mustache. The man with whom — perhaps — Blenkochev had exchanged a silent sign of recognition when the group had first entered the Silver Dove installation.
"Skobelev wants her for himself," the first one said. "After the first time, she'll have her own cell."
"You can put her in here until then," Carter said from between his bars.
The two looked up over their shoulders and frowned.
"Blenkochev would like that," Carter went on. "His assistant. She'll have privacy here."
His gaze drifted to the mustachioed guard. Carter thought he saw a moment of thoughtful hesitation, a willingness to please Blenkochev. It might be the key out of the Silver Dove installation.
"And now that Blenkochev and Skobelev are partners," Carter continued, "well… I'm sure you can see why it s best to please both of the future rulers of the world."
The appeal to vanity and self-rereservation worked on their thick faces.
"It might be best," the mustachioed guard said.
The other shrugged indifferently. The two wheeled Anna around and dragged her back to Carter's cell.
The door opened noisily, letting in the sad sounds of the distant captive women.
The men gestured Carter against the wall, then dropped Anna on the cot. As they turned to leave, their boots noisy on the granite floor, Carter stepped forward.
"What about first aid for her?" he said.
The first guard laughed and headed for the door, the other guard with the mustache close behind.
"She's more than Blenkochev's assistant," Carter said softly behind the second guard's back.
The mustachioed guard's boots worked noisily across the floor, hiding Carter's voice from the first guard. The man's shoulders tightened, but he didn't turn around.
"She's his daughter," Carter said. "Tell him where she is."
The bruise on Anna's forehead was big and red, enough to knock out a man twice her size. Carter held her in his arms, keeping her warm as he lay protectively on the cot with her. He didn't like to think of her joining the doomed women in the cells along the corridor.
From the size of her pupils, he believed she'd escaped a concussion. He would wait, and hope she awoke on her own. If she did, he would be more certain she was all right. There was nothing more he could do now.
She was a small woman, fitting comfortably against him. His body encircled hers as if they'd been together often. He thought about the way she'd looked at him before he'd gone into his tent on the flat, snowy land. He remembered the veiled desire, and then the thickening in his throat as he admired her blond beauty.
Her heartbeat was regular, her breath sweet. He brushed his lips against the fragrant silky hair and closed his eyes. She moaned and moved against him, a small hurt animal, sensuous without knowing it.
The kisses under his chin were light and feathery. The fingers traced the outlines of his ear. The lips moved up his neck, and deep warmth spread through him.
"Nick," she murmured.
"Anna, you're all right…?"
Her lips fell on his mouth. Hungry. Demanding.
He pulled her into him. Her body melted, heated him with desire.
He swallowed the moisture in her mouth. Her tongue darted between his teeth, explored. Shivers of power coursed through him.
He stood her up and pulled off her parka. She pulled off his.
They undressed one another, standing, touching, feeling in the cold cell.
She was small-waisted with high large breasts glowing like ivory in the dim light. A beautiful woman all over.
Her lips parted, swollen with desire.
He cupped the perfect breasts, kissed the nipples. She threw back her head and arched her back.
"Oh. God!" she moaned.
He picked her up, feeling the promise of her hot in his arms.
She bit his neck and growled. Panting, Carter placed her on the cot.
She pulled him down, and he entered her.
They rocked together, as men and women have always joined, locked in the inescapable power of desire.
Later they lay entwined on the narrow cot, their clothes piled on them for warmth. She was a rough-and-tumble agent, believable disguised as a man, but in bed she was soft and fragrant, wearing her own kind of perfume that made Carter think of French wildflowers.
He kissed around the lump on her forehead.
"Still hurt?" he murmured.
"It's the only place that does." She smiled. "I feel so good. All over. I'm not even angry anymore."
"At Skobelev?"
"At all of them. The way they treat women, other minorities. The damned Silver Doves!"
"And your father?"
She was quiet a moment, then shrugged.
"He doesn't know I'm here. He went to lunch with Skobelev. 'Man talk. " She sneered, clenching her fists.
" 'A female wouldn't understand. So I went to the canteen. Some of the men… wanted me. There was a fight. I… got a couple. Then someone got me."
"One of the doves who brought you said that Skobelev wanted you."
She looked at him.
"Skobelev?" she said, lips curling. "Me?"
"I take it you'd rather pass."
The edges of her mouth curled in a smile. Then she laughed.
"He's ridiculous! How could anyone want him?"
"He doesn't think he's ridiculous. He thinks he's going to run the world. With the help of your father."
She was silent. She gazed around the granite cell.
"We don't have any equipment," she said shortly. "How are we going to get out?"
"You don't know whether your father's turned," he said, watching her beautiful regular features.
Her expression didn't change.
"He's not my father here," she said. "He's Leon Blenkochev, the great head of the feared KGB agency K-GOL. He gives me orders, and I don't question him."
"He could have fooled us both, and betrayed his country. Your country."
She closed her eyes.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted.
He stroked the long pale hair. She sighed, resting her forehead against his neck. Her breath was warm against his skin.
"There's nothing more we can do now," he said. "Only wait."
She tipped hack her head and gazed deep into his eyes.
"I wanted you the first time I saw you," she said softly. "Back in New Zealand."
She took his hand and moved it to her round breast. He cupped it, touched the nipple, and it rose erect.
He kissed her, then pulled her close, crushing her against him as he felt his own heat rise hot and hard.
The door lock rattled. The key turned.
She pushed away from him, eyes wide with sudden terror.