that the questions would be the same, but her patience for the answers would be much shorter.
She sounded only vaguely annoyed when she said it, and she never raised her voice, and Dan looked from her back to me, sighing.
“His name’s Semyon, okay? Semyon Pagaev. We were outside the White House together when the hard-liners tried to take Yeltsin in 1993. This man, I trust him with my life.”
It took me a moment before I remembered that the White House he was referring to was the White House of Russia, where the Supreme Soviet had been housed. Now it held the Russian cabinet, if my memory was serving me right.
“This satisfy you? Are you happy now?” Dan demanded.
“Almost. How’d Semyon make Maks for Illya?” I asked.
Beside me, still looking down at the skaters, Alena snorted softly, grinning, and muttered, “Say that ten times fast.”
The joke caught Dan off guard, and he’d started to answer me, then did a double take, looking at Alena strangely. Then he said, “One of Semyon’s boys—”
I interrupted. “He’s got kids, too?”
“No, no, one of his crew, this one has a sister—Kiska, I think, is her name. Supposed to be a real beauty. Maks, a couple of the others, they’re trying to get on Kiska’s good side, trying to impress her. Talking about what they’ve done. And Maks, he tells her that he was with a crew out of Brighton Beach when he first came over. This gets back to Semyon, Semyon remembers me putting the word out, he contacts me, sends me a picture on the Internet, taken with camera phone. Looks like Illya. Vadim and I come out here, positive visual ID, like I say.”
Dan put his big hands on the table between us, leaned forward.
“Are you happy now, Mr. Atticus? Please tell me you’re happy now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I told him. “But for the moment I’m satisfied.”
“So are we going to take care of this?”
“We’re going to get some sleep,” I said.
Alena and I checked into the Heathman Hotel in downtown, six blocks south of where Vadim and Dan were staying, at the Hotel Lucia. I used a credit card that said my name was Christopher Morse, and then showed the young woman who checked us in a California driver’s license to prove the fact. We got a two-room suite on the sixth floor with a view overlooking the street.
It was just after noon when we got into the room, and the jet lag was beginning to make itself known by then. I pulled the blinds and closed the curtains, hung the Do Not Disturb sign, then did five minutes of yoga to fight off the stiffness from the flight while Alena used the shower. When she was out, I took my turn, and then we both fell into bed, and fell asleep almost as quickly.
When I woke, the curtains and the blinds were once again open, and the gray sky of the day had turned into black night. I could hear Alena speaking to someone at the door, out of sight. Then I heard the door close, and a moment later she came into view, wearing one of the complimentary bathrobes and carrying a room service tray. She set the tray on the coffee table, saw that I was awake, and grinned.
“There’s a fitness suite on the third floor,” she told me. “Open twenty-four hours.”
“Are you wearing anything under that robe?” I asked.
“No.”
“I can think of a better workout.”
“Cardio, maybe,” she said.
“Muscle control, body awareness,” I said. “With a little imagination, maybe even stretching and balance.”
Alena looked down at the room service tray, and I watched the corners of her mouth curl up in a mischievous smile. She unfastened the belt holding her robe closed and let it fall away from her as she came back to the bed, sliding beneath the covers and beside me once more. We kissed, and despite the banter it was long and slow and tender, and when it was over I ran my fingers through her hair, looking at her, and deciding she was very beautiful.
“Dinner’s going to get cold,” I said, after
She sounded only vaguely annoyed when she said it, and she never raised her voice, and Dan looked from her back to me, sighing.
“His name’s Semyon, okay? Semyon Pagaev. We were outside the White House together when the hard-liners tried to take Yeltsin in 1993. This man, I trust him with my life.”
It took me a moment before I remembered that the White House he was referring to was the White House of Russia, where the Supreme Soviet had been housed. Now it held the Russian cabinet, if my memory was serving me right.
“This satisfy you? Are you happy now?” Dan demanded.
“Almost. How’d Semyon make Maks for Illya?” I asked.
Beside me, still looking down at the skaters, Alena snorted softly, grinning, and muttered, “Say that ten times fast.”
The joke caught Dan off guard, and he’d started to answer me, then did a double take, looking at Alena strangely. Then he said, “One of Semyon’s boys—”
I interrupted. “He’s got kids, too?”
“No, no, one of his crew, this one has a sister—Kiska, I think, is her name. Supposed to be a real beauty. Maks, a couple of the others, they’re trying to get on Kiska’s good side, trying to impress her. Talking about what they’ve done. And Maks, he tells her that he was with a crew out of Brighton Beach when he first came over. This gets back to Semyon, Semyon remembers me putting the word out, he contacts me, sends me a picture on the Internet, taken with camera phone. Looks like Illya. Vadim and I come out here, positive visual ID, like I say.”
Dan put his big hands on the table between us, leaned forward.
“Are you happy now, Mr. Atticus? Please tell me you’re happy now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I told him. “But for the moment I’m satisfied.”
“So are we going to take care of this?”
“We’re going to get some sleep,” I said.
Alena and I checked into the Heathman Hotel in downtown, six blocks south of where Vadim and Dan were staying, at the Hotel Lucia. I used a credit card that said my name was Christopher Morse, and then showed the young woman who checked us in a California driver’s license to prove the fact. We got a two-room suite on the sixth floor with a view overlooking the street.
It was just after noon when we got into the room, and the jet lag was beginning to make itself known by then. I pulled the blinds and closed the curtains, hung the Do Not Disturb sign, then did five minutes of yoga to fight off the stiffness from the flight while Alena used the shower. When she was out, I took my turn, and then we both fell into bed, and fell asleep almost as quickly.
When I woke, the curtains and the blinds were once again open, and the gray sky of the day had turned into black night. I could hear Alena speaking to someone at the door, out of sight. Then I heard the door close, and a moment later she came into view, wearing one of the complimentary bathrobes and carrying a room service tray. She set the tray on the coffee table, saw that I was awake, and grinned.
“There’s a fitness suite on the third floor,” she told me. “Open twenty-four hours.”
“Are you wearing anything under that robe?” I asked.
“No.”
“I can think of a better workout.”
“Cardio, maybe,” she said.
“Muscle control, body awareness,” I said. “With a little imagination, maybe even stretching and balance.”
Alena looked down at the room service tray, and I watched the corners of her mouth curl up in a mischievous smile. She unfastened the belt holding her robe closed and let it fall away from her as she came back to the bed, sliding beneath the covers and beside me once more. We kissed, and despite the banter it was long and slow and tender, and when it was over I ran my fingers through her hair, looking at her, and deciding she was very beautiful.
“Dinner’s going to get cold,” I said, after
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