Conspiracy In Kiev Part 20

He nodded and laughed again. "What would your boyfriend say if he could see you right now?"

"Robert would be jealous," she said.

"What if he could see you in that dress?" Federov asked. "Showing all those lovely legs to every man in the club."

"He will see me in this dress. I'm going to wear it for him."

"Will you tell him you were here with me?"

"Probably."

"Let me kiss you anyway," he said.

"Not a good idea."

"What if I try?"

"Then I get up and leave, Yuri. Don't do it."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a New York Rangers jersey hanging behind the bar, and she recalled what the owner had said about a brother playing ice hockey in North America. Then there was a pause. Mercifully, more food came and Natalka poured more booze. Alex sensed a little easing down of the pa.s.sions on Yuri's part.

He thanked Natalka with a pat on her backside. Alex could barely believe what Eastern European women had to tolerate.

Yuri started a cigarette and maintained a stony silence. Music started again and Yvonne-Marie stood in the wings, which Alex could see from where she sat, waiting to come on again. The music was obviously important because it allowed Yuri to talk without anyone overhearing, not even Sergei and Annette who were preoccupied with each other.

Alex was reflexively fingering the little gold cross around her neck. Could her dad ever have imagined that the little cross would trek all the way to Kiev from Southern California? What would he have thought if he could have known?

Federov caught the gesture. "You're a Catholic?" he asked in English.

"I'm a Christian, yes," she said. "But I'm not a Catholic."

"You seem intelligent," he said. "How can you believe all that superst.i.tious religious stuff?"

She moved her hand away from the cross.

"Maybe I have faith because I am intelligent," she said. "Ever thought of that?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then maybe you should," she answered. "There's a Christian remembrance service at the cathedral in two days. For the victims of the Holodomor. Come with me."

"Why should I?"

"It might do you some good."

"Business isn't done in Ukraine without bribes," he said. "Bribe me to go to church with you."

"Bribe you how?

He shrugged. "With a kiss," he said.

She laughed. "You never give up, do you?" she said.

Federov gave some thought to something, it appeared. A full minute pa.s.sed.

Then he spoke Russian again, like most of the crowd in the restaurant. She listened carefully.

"I'm going to do you a favor, anyway," he said finally. "I was going to do it later. After you had given me some pleasure. Instead, I'll do it now. I will give you two pieces of information. In return, perhaps you can be my honest broker on US taxes. If I have a problem, I will contact you for advice."

"I can't give you advice. I can only tell you what the law is."

"Understood," he said. And for the first time, it occurred to her that he wanted something. Or perhaps he even needed something.

"So what's this information?" she asked.

"When your president visits, there will be major trouble," he said.

"We've heard those rumors already."

"No," he said. "It is a.s.sured."

"Then what can we do to stop it?"

"Nothing," he said. "Terrible things have always happened in Ukraine. There is little control. There is a group of young men. Complete troublemakers. Terrorists. The pro-Russian Ukrainians, the filorusski. They will make trouble."

"Where can we find them?"

"I don't know. They are not my people or I would have them shot. I don't look for trouble from America. I seek to avoid it."

She considered it. "What's the other bit of information?" she asked.

"The two spies," he said. "The Americans named Peter Glick and Edythe Osuna?"

"I told you I don't know those names."

But he forged ahead. "Castel Fusano," he said.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That's where they are buried," he said, "in Italy. They tried to kill me, these two American hoodlum a.s.sa.s.sins. They failed and they were going to try again. So I had them killed first. My people in Rome took care of it."

In a flash, she knew he was telling her something significant.

Annette and Sergei were still pawing each other. Federov looked away, as casually as if it had just given a football score. He had nothing else to volunteer on the subject, and she had nothing else to ask. Then he looked back at her and smiled. His eyes danced. And in that moment, in that good hard look that she had of his eyes, she knew something else.

He had been the man in the square the first night, the one who quietly moved up on her at the monument. She was nonplussed.

"That's all I have to tell you, my friend. Other than the fact that by the time you return to America, you will know I have done you a great favor."

She looked away for a moment. Federov grabbed the opportunity. He reached to her and turned her face toward him. Too much vodka.

She didn't resist fast enough. He leaned over and, as he held her jaw gently with his strong hand, he gave her a long kiss on the lips.

She was so shocked, that for several seconds she didn't react.

Federov smiled. "See what happens when you drop your guard?" he asked. "Let that be a lesson."

She gathered her bearings. "I think," she said, "the evening is over."

"You gave me a kiss," he said. "Now I have to go to the church with you."

"That's fine," she said. "But for now, get me out of here."

"As you wish, Alexandra LaDuca," Federov said. "As you wish." And for the second time within a minute, she was too stunned to react. There was no way he should have known her real name. No way! Federov, meanwhile, signaled for his driver.

FORTY.

Early the next morning, Alex reported to the CIA station chief at the emba.s.sy and reported on her conversation with Federov the previous night, particularly pertaining to his discussion of a threat against the president.

The station chief listened politely, asked her a few questions, and made some handwritten notes.

"These stories are all over the city," he finally said. "We're doing everything we can, but at this point, the White House won't alter any part of the visit. There's nothing we can do except ramp up the security as tightly as possible."

"Isn't the White House being a bit foolish?" Alex asked.

"What else is new?" the station chief answered. "We'll let the president have the right photo-ops and get in and out of here as fast as possible."

"I just wanted to report what I'd heard," Alex said.

"That was the right thing to do. Thanks."

Air Force One arrived in Kiev from London at three eleven that same afternoon, the fifteenth. The trailing plane that carried the rest of the entourage including the "traveling press" arrived nineteen minutes later.

The American president was received at the airport by the president of Ukraine. There were plenty of smiles for the cameras. Ukrainian troops and police had secured the airport. The US Secret Service provided the inner ring of protection around the president.

A twenty-two vehicle motorcade took the president of the United States into Kiev. Thousands of onlookers lined the streets in subfreezing weather, some waving flags, some holding signs, most applauding with enthusiasm as snow flurries continued. The presidential limousine, which had been flown in two days earlier, moved at speeds close to fifty miles an hour. The route all the way to the hotel was cleared of other traffic.

Within an hour of arrival, the president was ensconced at the most secure hotel in the city, the Sebastopol. It was a time to relax in the suite with the White House advisers. The Secret Service advance team coordinated their protective details with the White House units that had arrived with the president.

Everything went smoothly in the first hours of the presidential visit. Not one detail had verged from the detailed prearranged plan. Yet rumors of potential trouble continued to sweep the frigid city.

Later that same day, Alex stood in the center of Mikhaeylevski Place and waited. Then, toward 6:15 in the evening, she saw two figures emerge from the heavily guarded Sebastopol Hotel.

She recognized Robert by his walk. She didn't know the other man with him, but she a.s.sumed he was Secret Service as well. On their breaks in foreign countries, the agents were never to be alone.

Robert waved to her. She walked toward him and they embraced.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Okay," she said.

"How's the Commie gangster you're babysitting?" he asked. "Has he tried to hit on you yet?" he went on, trying to make a joke out of a trace of jealousy. "Let me know if I need to come over and shoot him."

"I've got him under control," she said, "but I don't know what State or Treasury thinks I can find out in two days that they don't know already."

"Who knows what they're up to?" he said with a shrug. "Half the time they don't know what they're doing. So how should we know? I'll be happy when we're out of this place."

"That makes two of us," she said.

"Make it three," said the other man said.

Robert introduced his friend, Agent Reynolds Martin, who was partnering on this trip. Martin was the southerner who had recently been added to the Presidential Protection Detail at the White House. He was also the ballistics expert who had come along as part of the foreign security detail.

"My fiancee," Robert said of Alex. " 'Anna' we call her here, if you know what I mean. Next time you see her, she'll have another name."

"I know how the game works," Martin said, nodding. "They call me 'Jimmy Neutron' behind my back because they think I'm obnoxious. I'm not supposed to know."

They all laughed.

Robert placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Reynolds-I mean, Jimmy-is working out pretty well on the trip, after all," Robert said.

Martin laughed again.

"This guy keeps me calm," Special Agent Martin said, thrusting a thumb at Robert. "You caught yourself a good man."

Alex smiled. "Thank you. I know," she said.

"Anna is working for Commerce here. Or is it Treasury. Or is it State?" Robert said. "She's my future wife and even I can't keep the facts straight, much less the cover stories."

"Get used to it, brother," Martin said.

"Robert even got me the first half of a handcuff," she said, holding up the Tiffany bracelet.

"It's nice," Martin said. "And what you guys do with handcuffs on your own time is none of my business."

"The cuffs will match the ball and chain Robert gets," she said.

"Hey, speaking of families, let me show you something," Martin said. He reached into his pocket. "I just got this at the hotel souvenir stand," he said.

He pulled out, in brown wrapping paper, a set of nesting dolls. He showed how it worked. The outer doll was shaped like a small bowling pin with a painting of a smiling blond woman on it. Martin unscrewed the top part and showed an identical but smaller doll inside. And so it went until he got to a two-inch-tall figure of the same design which was solid and didn't unscrew.