Last Snow by Eric Van Lustbader Page A

By this time Annika was on her second call and Jack had come to the glum conclusion that for the moment he was alone in hostile territory with the First Daughter and a Russian Security Service agent he scarcely knew, and both FSB assassins and
grupperovka
liable to play Whac-A-Mole with them if their faces popped up in the wrong place.
     
    T HE MAN who came on board with a slim-hipped swagger provided by his position was named Igor Kissin. He was not, as Jack had expected, Annika’s contact, but the contact’s emissary, a younger facsimile,who was authorized to take Jack’s money for the service Annika had been promised.
    He glanced at Alli, and for a split instant Jack was terrified he had recognized her from photos in the press directly following the inauguration but then his lidded eyes moved on, tracking past Jack, who he didn’t look directly at, not even when he accepted payment. His burning black eyes were only for Annika, who he appeared to devour with his gaze. His high cheekbones and vaguely almond eyes hinted of his Asian ancestry. His skin was dark, glossy as satin, his mouth and jaw cruel and barbarous. Jack had no difficulty imagining him as a Cossack, bearing down on fleeing peasants as he set fire to their crops and houses.
    “We should go now,” Annika said, after the money had changed hands.
    Alli was slipping into her coat when Igor said, “Wait.” He had a deep, abrasive voice that rumbled through the cabin like mountain thunder.
    They all turned to look at him.
    “There are still matters to be resolved.”
    “What matters?” Jack said.
    Igor was still staring at Annika, and when he spoke it was clear he was addressing her: “Administrative matters.”
    “Dmitri and I have an understanding,” Annika said calmly but firmly. “The transaction has been consummated.”
    “With him,” Igor said, “not with me.”
    “I’m not giving you more money.” Jack would have said more but Annika’s raised hand stopped him.
    “It isn’t money Igor wants,” she said. “Is it?”
    Igor continued his obscene scrutiny of her. “There is the matter of consummation.”
    Taking a step between them, Jack said, “I won’t allow—”
    “Stop it!” Annika was looking at him. “Stop it now!” Her voice, though very soft, had about it the unmistakable steel of command.
    “Annika—”
    She smiled ruefully and, on her way past him, placed her hand briefly against the side of his face, so that he felt burned or marked in some mysterious way. “You’re really quite sweet.” When she took Igor’s hand she was still looking at Jack. “Stay here now, yes? Stay here with the girl. When we return, all will be well.”
    Then she led Igor back down the aisle to the rear of the aircraft, where they vanished into the restroom.
    Alli came up beside him. She looked disheveled, smaller than usual, as if her unhappiness had altered her, or had diminished her presence. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and dark circles had already risen like bruised half-moons beneath them. She glanced up at him. “Jack, you’re not actually going to let her bang this sleaze-bucket.”
    “This is Russia; I can’t interfere.”
    “Jesus,” Alli said, “do you believe this psycho-bitch?”

S EVEN
     
     
     
     
    T HEIR FIRST view of Kiev in the flickering gold-and-blue dawn light was of wide boulevards, vast circular plazas, monumental buildings guarded by Doric columns or crowned with blue and green cupolas. Golden domes, burning in the first rays of dawn, rose above the rest of this city that straddled the banks of the wide, periwinkle blue Dnieper River. The streetlights were still on. A tepid rain had recently ceased falling, the cobbles of the streets sleek and shining as snakeskin.
    Their taxi from the airport dropped them at the Metrograd shopping complex in Bessarabskaya Square, where Annika directed them toward the modern facade of a branch of a restaurant chain. On the way into the city, Annika had assured