Chapter 5

The cab left her at the Russian Embassy gate. She was now faced with a challenge: how to gain access to the embassy without the cost of admission or an ID. Her quest began with a conversation with one of the embassy guards, a nice boy from Astrakhan. It did not seem lost on the boy that a “khoroshen’kaya zhenshchina” (“pretty woman”) had decided to afford him the time of day. Perhaps it was her hazel eyes, the shoulder length auburn hair, or her long legs? At some point, the young man had decided he had asked enough questions and she was allowed in. Her backpack was searched, as was she, which in her mind took a little longer than the standard pat down would normally take. There seemed to be a lot of patting, anyway.

One of the guards escorted her to the lobby area. She was introduced to the receptionist, who in turn asked her to be seated. Perhaps thirty minutes had passed when she spotted a man, who was smiling, descending the white marble staircase. His eyes were glued on her.

When he drew near, he extended his right hand toward her and said, “Lady Yekaterina!” Their conversation continued in Russian. “How nice of you to visit us! Welcome. I am Ambassador Aleksey Breznov here in Cyprus. How can I be of service?”

Katrinka firmly shook the Ambassador’s hand. His introduction told her he had spent time vetting her. He knew she was at least former Navy intelligence. Katrinka was surprised he knew of her ancestry. She, herself, had only recently found out.

“Please, come to my office.” He extended his hand toward her again. “Please allow me to carry your luggage,” Breznov said.

Katrinka handed her backpack to Mr. Breznov and the two proceeded to his second-floor office. It was now 7:30 P.M.

Breznov’s office was fitting for an ambassador, with a high ceiling, a large desk, and plush chairs. He offered Katrinka a seat. “Lady Lavrova, I understand you have had a long journey to reach us,” he began.

“I have been traveling seven days since Cairo,” Katrinka confirmed.

Breznov had her sense of humor apparently. He asked, “Seven days? And the camel?”

Katrinka smiled. “Yes. He died from too much walking,” she retorted.

Breznov laughed. “It is getting late. I would like to offer you food and drink. Please, we will go to dining room.” He stood and motioned for her to follow him.

Katrinka had not had anything in the way of decent food or drink since she had left Cairo almost a week earlier. This could prove to be a great thing!

A woman entered the room. Katrinka assumed her to be Mrs. Breznov.

It was. The Ambassador stood to make the introduction. “Lady Lavrova, may I introduce you to my wife, Annastasia Breznova Chase.”

Annastasia extended her hand and smiled as she approached Katrinka. “Lady Lavrova,” she said in greeting. “Welcome. It is an honor to meet one from our royal family. Please, sit.”

Katrinka sat again. “Mrs. Breznova,” she returned, “thank you for your hospitality.”

“Please, please, my Lady, you must call us Annastasia and Alexey,” Annastasia insisted.

“You have had a long journey,” Alexey said. “You must be famished. Shall we dine?”

Katrinka nodded. She could not recall when she had last had anything more substantial than a soda cracker or something she had snatched from a plate at an outdoor café.

An embassy staff person had been waiting for the evening dinner order. Alexey summoned him. “Oleg, what are we serving this evening?”

“For this evening, sir, we are serving local sea bass and potatoes. And, of course, soup.”

“Excellent! The service will be for three this evening,” Alexey said. “Please begin with coffee and best wine. Your recommendation, Oleg.”

“Thank you, sir.” Oleg left the table.

The dinner proved as filling as it was delightful. Following an exhilarating conversation, Katrinka begged to retire. Alexey and Annastasia bid her good night. Katrinka had informed them she would depart in the morning. But first, she was made to promise she would stay for breakfast. It made sense to her. The journey ahead would be a long and arduous one.

****

9:30 P.M., Sofitel Bar Lounge, Cairo, Egypt

Azrael and Fay sat in the lounge, talking and watching the Nile flow past their table. “Worry” was the word of the week, yet Azrael was proving adept at keeping Fay’s mind from excessive worry.

Fay’s cell chimed. It was Sasha calling. She answered the call and put the phone on speaker. “Hi, Sasha,” she said. “We are here in the Bar Lounge blowing bubbles and watching the Nile flow by. Where are you?”

“I am in my room. How is the Shisha?”

“Great! Come on down! You can party with us.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Sasha replied. “I have news.”

Fay’s excitement grew. “Is it Katrinka!?” she asked hopefully.

“Small news. I will explain when I get there.”

Ten minutes was an eternity. Azrael and Fay ordered another round, including one for Sasha. Fay warned Azrael that Sasha, like all good Russians, enjoyed his vodka and she should not be tempted to drink very much of it. This was a lesson Fay had well learned the last time she had drank with Sasha a year or so ago.

Sasha arrived. To Fay, he did not seem to be concerned. She assumed his news was not disastrous. Sasha sat.

“What do we know, Sasha?” Fay asked.

“I received a call from the Russian Embassy about forty-five minutes ago,” he began. “I know you would want to know immediately, but I wanted to get completed information first.”

“She is okay, Sasha?” Fay asked eagerly. Sasha could not divulge his information fast enough for her.

“She is now at Russian Embassy in Cyprus,” Sasha said. “Irishka is preparing to leave for Cyprus as soon as we can get Katrinka’s passport and credit cards from your room.”

“Should we go now?” Fay wondered.

“Yes, I will deliver the documents to Irishka. She has 1:00 A.M. flight to Cyprus. She will deliver them to Katrinka in the morning.”

Fay asked, “What are we to do?”

“As hard as it is, we are to remain here,” Sasha told her. “Irishka will call me from Cyprus when she has more details.”

“Hard to do, but okay,” Fay agreed. “Let’s get the documents from my room.”

****

8:35 A.M., Russian Embassy, Nicosia, Cyprus

Katrinka was preparing for breakfast. She would depart shortly after. Her plan was to leave the island, make her way to a mainland port, and then go on to Paris. A knock came at the door.

“Embassy staff,” the voice announced from the other side of the door.

Katrinka opened the door. An Embassy staff member handed her an envelope.

“Lady Lavrova,” the staff person said, “this arrived for you by courier this morning.”

Katrinka knew the courier could only have been Irishka. She thanked the staff person, closed the door, and went to a nearby table to open the envelope. It was as she had expected: her passport, credit card, debit card, and tickets. There was a cryptic note placed inside the passport. She knew it to be code. Irishka had written the address of a Russian safehouse in Paris. She reviewed the tickets, one for a ship departing tomorrow morning with a rail connection to Paris.

Katrinka placed everything in the pack and set off to find Annastasia for their breakfast date. During the meal, Annastasia asked what time Katrinka planned to depart.

Katrinka said, “Thank you for asking. As a matter of fact, I received tickets just a few minutes ago. The ship I am to take leaves tomorrow morning. May I remain here until three A.M.?”

Annastasia was delighted. Perhaps it was because she had little contact with other Russian women on the island. The two women had an enjoyable breakfast. Annastasia asked, “Will you come with me outside?” She led Katrinka to a balcony overlooking a rear courtyard. “I hope you think me as friend?”

“Yes,” Katrinka responded, “of course.”

“Please, call me Nastasya,” Annastasia requested. “I have concern for you, Katrinka. Today, you receive package from courier. Because of recent explosion at French Embassy, security in Near and Middle East is stricter. For security, all packages are scanned. They scan your package. Not unusual. But tickets from Cyprus to France.”

Katrinka said, “I see how it looks. I come from city where French Embassy has bomb. I go to country of embassy. I arrive without papers and only clothes on my back.”

“Yes,” Annastasia replied. “Yet, you are Russian intelligence, and you are heir to Russian royal family. It is confirmed but it is confusing.”

“I agree.”

“I am practical woman, Lady Katrinka. Politics and terrorism are not for me,” Annastasia stated. “My intuition tells me you are one to be trusted.”

“I appreciate it, Nastasya. What do you think?” Katrinka asked the other woman.

“You will be safe here. No one can touch you,” Annastasia promised. “When you leave tomorrow, suspicion will follow. I think move quickly in dark and do not linger. If you have trouble before you leave Cyprus, you contact me. I will help.”

“I appreciate your confidence.”

“Now,” Annastasia continued, “there is party tonight at Embassy. Some affluent people from city. It may be good for you to attend as friend of Russian Embassy. Russian Embassy would not harbor a terrorist.”

Katrinka smiled and considered her blue jean and sweatshirt attire. “I own only these and shorts. Not for party, is it?”

“It is informal. Dinner, drinks, and some music,” Annastasia assured her. “I will arrange for appropriate clothes. You like dress, or no?”

“I think, no,” Katrinka decided.

****

Katrinka left the embassy at 5:00 A.M. The Akgunler Denizcilik ferry to Tasucu, Turkey from Kyrenia departed at 7:00 A.M. The travel time from Kyrenia was six hours. She did not see the Ukrainians and there were no cars following her from the embassy to Kyrenia.

She stood at the rail as the boat slipped away from the pier. The sun was rising over the crystal-clear Mediterranean. Annastasia had packed an apple, a banana, grapes, and a bottle of spring water for her. Katrinka hoped one day to return to Cyprus to visit with her new friend, Nastasya.

It was 1:30 P.M. when the boat arrived at Tasucu. She waited again, looking for the Ukrainian agents. She did not see them. She decided for whatever reason these Ukrainian boys did not seem too adept at this agent business. She would travel by bus and train from Tasucu to Istanbul, then to Budapest and then Zurich, before finally making a four-hour trip on the TGV Lyria high-speed train to Paris’s Gare de Lyon station. All in all, it was a three-and-a-half-day trip.

The two-hour bus to Karaman left the Tasucu station on time. The train and bus schedules were as dependable as time pieces. Train companies were anal about time schedules; on time, all of the time. An uneventful hour passed. Long distance travel by bus or train was boring. Anything nonproductive was boring, by Katrinka’s standards. Scenery watching could be interesting at times, or people watching on occasion, as well. Her life often depended on astute people watching.

She thought about reading. Katrinka had nothing to read and the newspaper offerings were all in languages she did not understand, although a front-page photo on several of the daily newspapers being read by fellow passengers caught her eye. She asked the man sitting across from her if he spoke either English or Russian.

“Leetal of the English,” he said.

She pointed to the photo displayed on the front page of the paper he was reading. “What is it?”

“French Embassy. Bomb.”

“Where? When?” Katrinka asked.

“Cyprus. Early these morning?” he replied.