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After striding into the salon and charming his way into an immediate appointment, Talanov and Sofia spent the next two hours with an ebullient stylist named Ramon, who fussed and fluffed over Sofia while cutting her long black hair in a trendy new wedge. A blue streak was then added to one of the wispy tails that hung to the side. When finished, Ramon crouched behind Sofia while she sat in the chair, his face snuggled next to hers while they looked in the mirror.
“Darling, you do look stunning,” he gushed in Spanish.
“I feel . . . naked,” she replied, remembering hair that once hung nearly to her waist.
“I’m glad we banished that bun,” remarked Talanov. “Your face had to hurt it was pulled so tight.”
A reproving scowl was Sofia’s reply.
Talanov tossed down his magazine and stood. “Ramon is right: you do look stunning.”
“I wish I could believe you,” she replied.
“You will by the end of the day.”
Talanov paid the bill while Ramon made some final touches before whipping off the cape and offering Sofia his hand. When she stood, she was nearly a foot taller than the slender Ramon, who stood back to admire his work. Throughout the salon, the conversation fell noticeably quiet.
Sofia looked around and saw rows of women staring at her from beneath the plastic hoods of large hairdryers mounted on swivel-arms. Others were sitting in chairs. Feeling self-conscious, Sofia withdrew slightly, shrinking back.
“Thank you, Ramon, brilliant work,” Talanov said, slipping Ramon some extra cash before taking Sofia by the hand and leading her out the front door.
“I feel like a freak,” she said, glancing in through the window at the women still watching. “Look at them in there, staring. And this new haircut makes them stare even more.”
“We stare at beauty. It’s just how people are. Especially spectacular beauty.”
“I’m not sure I like the attention.”
“I guess I could give you some spiel about embracing the beautiful woman within, but the fact is, you need to quit worrying about what people think. You’re tall. Use it. You’re stunning. Use it. If we don’t learn to kick some serious ass, as the Americans love to say, somebody’s going to kick ours.”
With a sigh, Sofia nodded.
Wrapping an arm around Sofia’s shoulder, Talanov angled his face near her ear. “Just to let you know,” he whispered, “we’re being watched by the same two cars of agents we left at the airport. They obviously put out a description about this gorgeous minx in a black Ferrari and figured out where we were.”
With a smile, Sofia hooked her arms around Talanov’s neck and whispered in his ear, “Did you just call me a minx?”
Talanov laughed and led Sofia into the department store next door, where he again introduced himself and told the sales staff how Ms. Dubinina and he were international travelers from the Soviet Union and that Ms. Dubinina was in need of a new wardrobe.
The manager was delighted to be of personal service and ordered his staff to immediately bring selections of whatever Colonel Talanov and Ms. Dubinina wished to see. He then ushered Talanov to a comfortable chair and ordered Champagne to be served.
After listening to Talanov’s planned itinerary of casinos, restaurants and nightclubs, a staff of two young assistants selected dozens of outfits for Sofia to try on, which she did for the next three hours. They could have finished in an hour but decided to stretch it out for the benefit of the agents across the street.
Talanov made a point of occasionally strolling to the window with his Champagne while Sofia paraded in front of the angled mirrors, turning, craning, posing and evaluating while the assistants zipped and buttoned her into a steady supply of mini and micro party dresses of neon, geometric, striped, polka-dotted and plain fabrics. She tried on dresses that were padded, sequined, tasseled and feathered, as well as skirts of vinyl and spandex. Then came the tights and jeans, with sandals and shoes to match, including a variety of stiletto heels.
When there was a break, Sofia sat on Talanov’s lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and again whispered in his ear, “Just how do you plan on paying for this?” She kissed him on his cheek, leaned back and smiled brightly.
“Oh ye of little faith.”
Sofia chuckled and leaned close again. “I think they prefer hard currency.” Another kiss on the cheek.
Talanov returned the kiss, then nodded toward a sales clerk approaching them with a selection of bikinis and lingerie. “Duty calls,” he said, “and I really do think you should model them for me. I’m a highly trained professional with special skills, and I would hate to see you put one of those strings on backwards. Something like that can have serious consequences.”
“Perhaps you should demonstrate how one is worn?”
Talanov removed his sunglasses and gave them a quick wipe with the bottom of his tank top. Showcased by the straps of his shirt, his shoulders were lean and tanned. “I would, of course,” he said, “but people want Barbie, not Ken.”
“Says who?”
“Ken’s an accessory, an after-thought,” answered Talanov. “Stick him in a tuxedo or a chicken suit, no one cares. It’s Barbie that people want.” He smiled and slipped on his glasses. “And it’s Barbie they’re going to get.”
Eleven thousand dollars later, using cash from the aluminum briefcase, which Talanov counted out in hundreds to the dumbfounded manager, Talanov and Sofia stowed their purchases in the Ferrari’s storage compartment. Talanov then slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine.
“Do I want to know where you got all that cash?” Sofia asked, slipping on her sunglasses.
“Casino de Barcelona,” Talanov replied.
“How much of that was Kravenko’s?”
“I spent his budget the first night on drinks.”
“And the rest you won? Come on!”
“I got lucky.”
“No one is that lucky.”
“Apparently, some of us are.”
In less than an hour, with two cars of agents in tow, they were heading southwest through vast stretches of orange groves toward Valencia.
Sofia slept most of the three hours it took to get to Valencia, where they checked into a resort that was built near one of the widest stretches of beach Talanov had ever seen. The beach was as level as a sports field and Talanov imagined himself driving a dune buggy and turning donuts, kicking up plumes of sand.
Their room was on the fourth and top floor of what looked like a fancy dormitory with arches and columns and palm trees around a tiled pool. Each of the rooms had its own balcony and faced the water. Talanov opened the sliding door leading out onto the balcony and allowed the afternoon sea breeze to freshen the room.
After changing into one of her new outfits, Sofia accompanied Talanov out onto the balcony, where she closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sun. Talanov scanned the horizon. In the haze to the left was a range of hills that met the water. To the right was the Port of Valencia, where he could see numerous tower cranes and freighters. The masts of sailboats in a marina stood like a cluster of needles.
“Having a good time?” he asked.
Sofia did not reply.
Talanov turned to face her.
Sofia finally opened her eyes. “I want to believe you,” she said. “I want to believe this fantastic and utterly frightening fairytale is actually true. That we can shop and party and dance until dawn and Moscow will not take notice.”
With an understanding smile, Talanov rested his elbows on the balustrade and looked out to sea. “I wasn’t always a colonel,” he said, the light wind blowing his hair. “I had to earn it. And you want to know how I did it? By doing what others were unwilling to do. By taking risks others were afraid to take. Sure, you learn to follow orders and do what you’re told. Everybody learns that. But if you want to climb out of the pack and earn your place at the head of the table, you need to be creative, and you need to choose when to act and how to act and choose those moments carefully. This is one of those moments.”
“But how do you know this is going to work?” Sofia asked just as a freighter bellowed in the distance. “How do you know this magician’s act of yours will fool the Americans? How do you know we are not making a huge mistake? Please don’t give me the rat speech again.”
When Talanov laughed, she linked her arm through his.
“It’s a collage,” answered Talanov. “Information I’ve gleaned, deductions I’ve made, facts, intuitions, what I saw and even what I didn’t see. Plus instinct, of course, and experience. In other words, I can’t give you a clear-cut answer. But just so you know, I’m not asking you to follow me anyplace I’m not willing to go myself.”
“You gave me the rat speech again,” she said, giving him a token slap on the arm.
Talanov grinned.
“Then tell me how you figured out Spain is where Gorev plans to defect.”
“Another collage,” explained Talanov.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning it’s another collage. Nothing that’s really clear-cut.”
“I get the feeling you are avoiding my question.”
“It’s not that . . .” he began, then seeing Sofia’s dubious scowl. “Okay, I’m avoiding your question.”
“Why?”
“Because the more you’re concerned about Gorev – is he really coming to Spain, will he get here on time, will he pull a switch at the last minute – the more distracted and worried you’ll be. Which means the less convincing you’ll be in your role as my lover. And I need you to play that part to perfection. That’s why I keep logistical matters like this to myself.”
“If we were a squadron or a platoon, I could understand. We are not. There is only you and me.”
“I can’t keep having to defend every decision I make. That’s not how I work.”
“In other words, you don’t trust me.” Unlinking her arm, she stepped back.
“Come on, Sofia. Don’t make this more than it is.”
“You don’t trust me. How am I supposed to not make this more than it is?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t trust you.”
“You didn’t not say it, either.”
Talanov laughed. “So you’re angry, not because I said something – which I didn’t – but because I specifically didn’t not say it?”
“You are twisting this around to make me look foolish.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Then I apologize. I did laugh – I’ll admit that – but it wasn’t because I was trying to make you look foolish for not saying something you wish I would have not said, but didn’t. Or something like that.”
“You are insufferable,” she declared.
“Come on,” he said, taking her by the hands. “How can I make this up to you?”
Sofia shrugged and turned away.
“Is there nothing I can do?” he asked, encircling her waist with his hands and drawing her to him, her back to his chest, nuzzling his face into her neck.
There was a long moment of silence.
“Maybe . . .” she finally said.
When Talanov stepped out of the shower two hours later, Sofia was still sprawled out on the bed, one arm dangling over the side, one folded behind her head, which was propped against two large square European pillows. Sofia’s skin was flawless and white, like alabaster, except for the tattoo of a serpent that trailed up one arm and made a single coil over her shoulder, mouth open, ready to strike. The sheets and bedspread were a tangled mess on the floor.
Talanov stood naked in the doorway toweling his hair, dripping water on the floor. “Hungry?” he asked.
“That is the last thing on my mind,” she said, looking at him with a lazy smile. “I am still floating and I do not want to get up because I do not want it to stop.” She leaned up on her elbows. “I thought you said foot massage.”
“I may have wandered a bit.”
“A bit? There I am, relaxing, in heaven, when this tiny fire begins in an area that is, well, not my foot. But by then it is too late. The fire is taking over. At first I tried to get away. The next moment, I could not get enough, and I was unable – unwilling – to stop because I was blinded by this raging inferno. And when I finally was able to move – to breathe – there you were, so near I could feel the heat of your breath. But I could not get away – did not want to get away – and the fire began again, this time faster, and I do not remember how long this went on, or how many times. I am still exhausted and weak. Where did you learn that?”
“Learn what, a foot massage?”
Sofia flopped back on the bed, laughing.
Talanov said, “You learn it by thinking less about yourself and more about the other person.”
“There has got to be more to it than that.”
“Sex is a pleasure most men want to get, not a pleasure they want to give. They’ve got it all wrong. Now, come on, let’s go, I’m hungry. We have a big night ahead of us tonight.”
“I do not see how it can get any bigger.”
Talanov smiled. “Believe me, it will. And we are just getting started.”
Thursday night was indeed a whirlwind. Taking a taxi into the city, his aluminum briefcase in hand, they asked the driver where they should eat. He told them Valencia was the birthplace of paella and took them to one of the best restaurants in the city, where they ordered a mix of seafood and chorizo. Live music was playing so they danced. Talanov was dressed in his tuxedo and Sofia wore a sequined mini dress that reflected light like thousands of tiny prisms. From there it was a short walk to one of Valencia’s Old World casinos, where Talanov led the way into the gaming salon and placed twenty thousand dollars on the felt of the roulette table. One bet. One color. One win to resounding cheers from the large crowd that had gathered to watch.
Then came the Champagne: a round for everyone, including complimentary bottles for the two teams of agents skulking in the background.
Once the celebrations had ended, they left the casino and went to an intimate rooftop restaurant overlooking the Old City, where they ordered cappuccinos and a dessert cart of everything chocolate. Spread out before them was a vast jumble of red tile rooftops so ugly they were beautiful. In the distance was a floodlit rocky mount. Later, they walked barefoot on the beach. Talanov’s tuxedo trousers were rolled up to his knees while Sofia carried her stiletto heels, her glittering mini dress in no danger from the mild splashes of surf lapping their feet.
On Friday, they were up early for the winding coastal drive to Torrevieja, just north of Mar Menor, a large, triangular-shaped salt water lake isolated from the Mediterranean by the Cape Palos peninsula and a narrow isthmus of land linking the cape with the mainland. The warm, shallow waters of Mar Menor made it ideal for sailing and diving, which is exactly how Talanov and Sofia spent the day.
Coming back to their hotel, they showered and dined before driving to the Torrevieja Casino, where Talanov made a commanding entrance with the striking Sofia, who turned heads the moment she stepped out of the Ferrari wearing a shimmering gold mini dress.
Entering the lobby, Talanov asked for the casino President who, after seeing the contents of the aluminum briefcase, effusively welcomed Colonel Talanov and Ms. Dubinina to Spain’s ‘Jewel of the Mediterranean.’ Talanov told the President he would be wagering a substantial sum of money but wished to place his bets in cash. The President replied that it was against casino policy. Chips were the only currency allowed at the tables. Talanov thanked the President and turned to go. The President intercepted Talanov at the door.
“For you, Colonel Talanov, we will make an exception,” the President said with a gracious bow.
With an appreciative smile, Talanov thanked the President and strode with Sofia into the crowded casino, where they paused to get their bearings before making their way across the fleur-de-lis carpet to the brightly lit roulette table, where nearly thirty people were breathlessly watching a little white ball bounce across the frets of the spinning wooden wheel.
Standing on the perimeter of the group, Sofia glanced over her shoulder and saw four men trail into the casino. Their ties were loosened and their suit jackets were wrinkled. When they saw Sofia staring at them they dissipated quickly into the crowd.
“Our friends have arrived,” she remarked.
“Then we should give them something to report.”
“How much?” Sofia asked.
Talanov held up three fingers.
When the croupier called for bets, Sofia laid the briefcase on the table and took out three stacks of banded cash – thirty thousand dollars – and handed them to Talanov, who fanned through the bills and tossed them onto the felt while murmurs of the cash bet rippled through the casino and people hurriedly gathered around.
The croupier looked to his left and saw the President nod. The President did not look happy but nonetheless signaled his approval.
One bet.
One color.
All or nothing.
After closing the table to further bets, the croupier spun the wheel in one direction before spinning the white ball in the opposite direction. And scores of onlookers – including four agents – held their breath when the white ball ran out of momentum and began its unpredictable bounce across the frets.
