Winter Palace (13 page)

“No, no, it's fine. We both wanted to check in on you.”

“Very well,” Alexander replied. “Chinese.”

“Chinese?” Visions of Oriental mistresses wafted through his mind.

“I have a colossal craving for a Chinese meal.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Jeffrey said, smiling toward a curious Katya.

“Something that will awaken my taste buds from the insensate slumber induced by hospital fare.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Be so good as to stop by Mr. Kai's on South Audley Street,” Alexander instructed.

“At six pounds per egg roll,” Jeffrey pointed out, “they're a bit up-market for take-away.”

“Anyone returning from a stay at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo has no right whatsoever to make such comments,” Alexander retorted. “Now then. I presume that you two shall be joining me.”

“Just a second while I ask the wife.”
Wife
. The spoken word gave him thrills. He cupped the receiver and said to Katya, “Alexander wants us to join him for dinner.”

“Sounds lovely,” she said, then blessed him with a look that curled his toes. “Just so we don't stay too long.”

“We'd be happy to,” Jeffrey said to the telephone. He fished a pen and ticket envelope from his pocket. “Fire away.”

“We shall start with shark's fin soup, but only if it has been made today. You must stress that. Followed by their freshest fish cooked with ginger, spring onions, and baby sweet corn. You had best order quite a lot of that.”

“You've given this a lot of thought.”

“You cannot conceive how much. I am quite certain hospitals make it a habit to lace their meals with mild anesthetic. It is far less expensive than preparing a decent cuisine, especially when so few of their patrons care what they place in their mouths.” Alexander returned to the business at hand. “And of course we must have Peking duck. With more than an ample supply of steamed pancakes, mind. Don't allow them to skimp. And plum sauce. Make sure it is fresh as well.”

“Sharpen your chopsticks,” Jeffrey said. “We'll be at your place by six.”

****

A cheerful fire dispelled the night's meager vestige of damp and chill, not an unfamiliar occurrence on a London summer eve. Across the polished mahogany expanse of Alexander's
dining-room table, Meissen china fought for space with an abundance of aluminum and plastic take-away containers.

“We had a wonderful trip,” Katya announced, as everyone began slowing down.

“Amazing,” Jeffrey agreed. “No, better than that. What comes after amazing?”

“I'm sure it would do my gradually recovering heart no good whatsoever to imagine,” Alexander replied. “Would anyone care for this last pancake?”

“We can't thank you enough,” Katya added.

“It was my pleasure,” Alexander rejoined. “Words truly spoken from the heart.”

“There's a lot to tell,” Jeffrey said.

“All carefully edited for my feeble ears, I trust.”

“I was speaking of the business matters.”

“Naturally.” Deftly he reached across the table with his chopsticks. “Neither of you cares for this last bit of duck, I take it.”

“Monsieur Markov's proposition is going to require a lot of thought,” Katya said.

“You can say that again,” Jeffrey agreed.

Instead of replying directly, Alexander set down his chopsticks, pressed a napkin to his lips, and looked around the room. “At times I wondered if ever I would enjoy another night like this,” he said quietly.

Katya reached across to take Jeffrey's hand. He found himself unable to look her way.

“There were moments,” Alexander went on, a wintery bleakness to his voice, “when I grew utterly tired of it all. The bed became a holding pen, a place to keep my wasting form until it was time to depart.”

“I have never prayed so hard in my life as I did for your recovery,” Jeffrey managed.

Gray eyes fastened upon him. “Do you know, I believe there were moments when I could actually feel your prayers. Not in a physical sense, no. And not just yours. You were there
also, my dear young lady. Gregor, too. The friends who have enriched my later years gathered there in heart and spirit and lifted the cloak of darkness and despair from me. I was able at such times to see beyond the body's defeat and realize that, in matters of greatest importance, time holds no boundaries.”

Alexander returned his gaze to the room. “All this afternoon I have been content simply to sit and to drink in the beauty which this realization has granted me. Everything has taken on the most remarkable sheen. All before me is crowned in God's great glory. A shaft of sunlight through the window, the color of light against the wall, your return and our meal and the discussion yet to come. I do realize that in time this awareness will dim, clouded over by the cares of daily life. But for this moment, this glorious moment, I feel I have glimpsed the tiniest sliver of what it means to be alive. Thanks to your gift of prayers in my hour of direst need, and thanks to the Lord above for His gift of salvation, I have seen beyond the confines of my feeble realm and seen the gift of life for what it is meant to be. In this moment, this hour, I feel I have tasted what is yet to come.”

Chapter 14

A heavy rain streaked the broad patio doors as Prince Vladimir Markov ushered the general into his overcrowded study. As always, the military man unbent sufficiently to cast an acquisitive eye over some of Markov's more valuable items. Markov played the genial host, pointing out remarkable features and describing minor scandals of long-dead relatives connected to the piece at hand. General Surikov seemed unaware of the fact that the names which Markov tossed casually forward had for three centuries ruled the largest nation on earth.

Markov seated them in a relatively uncluttered corner of his study. A silver coffee service was laid out beside the French doors. Beyond his veranda, the blustering rainstorm cloaked the vista of Monte Carlo. All the world was gray and wet. The gloom outside granted their alcove a vestige of coziness.

As usual the general brought with him a complaint. Today it was related to his last posting before retirement—Estonia. As Markov poured coffee, Surikov asked, “You have heard of the Forest Brothers?”

“Of course. Will you take sugar?”

“Two. Bandits, the lot of them. Ought to be rounded up and shot.”

“Given the presence of patriots from the old world order,” Markov soothed, “this no doubt would be occurring.”

“Freedom fighters, they call themselves,” the general grumbled, slurping his coffee in the way of one used to sucking meager warmth from mugs. “Bandits using chaos as an excuse to incite rebellion.”

“None of the Baltic States ever recovered from their brief spate of statehood, I suppose.” Freedom had lasted only for the time between the two world wars before Stalin had gobbled up Estonia, along with its two Baltic cousins, Latvia
and Lithuania. “Not to mention the fact that Russification replaced over a third of the local population with imported Russians. From what I gather, they became a state within a state. Special positions and better jobs, that sort of thing.”

“I do not speak of what is behind us,” Surikov barked.

“No, of course not,” Markov demurred. “And of course, who could forget the fact that only the presence of our loyal comrades in arms keeps the situation from dissolving into chaos.”

“It is chaos already. Unwanted guests, they call Russians who have lived in Estonia for more than forty years. Two generations born on soil they can no longer call their own. Now their so-called parliament has decided to refuse all Russians, even those born in the country, the right to vote.” The thought clearly incensed him. “So now we have villages which are ninety-five percent Russian in population ruled by officials elected by the other five percent. Sheer madness.”

“Not to mention the revival of the Forest Brothers,” Markov offered, deciding to play at patience and let the old boy run out of steam.

“Bandits, as I said. A pity that Stalin halted his purge before the first of them were wiped from the earth.”

Stalin did not stop, Markov silently corrected the general. The madman continued creating the infamous Baltic river of blood until his demise. Afterward, the Kremlin wisely gave the project up. For each death, a dozen other Forest Brothers rose to take their murdered comrade's place. “I understand they are operating more or less in the open these days.”

“Three days ago they stopped a Russian convoy and demanded their papers,” the general huffed. “Imagine, will you? They stood there with their ancient hunting rifles and asked for transit papers and driver's licenses from tank commanders.” Surikov shook his head. “I wish I had been there. They would have received the beating they have been begging for, that I swear on my mother's grave.”

“One such attack,” Markov pointed out, “and the Estonians
would force the remaining Russians to make a mass exodus. And that, my dear general, would be a catastrophe.”

“Only because the so-called democratic regime that is dismantling my country has the heart of a mouse and the mind of a newborn.” Surikov smiled grimly. “Mark my words, they are busy digging their own graves by permitting such impossible situations to continue. My fellow officers are caught in a vise. When they demand billets inside my shrinking homeland, they are forced to stand in line with comrades stationed in Poland, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Bulgaria, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Armenia, and a dozen other states. There is no housing. There is no money. There is no government strong enough to solve these problems and rescue my country from disaster.”

“A powder keg,” Markov agreed. “With the fuses burning low.”

“There will be trouble,” Surikov warned ominously. “Of that I am certain. If the Forest Brothers are not contained, there will be an incident, and one incident is all it will take. My comrades in arms are ready to move at a moment's notice.”

“Which is yet another reason for us to move swiftly,” Markov countered. “In case your services are required elsewhere.”

“Indeed,” the general agreed, focusing once again upon the room and the present moment. “I bring a message from my present superiors. We are gravely concerned that instead of the man you told us about, we now are invited to work with an unknown.”

“A better choice,” Markov contradicted. “An American. A young innocent.”

“A wild card,” the general replied worriedly. “A loose cannon, perhaps.”

“The reason we selected Kantor in the first place,” Markov reminded him, “was that we wanted someone totally honest yet utterly inexperienced in such affairs.”

“True, true,” the general muttered. “And yet—”

“Someone who had reason to go to the East, yet who would have neither the knowledge nor the contacts to dig too deeply.”

“And this man Kantor was perfect,” the general agreed. “But the new one?”

“Even better.”

“You have met him?”

Markov nodded. “This Jeffrey Sinclair wears his honesty upon his forehead, right alongside his inexperience. He is the naive American personified.”

“This may suit us,” the general conceded.

“He will go and do our bidding and return none the wiser,” Markov assured him. “Wait and see.”

Chapter 15

Jeffrey carried one of the dining-room chairs into the bedroom and stationed himself by the doorway, where he could watch Katya's every move. He had protested once at the beginning that she did not need to help him pack. Katya replied that helping him was her way of placing her heart in with all that he was taking. He sat and watched her move from bureau to suitcase to closet and back. He replied with simple nods to her questions about ties and socks, and so forth, his heart too full to permit passage to many words.

He watched each movement with eyes bound to no memory, as if he were viewing her for the first time. He wanted to take this moment intact, colored by nothing which had come before. So he watched her and sought to brand his mind with the vision. The motions of his wife's lithe body. Soft, delicate hands that were never still. Violet-gray eyes so full of his pending departure they could not even look his way and continue with the packing. Hair tousled by the gentlest of motions and the faintest of breezes. A heart that filled the room with love.

As she folded one of his suits, she said, “When I was little, I thought wearing a suit made men fat. My daddy never put one on, and he was the strongest man I knew. I never could understand why any man would wear one.”

He pointed at the neck brace resting beside his case. “What is that for?”

“It's for your neck,” she said firmly.

“My neck is fine.”

She settled it down on top of the clothing in the case. “What if it starts hurting you?”

“My neck is fine, Katya.”

Reluctantly she set it aside. “Promise me you'll take care of yourself.”

“I promise.” Jeffrey swallowed with difficulty. “This is really hard, Katya.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You'll miss being with me for our two-week anniversary.”

“I wish—”

“We must learn to be together even when we are apart. Remember, what's most important remains the same.” She walked around the bed to settle in his lap. “We have our love,” she said softly. “We have our Lord. We have a life together. In the light of these joys, the momentary fades to nothingness.”

They paused for a lingering kiss. Then, “Promise me you won't do anything silly while you're away from me. You know, like three-day drinking contests to prove who's the most macho of them all.”

He looked down upon the top of her head. “There's no chance of that, and you know it.”

“While we're at it,” she snuggled in close to his neck. “Give me your word you'll never, ever start thinking you've got to have a megabuck bank account to be happy.”