The Lion in Russia (2 page)

Lelia winced and made a moué of distaste.
“Another charming American idiom.”

Vries grinned in response. “Sorry about that,
but I still don’t get what all this is about.”

“Yes, I understand, but you do know him. It
was important that the operative who received this assignment had a
connection.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s not likely to let anyone new into
his inner circle right now. He knows he’s in danger, and has taken
on an impressive contingent of bodyguards.”

Okay, so he wasn’t totally crazy. “Then why
does he need me?”

“The State Department doesn’t trust them.
They’re convinced that Putilin has every intention of having him
killed before the trial.”

Vries pressed the heels of her hands against
her eyes. For once not caring that she was smudging her
meticulously applied makeup. The fact that nobody ever died from
jet lag was at the moment a mixed blessing. In her cover job as a
model she traveled far too much for her liking. Even worse, she had
to fly fairly frequently for her assignments as well. Right now she
was far too exhausted to be dealing with this.

Vries tried again. “Okay, maybe I’m slow
because I’m still on Milan time. But that still doesn’t explain why
he needs me.”

“He doesn’t. Or at least he doesn’t think he
does. He’s flatly refused any and all assistance State has
offered--”

“And that’s another thing, why does State
care what goes down with a criminal trial in Russia?”

“That’s a good question. They haven’t told me
anything, of course, but I do have some theories if you care to
hear them.”

“Oh do tell. But first do you have any
coffee? And by coffee I mean something other than that Arabic tar
you drink.”

Lelia laughed as she rose from her desk. “You
wimpy Americans don’t know what you’re missing.” She left the room
and Vries closed her eyes again only this time dozing off was
impossible. All she could see was Leo’s charming grin and the way
it transformed the harsh planes of his face. Why in the name of all
hell had he gotten involved in this mess? Corruption was as Russian
as borscht and vodka and unlikely to end anytime soon. The only
thing Leo was going to accomplish was to get himself killed. Lelia
returned after a brief absence carrying a serving tray with coffee
and cream. After setting the tray on the credenza, which was
perpendicular to her desk, she poured Vries a cup, leaving it black
as Vries preferred and handing it to her. Vries took a long sip of
the excellent brew as Lelia poured a cup for herself before
returning to her desk.

“You look tired, Vries,” Lelia said in a
concerned tone.

Vries frowned at the change of subject. “It’s
been a tough year. Fashion Week was brutal. And I’ve had more
assignments than usual.”

Lelia nodded. “Yes, and I’m so sorry for
that. I know you’d looked forward to taking your usual winter
holiday. Have you thought about what you plan to do when you can no
longer go in the field?”

“Oh for the love of Pete. You’re trying to
retire me too?”

“No, of course not. You’re my best, that’s
why you’ve got this assignment, but I’m finding that I need someone
in Europe. A manager there.”

“Business is that good?”

“The world is becoming more dangerous by the
day, unfortunately. Do you think this is something you’d be
interested in?”

Vries shrugged. She’d been doing this type of
work for a decade and at the very least it was probably time to at
least think about coming in from the cold. “I’ll let you know, it’s
not something I’ve given a great deal of thought to. I’ve mainly
focused on winding down my modeling career.”

“Fair enough, just know the job is yours if
you want it. Now back to your current assignment.” Lelia leaned
forward as she explained the intricacies of the situation. “I
suspect your State Department sees this as an opportunity to get
rid of Putilin,” she said.

“Well, that goes without saying, but I don’t
see how they think this would do it. Putilin has done considerably
worse things. The man literally has blood on his hands. Everybody
already knows he’s corrupt
and
homicidal. Besides, he’s not
even on trial here.”

“Yes, but even the fact that there
is
a trial might be indicative of a crack in the strong arm,” Lelia
said.

“I don’t believe it. If there appears to be a
crack there it’s only because it serves his purposes for it to look
that way,” Vries said.

Lelia stared at her over her cup of coffee.
After a long moment, she slowly lowered the cup and placed it on
her desk. “It would appear that the president made quite an
impression on you.”

“The man makes an impression on everybody.
Mark my words, Putilin will let go of Russia when they remove it
from his cold dead hands.”

Lelia nodded. “Most assuredly,” she said
staring directly into Vries’s eyes.

Vries immediately straightened in her chair
in response to the sudden chill racing down her spine. “You don’t
plan for me to...”

“Assassinate the Russian president? Of course
not,” Lelia said. And somehow Vries knew that while her handler
spoke the literal truth, at some point the possibility of
assassination had at least been discussed. She listened as Lelia
continued. “We don’t send our operatives on suicide missions.” That
sad look crossed Lelia’s face again. Vries could’ve kicked herself.
Only jet lag would cause her to step in it so many times. She’d
forgotten that Lelia had lost several subordinates through the
megalomaniacal political machinations of her previous boss, the
former dictator of Laritrea. “How closely do you follow Russian
politics?”

“About as closely as anyone with a
multi-million dollar contract with a Russian design house.”

“Azhikelyamov has been on a campaign for
several years now to reform the Russian economy and
government.”

“Campaign?” Vries said as she took a sip of
the bracing coffee, hoping it would wake her up, though she feared
she’d have to drink the brew by the liter to make a dent in her
current exhaustion.

“Yes, he’s been traveling around the country,
around the world really, making speeches and presentations. He
really wants to change things.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Yes, but everybody isn’t the richest man in
the country. He’s also very popular. People tend to listen to him,
and Putilin is scared to death that he plans to be president,”
Lelia said.

Vries took another sip of coffee as the
ramifications sank in. “For the love of God. Surely Leo is not that
stupid. What on earth is he thinking?”

“I guess he has a problem with corruption and
the mafia running his country.”

“Yeah, and so do a few hundred other men.
Dead men,” Vries said with emphasis.

“Anyway, we need someone who can guard him
without his knowledge.”

“What? How am I supposed to pull that
off?”

“You’re quite skilled at that type of thing
Vries, and you already know the man,” Lelia said.

“What type of thing? Prostitution? You expect
me to sleep with him--” Vries said.

“Of course not! How could you even suggest
it? You know I--”

“You’re right Lelia, I’m sorry.”

“No. I mean you can probably flirt with him a
bit. Draw the situation out. Go on some dates with him. It won’t be
for long. The trial is due to begin in a few weeks. Though it might
be postponed,” Lelia said.

Vries took another long sip of coffee. “So,
you want me to protect this man from both the Russian president
and
mob and to do that without him somehow figuring it
out.”

Lelia steepled her hands, her dark gaze never
leaving Vries’s face. “That’s pretty much it, in what do you
Americans say? In a nutshell.”

Vries lay her back on the chair. “Sure.
Should be a piece of cake.”

Chapter Two

Vries took a delicate sip of her espresso,
though she really wanted to chug it like a sorority girl at a
kegger. Her sleep deprivation was now chronic. The strong coffee
caressed her tongue with the intimacy of a longtime lover. It was
so good to be back home in Milan. She looked around Piazzo del
Duomo, where she was seated at a café with her tiny cup. For once
the place was not crowded, which given the early hour was not
surprising. The spires of the cathedral pierced the early morning
haze and she looked up enjoying the atmosphere in the huge square.
She looked at her sleek gold watch again, hardly believing that she
was up and about at eight in the morning. She’d been in Milan for
nearly twenty years now. Despite her Georgia roots no other place
felt like home, and she’d had no trouble adjusting to the hours
Italians kept. This was
obscenely
early. It was nice though
to have the caffè to herself. Within another hour the place would
be swarming with tourists. Much as she loved Milan she usually
avoided the tourist attractions as much as possible. Suddenly a
frisson
of awareness made the hairs on the back of her neck
stand at attention. She raised her cup again, as she casually
scoped out her location. She quickly dismissed the few tourists in
the vicinity, but she didn’t see anyone obviously staring at her,
which in itself was almost unheard of in Milan. Typically the
fairly aggressive Italian men would at least look. Though they were
far less overt than when she first came to the city, nothing would
ever stop them from looking. Thank God.

She’d deliberately chosen this particular
caffè, as she did pretty much any place she went, for ease of
defense. There was a brick wall at her back, and nearly a
360-degree unobstructed view of the surrounding area. She rose to
her feet with a nonchalance she definitely didn’t feel and moved
until her back was against the brick exterior wall of the building.
She continued to look around, occasionally glancing at her watch as
though impatient for the arrival of a friend. Her right hand
automatically went to the handgun she kept in her oversized
handbag.

The dry chuckle from her right was
immediately familiar and she took a deep breath as a tall
dreadlocked man took a seat at her table. He steepled his hands
then looked at her over them.

“Well, I do believe you’ve still got it,
girl.”

“Damn you Deringer, why the hell did you
sneak up on me like that? The last idiot who did that left a widow
with two kids,” Vries said as she slipped back into her chair.

Deringer shrugged. “I should think that is
obvious. I wanted to see if you still had it. After all, you’ve
called me to your lovely city. And as much as you love me, I doubt
you’d call me in unless you needed help. That being the case, I
needed to know how good you are. After all, you’ve been gone from
the Department for a while now. You might have gone soft.”

Vries sighed. She’d done the same thing
herself on the rare occasions when she’d been required to work with
another operative. She watched as Deringer ordered a sparkling
water from the hovering waitress.

“Fair enough. So how good am I?”

“I suspect you could still slide a knife
between a man’s ribs so smoothly you’d be off to have a mani/pedi
before he even knew he was dead.”

Vries smiled, then laughed out loud. Deringer
rarely said much, but when he did it was often quite hilarious.
“Yeah, you’re right. I do need your help.”

Deringer took the glass of water from the
waitress, then gave her his full attention.

“It’s Leo Azhikelyamov,” she said.

Deringer pursed his lips, then gave a slow,
soft whistle. “Good luck managing that big motherfucker. Don’t you
work for his wife? I should think that would be awkward to say the
least.”

“Ex-wife,” she said automatically. “I’m not
planning to manage him,” she said with a smirk at Deringer’s use of
the Department’s euphemism for killing.

“Then what have you got in mind? Presumably
you don’t need my help to sleep with him which is what he has in
mind,” he said.

Vries gave an exasperated huff. Did everybody
on the planet know her business? “I need to protect him.”

“Why? Last time I saw the dude he had a big
enough entourage to be a rapper.”

Vries gave him a pointed look.

“Okay, so yeah, they’re more likely to shoot
each other than apprehend an assassin. What do you need me to
do?”

Despite her exhaustion Vries began reciting
the particulars of the case in rapid-fire fashion. Researching
Azhikelyamov’s particulars had been easy. Too easy. As she went
over the dimensions of his various houses, she watched as
Deringer’s brows slowly rose in astonishment. “His electronic
security is state-of-the-art. You know what that means.”

“Yeah, it’s absolute crap. You were able to
get this information?” he said.

“It was easy.”

“Shit.”

“That’s what I thought too,” she said.

“If you could get it, we’re fucked,” he said
after taking a long drag from his glass of water.

“Hey, my hacking skills aren’t that bad,”
Vries said.

“You’re not half-bad, but a man of his
stature should be inaccessible to any but the absolute best.”

“You mean, you?”

“Of course, I mean me,” he said with a
smirk.

Vries sighed again, even though she knew
Deringer was right, it was still frustrating. “I need you to
provide him with top-notch electronic security, here at his house
in Milan and in Moscow. And Deringer,” she broke off, really not
wanting to tell him this.

“Yes?”

“He can’t know about it.”

Deringer opened him mouth as though to speak.
Then closed it. After a brief hesitation he opened and shut it
again, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and
forefinger. “You expect me to provide electronic security to old
boy without him knowing about it?”

“Yes.”

“Do I want to know why?”