Eternal Empire (23 page)

A
s soon as Devon began the poem, Asthana knew what was coming. Until that moment, she had been enjoying the ceremony, in a detached sort of way. She always liked being the center of attention, and when she looked around the room, she felt a certain satisfaction at seeing the disparate parts of her life assembled in one place. It was the culmination of all she had ever wanted, although it was at just such times, she knew, that things often came apart.

Hearing the poem's first line, Asthana felt her eyes go immediately to Wolfe, who was looking back at her with dawning recognition. Even now, as she began to understand that there would be no prospect of return, she was amused by the thought of what Wolfe must be feeling. Asthana wanted to savor the sight of so many illusions falling away, but she resisted the urge, knowing that the next few minutes would be the most crucial she had ever known.

She turned away from Wolfe as Devon finished reading, looking up from his notebook with a smile. Asthana smiled back with admirable tenderness, and her expression remained unchanged for the rest of the ceremony, which she fortunately knew by heart. As she went through the motions of the wedding, she considered her situation from all sides, grateful for the chance to think, and remained conscious all the while of Wolfe's eyes on her face.

Asthana had no specific memory of writing the poem in Devon's notebook, but she didn't doubt that she had done so. She had been very young at the time, and she had not yet understood the importance of keeping the two sides of her life firmly separated. A smile, she had learned, could hide a great deal, but only if you were careful not to hint at what else might be unfolding behind it.

Rogozin had taught her this, as he had taught her so much else. Donne, Rogozin said, had lived with a similar division at the heart of his experience. He had been a great lover before he was a preacher, and after his conversion, his passion and wit had turned from the erotic to the sacred, a tension that had never been fully resolved, flowering instead into something rich and strange.

Asthana had listened earnestly to this, as she always had in those days. She had met Rogozin a year earlier, when he had been invited to speak on campus as a prominent writer in exile. Asthana had seen him lecture, and afterward, at a faculty party, she had introduced herself. This meeting had led to another, arranged more discreetly, in which they had talked long into the night, and even then, she had sensed that there was more to him than met the eye.

When Rogozin revealed his true nature, she had taken it as a sign. In retrospect, it was the moment in which she had embraced what she had always been meant to be. Like her recent decision to transfer her allegiance to the civilian side, it had been a choice born of pragmatism, based on a cold appraisal of the historical forces at work, and it was perhaps for this reason that she had written the poem in Devon's notebook. It was a token of a transformation he would never understand, and now that it had come back to destroy her, she had no one to blame but herself.

At last, with a final blessing, the ceremony ended. As Asthana prepared to walk down the aisle with her husband, the applause and music rising to mark the recessional, she saw clearly what she had to do.

When they were almost at the doors leading out to the reception area, Asthana leaned over to whisper in Devon's ear. “Darling, I'm so sorry, but I'm not feeling well. I need to run to the ladies'.”

Devon glanced over in surprise, still clutching his foolish sword. “Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine,” Asthana said as they passed out of the conservatory, the cheers still echoing behind them. “I just need a moment to myself. Tell my mother that I'll be right out.”

Asthana kissed her new husband, her thoughts briefly turning to another kiss she had given only a week ago, and walked away without looking back. She knew she would never see him again.

Rounding the corner, she found herself alone for the moment, the music faintly audible from the next room. Instead of going through the lavatory door, she walked past it to the stairs at the end of the hall. Entering the stairwell, she kicked off her heels, then began to run up the steps in bare feet.

As she hurried to the floor above, she pulled off her veil and unwound the fabric of her sari, which made it hard to move with any kind of speed. Underneath, she was wearing a choli and a long skirt. She dropped the sari in a heap on the landing, then quickened her pace, taking the steps two at a time.

Arriving at the sixth floor, she went through the fire door that led out from the stairwell, finding herself in an empty hall. She headed at once to the elevator bay and stooped down over a potted plant, fishing out the keycard that had been left there in case one of the bridesmaids had to come back. Glancing at her reflection in the mirrored walls, she continued on to the suite they had booked for the day, then swiped the keycard and went into the room.

Inside, the suite was in a state of feminine disarray, with clothes scattered across the bed and draped over the chair by the window. The clock on the nightstand reminded her that she was running out of time.

She began by pulling off her bangles, stripping the bracelets from her wrists and letting them fall to the floor, and quickly toweled off her face and hair. In the closet hung a jacket that belonged to one of the bridesmaids, with long sleeves that would cover up her arms. She pulled it on, then grabbed her purse and slid into a pair of flats. Checking herself in the mirror, she saw with satisfaction that she wouldn't attract a second glance, and that only a sharp observer would notice the henna on the backs of her hands.

Less than a minute had passed since she had entered the hotel room. Leaving everything else behind, she went to the door, opened it—

—and found herself facing Wolfe, standing in the hallway in her bridesmaid's dress.

For an instant, their eyes locked. A moment of understanding passed too quickly for words. Then Asthana lowered her head and plowed forward, knocking Wolfe savagely off her feet.

Caught by surprise, Wolfe fell back, colliding with the mirrored wall. Asthana turned toward the stairs, then felt herself yanked backward as Wolfe managed to grab the collar of her jacket, the seams popping audibly as her partner lunged forward and tackled her from behind.

Asthana wheeled around, slamming Wolfe against the wall as hard as she could. The mirror shattered into spiderwebs, but Wolfe did not let go. Asthana rocked back on her own heels again, turning at the last moment so that the bony part of Wolfe's hip collided with the wall. She heard a sharp exhalation as her partner's grip loosened for a fraction of a second, then managed to break free, nearly stumbling as she sprinted for the door to the stairwell.

Behind her, she heard Wolfe rise, but she didn't look back as she pushed through to the stairs. She descended as quickly as she could, one hand on the railing as she rounded the corner from one landing to the next, and heard Wolfe enter the stairwell above her before the fire door could swing shut.

As they ran, neither woman spoke, knowing that words were a waste of air. Asthana heard Wolfe kick off her shoes, as she should have done long before, but the footsteps overhead grew steadily fainter, and she realized that her partner's sari and hurt leg were slowing her down.

As Wolfe fell behind, Asthana pulled one landing ahead, then two. On the next level, she decided to chance it and took the exit door, finding herself in a corridor on the ground floor of the hotel, a line of housekeeping carts standing to one side. Her heart was going a mile a minute, but she forced herself to slow to a fast walk, hearing the sound of voices close by.

Asthana ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get her breathing under control. Picking a corner at random, she ended up in a service area, looking neither right nor left at the faces around her, although she sensed members of the hotel staff staring. There was no sign of Wolfe.

Up ahead, she saw a pair of doors with panic bars, the two rectangles of glass looking out on the brightness outside. Pushing through without pausing, she found herself in an alley by the hotel.

A second later, she was on Gloucester Road, where pedestrians were strolling along the sidewalk across from the railway station. Slowing her pace, Asthana drew up her head and calmly joined the rest, taking the first side street she saw, and before long, she had disappeared into the city.

T
arkovsky looked up as Elena entered his office on the bridge deck, closing the door behind her. As his assistant took a seat on the other side of the room, he turned to Maddy. “I'm sorry. Where were we?”

“We were talking about revising our offer to Virginia,” Maddy said. “A new strategy, based on what we discussed before we left. It's an unusual approach, but at this point, it's something I'd be willing to try.”

Tarkovsky reached for the teacup on the desk before him, setting it down again when he realized it was empty. “All right. Write it up for my approval. You'll need to make the proposal on your own, before I return from Sochi, so I'll want you to move quickly on this.”

“I understand,” Maddy said. “I'll have it for your review by tomorrow afternoon.”

She watched as Tarkovsky accepted a fresh cup of tea from Elena, who had refilled it from the urn without being asked. This was her first time in the oligarch's private office, which was located just behind the captain's cabin and wheelhouse. It was a refined space lined with bookcases, their shelves set with brass rails. Behind the desk was a window with a view of the setting sun, and, beside it, a separate stairwell leading to the owner's suite on the topmost deck.

Tarkovsky turned to Elena, who had resumed her position from before. “I wanted to confirm our plans for tomorrow. After dinner, I'd like to meet privately with our friends from Argo before rejoining the rest of the party. I'll leave it to you to make sure that the salon is ready.”

“Of course,” Elena said, writing this down in her leather folder. “And I'll see that the rest of the staff is informed.”

“Good.” Tarkovsky glanced at Maddy again. “I believe we're done. Elena can walk you out.”

“Thank you,” Maddy said, rising. As Tarkovsky turned back to his desk, she followed Elena out of the office. Through the window, the sky was growing dark, the swell of the sea faintly visible beyond the glass.

Elena began to walk up the companionway. “I trust your meeting was productive.”

Maddy had hoped that the assistant would simply let her go, but it was clear that she wanted to talk. “Yes. It was our first chance to meet privately since Constanta. I've been doing a lot of work on my own, but he wanted to give me some guidance before I head back to London.”

“I see.” Elena stood aside for a pair of stewardesses. “I'm glad to hear you've been busy. You've seemed rather neglected at times. I wouldn't want you to think you came for no reason—”

Maddy didn't care for the implication here. “You don't have to worry about me.”

“I should hope not,” Elena said, heading for the stairs. “You've been put in an enviable position. Vasily doesn't allow just anyone to take up his time. It's important that you follow through.”

As they went downstairs, Maddy overheard an iciness of tone that she had hoped they had left behind, but she also knew that Elena was under a great deal of pressure. The assistant had been intimately involved in planning tomorrow's formal reception, which she regarded as the high point of the entire voyage, and was clearly determined that the affair go off without any surprises.

At the main deck, they parted ways. Maddy watched as Elena approached the head stew, who was overseeing the other stewardesses in the salon. Then she continued downstairs, emerging on the lower deck, which was devoted to crew quarters and operations. At the moment, there was no one in sight. From the galley to her left, she heard voices, but instead of going closer, she crept quietly along the companionway in the opposite direction.

Whenever Maddy was around the crew, she sensed them watching her attentively, but she had been observing them as well, and she had figured out the time of day when they were most likely to be preoccupied. Dinner each night was an elaborate production with Russian silver service, and afterward, every available crew member reported to the pantry for cleanup. Even with the yacht's ample dishwashers, all the crystal had to be washed by hand.

Heading at a fast walk up the companionway, she reached her destination without encountering anyone else. She had been prepared to bypass the touchscreen by the door, but when she tried it, she found that it was unlocked, presumably for the convenience of the deckhands. Glancing back once over her shoulder, she went in, closing the door softly behind her.

Inside, the tender bay was silent and dark, with only a faint vibration welling up from the engine room located directly below. Maddy kept the lights off, feeling her way slowly past the water scooters and other toys. As her eyes adjusted, she finally made out the silhouette of the expedition tender. Going up to one side, she mounted the cradle and pulled herself onto the foredeck.

A flight of steps led down past the cockpit to the passenger cabin below. Descending carefully, she found herself standing before a closed door, under which a soft line of light could be seen. Maddy gave a gentle knock, then opened the door and went down the steps to the lower level.

As Maddy entered the cabin, she saw several rows of seats standing before the galley. Toward the aft of the tender were two sets of bunks, the head with its toilet and sink, and a table that could be folded down from the wall.

Ilya was seated at the table, on which he had placed an electric lamp. In its circle of light, Maddy saw that he was examining a cylindrical device, evidently a camera, which he set aside as she drew closer. “Are we safe?”

“I don't know what that means anymore.” Maddy sat across from him. “If you're asking if the pieces are in place, then yes, we're ready. But I've already thrown away everything I ever cared about.”

His dark eyes studied her face. “And are you still willing to play your part?”

“I don't think I have a choice,” Maddy said. “There's no other way, is there?”

He only continued to regard her in silence. She had expected him to ask her for more details, or at least to clarify the situation, but instead, she saw nothing but a readiness to do whatever was necessary, a fatalism that left her even more unsettled than before. “Can I ask you something?”

Ilya reached below the table, producing a black plastic case. “Of course.”

Maddy watched as he undid the clasps of the box and put the camera inside. “Why do they call you the Scythian?”

It might have been a trick of the light, but she thought she saw a smile pass across his face as he closed the lid again. “Someone I once knew told me I had the eyes of a man of the steppes. He said it only in passing, but the name endured. And perhaps I have something of the Scythian in my heart as well.”

Maddy's gaze strayed to the tattoo on his arm. “So what does that mean?”

Ilya slid the box back under the table. “The Scythian is a wanderer. A nomad. Russia has never trusted men like this. They cannot be controlled or contained. Instead of standing their ground, they retreat until their enemies are exhausted. But if they are cornered, none fight more fiercely.”

Maddy felt his dark eyes return to hers. “Is that how you see yourself?”

“At times,” Ilya said. “But I had reasons of my own for accepting it. The king of the Scythians, according to scripture, was a man called Ashkenaz. Do you recognize the name?”

As she listened, Maddy glimpsed the shadow of something sensitive in his otherwise impassive features, a quality that she had seen before, but only rarely. She realized that it reminded her, strangely, of Tarkovsky. “It's where we get the name of the Ashkenazi Jews.”

Ilya smiled again. “Yes. Which is why, when they called me the Scythian, I let it go. I knew its true meaning, even if others did not. Although, given the choice, I would rather have been a Khazar.”

Before Maddy could ask what this meant, Ilya raised a hand, indicating that this topic of discussion was closed. His face became grave again. “But that is all beside the point. We do not have much time, and tomorrow is a very important day. So let's go over it again together—”