at his watch. “In the meantime, you have a plane to catch. I want you in place in Seattle well before the operations begin. You are to personally oversee every phase of it.”
“Of course, Comrade Colonel.” Kovlun jumped to his feet, nodded at Satyev in respect and then headed for the patio doors.
“And, Kovlun?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t forget to take care of that little problem we discussed. Rostov and Cherenko can never testify. Never. Do whatever you have to, but make sure those two are dead before the sun sets.”
“Consider it done, sir,” Kovlun replied.
WHEN KISA NARYSHKIN MET Leonid Rostov, she never expected he would be part of the Sevooborot; she definitely never expected to fall in love with him.
In some ways, their relationship had been doomed from the beginning. When she first discovered he was a member of one of the most violent youth gangs in all of Russia, she felt betrayed and incensed that he could deceive her about his business dealings. She remembered the encounter that night in her parents’ home where she was house-sitting while they were away on vacation. She recalled how they argued, how she screamed “I hate you” over and over again, and demanded that he decide between her or his murderous cohorts. That was when he’d broken down and professed his love for her, and they sat in the middle of the living-room floor, crying and holding each other. That was the same night they made love for the first time, when she had fully and completely given herself to him.
And that was the night she agreed to help him get out.
“But only if you help Sergei, too.”
Naryshkin’s contacts in the Russian government had proved the saving grace for her love and his friend. It hadn’t taken much to convince certain people that Rostov had information of considerable value to the United States. A whisper in the ears of a few select people working at the municipal records building. Someone had to have told the right people because less than a week passed before Naryshkin received a plain, unmarked envelope on her desk. Inside were instructions for the meeting.
She arrived two minutes early at the gift shop of a massive building, a new construction at the edge of Alexander Park, known as the Palace of the People. A work of the St. Petersburg Committee of Temperance, the building included an opera house and massive dining area, and the gift shop stuffed with souvenirs and trinkets of every kind acted as a type of guardian near the entrance. The back of that shop served as the meeting place.
The man who met with Kisa Naryshkin didn’t offer his name or agency, and she decided it better not to ask about such things, but when the conversation got under way she had no doubts this man could help her beloved Leo.
“I’ve been led to understand,” said the distinguished-looking man with gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair and a British accent, “that you know a man who holds a high-ranking position inside the SMJ.”
Naryshkin nodded, the stray dark hairs of her head dancing in the golden morning rays that shone through the skylight. “It is my boyfriend, actually, Leonid Rostov. He is a member of the Sevooborot. I do not know his ranking inside of it. And his friend,” she added quickly as an afterthought. “The deal is for his friend, as well. Sergei Cherenko.”
The man smiled not unpleasantly. “You must understand, Miss Naryshkin, that there isn’t necessarily any deal on the table right now. My friends must be able to verify the validity of the information before the benefactors in question would be willing to make any arrangements.”
“Leo said you might say that,” she replied, just as she’d rehearsed with him two days earlier. She reached into her small handbag and removed a thick envelope, which she slid across the table at the man. “That contains the dates and details of certain crimes committed by the Sevooborot but never solved by local police or Interpol. These are details never released. There are also the names of the perpetrators, where they can be found and the location of evidence that should be sufficient to prosecute them.”
The man didn’t make a move for the envelope, something that surprised her. She had never practiced that part with Leo, and she wasn’t sure how to respond if the conversation took a turn in a direction that wasn’t part of the script.
For a long time, the man said nothing. He just looked at her and smiled. Finally he said, “I’m sure there’s some validity to the contents of this envelope.”
“There is, I can assure, sir. Check it out.”
“Oh, you can be sure we’ll validate the information. You have no need to worry about that. But to arrange for the safe passage of these two young men out of Russia without the SMJ finding out about it will be much more complex. You see, Miss Naryshkin, the SMJ has a growing number of connections and supporters within St. Petersburg. That support has extended to places like Moscow and Vladivostok.”
“Why should good and influential people wish to support a gang of hoodlums like the Sevooborot?”
“It would take me too long to explain the politics of your question,” the man replied. “And this is neither the time nor place for such a discussion.”
“You think me too naive or meager of intellect to understand it,” Naryshkin replied with a haughty raise of her chin.
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I could see it in your expression and condescending manner.” She tapped a long fingernail on the table and let a moment of silence lapse before asking, “Do you know who my father is, sir?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know I am an educated woman,” she replied. “And you must also know that I have quite a number of influences inside the Russian government.”
“I never said I doubted you, madam,” the man replied. He sat back in his chair, folded his arms and crossed his legs. “I’m simply trying to avoid any measure of antagonism by entertaining a conversation that can undoubtedly end in nothing but an argument, one that should serve no purpose as it pertains to Rostov and Cherenko.”
“So there’s something about all of this you don’t wish to tell me,” Naryshkin concluded.
The smile again. “That would be correct.”
That’s how it began and everything seemed to move at a blinding pace after that. Within a few days she received a second envelope, this one in her mail slot, with another envelope inside of it stamped with the letters “LR” in block letters. When Naryshkin delivered it to Leo and asked him about its contents, he declined to talk to her further about it. She could understand his concern, his desire to protect her, and at the time she’d had the meeting with a man she assumed to be some type of British agent, she hadn’t even considered what would become of them if Leo left the country.
“I don’t know yet,” he told her. “But I promise you that I will find a way for us to be together. No matter how long it takes me. I promise you. I love you.”
More than a month had passed since their last meeting and she had neither heard from nor seen him. For all she knew, he’d already left the country along with the Cherenko. One of her closest girlfriends, Sonya Vdovin, happened to be part of the Sevooborot scene, partying at a lot of the same clubs as its members. But Naryshkin had decided not to publicly condemn her friend, rather
