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Anya was tired after a stressful day at work. When she opened the door to the apartment, she smelled something burning. Yulia was asleep in one of the chairs in the living room, her mouth open, snoring. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the kitchen. Anya hurried into the room and saw a pot smoking on the stove. She turned off the burner and grabbed a towel, picked up the pot and put it under water. A cloud of steam hissed into the air. The bottom of the pot was charred black.
Yulia called from the next room.
"Anya, is that you?"
Anya went back into the living room.
"Mother, you left the burner on under some soup. The pot is ruined."
"I did? I don't remember doing that."
"You have to be more careful. It could have started a fire."
"I'm hungry," Yulia said.
"I'll fix you something, then I have to go out."
"Where are you going?"
"General Stepanov has invited me to dinner."
"Anya, that's wonderful. He can do so much for your career. I don't remember, is he married?"
"Yes, mother, he is. His wife is an invalid. He's only interested in me as a dinner companion."
"That's too bad," Yulia said. "It would be nice if he were single."
"I know what you're thinking, mother. He's not going to ask me to marry him, so get the idea out of your head."
"You never know, though. His wife might die."
Anya sighed in frustration.
"I'm going to make your dinner, then I have to change."
While Yulia was eating, Anya dressed. She chose the same blue dress she'd worn to Ivan Korosov's party. It was the only decent outfit she owned for elegant occasions, and dinner at Turandot qualified as one of those. Underneath the dress, she wore black lace underwear. She dabbed a drop of perfume behind her earlobes. A thin, gold necklace and gold earrings completed her outfit.
At eight sharp, Stepanov's driver knocked on the door.
"Good evening, Gennady."
"Good evening, Colonel."
Stepanov was reading a document when she got in the car. He placed it in his briefcase, then set the case down on the floor.
"Anya, you are looking beautiful tonight."
"Thank you, Yuri."
"You will enjoy the food at this restaurant," he said. "Have you eaten there before?"
"No, I have never been able to afford it."
"Then you are in for a treat."
The limousine pulled away from the curb.
"This thing with the Americans," Anya said. "Why are they doing this? Don't they know we must respond?"
"The Americans suffer from illusions of superiority," Stepanov said. "They don't like the fact that we have won in Syria. They think they can make us go back to the way things were before Operation EAGLE was launched."
"That's foolish," Anya said.
"Yes."
"What are we going to do about it?"
Stepanov gave her an appraising look.
"You don't need to know that, Colonel. All you need to know is that something will be done."
There was rebuke in his tone.
"I was just curious," she said.
"There's no harm in telling you we are going to the UN about this blockade. It's possible that international pressure will cause the American president to reconsider his actions."
"I hope so."
Stepanov reached into the compartment next to his seat and took out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He poured and handed Anya a glass.
"I know you must feel somewhat constrained by the nature of our relationship."
That's one way of putting it.
"I want you to know I truly value your companionship. I enjoy being with you and admire you. I hope that in time you will come to feel the same way about me."
He gestured with his glass.
"To us."
She wanted to spit at him.
Be patient.
She touched her glass to his and they drank. She wished she was having a drink with Michael.
The restaurant was on Tverskoy Boulevard, not far from the Kremlin. Gennady guided the limousine into a parking area filled with high-end vehicles. Parked with the Mercedes limos and BMWs were several armored Hummers and a sleek red Ferrari. The Hummers were popular among the oligarchs. Being a billionaire in Russia had many advantages. Being a target for every bold and enterprising thief was not one of them. Large men with guns stood smoking in groups near the cars.
Stepanov and Anya were escorted into a re-creation of a 16th century Florentine courtyard. Sculpted nude statues stood in niches on the left of the entrance. On each end of the courtyard, the windows of a high-end jewelry store gleamed with displays of gold and diamonds. It was the kind of store where a pair of simple gold earrings cost thousands of dollars.
The maître d' greeted Stepanov by name as they stepped into the restaurant. The main dining hall made the courtyard look shabby
Anya felt like she'd been transported to a palace from the time of the Czars. An enormous chandelier of crystal and amethyst hung from a high, domed ceiling painted with clouds and lavished with raised designs of gold. Musicians wearing powdered wigs and dressed in 18th century costumes played chamber music on a rotating stage in one corner of the room. Waiters dressed in brocaded waistcoats with gold buttons glided soundlessly about the floor. There were golden statues and Renaissance style paintings everywhere she looked, always something to marvel at and catch the eye. It was impossible to take in all the details.
"Impressive, no?" Stepanov said.
"It's overwhelming."
"The food is good. The wine list is superb."
"This way to your table, General," their escort said.
He guided them through the crowded restaurant to a table in the back, underneath a gilded balcony that circled the room. People watched and whispered as they crossed the room. Their escort held a brocaded chair out for Anya and seated her.
"Bring the wine list," Stepanov said.
"At once, General."
He scurried away.
"The food is somewhat eclectic," Stepanov said. "A kind of fusion between Asian, French, and traditional. I'm not sure what you would call it. Have whatever you like."
"I always have trouble in a good restaurant choosing between dishes."
"Perhaps you would allow me to choose for you."
"Please do, Yuri."
Stepanov nodded, as if he'd expected nothing else.
As he had said, the food was good. The wine was excellent. By the time they left the restaurant, Anya was pleasantly high. Stepanov had drunk at least one full bottle and was in an expansive mood.
Gennady drove them back to Ostozhenka Street. Anya set her mind for what was to come. Once they were inside the apartment, Stepanov went to the liquor cabinet.
"A nightcap," he said.
In one of the light fixtures overhead, a camera recorded everything Stepanov and Anya said and did. It was one of several devices strategically placed around the apartment. When they moved to the bedroom, the feed automatically recorded their movements. Stepanov liked to leave the lights on when they were having sex, but it wouldn't have mattered. The cameras had night vision capability.
An hour later, Stepanov's snores filled the room. Anya slipped out of bed, her mind already on tomorrow's meeting with Michael.
She walked naked to the shower. The cameras watched every move.
Anya emerged from the shower and dressed. She looked over at Stepanov. He was deep in sleep, unconscious to the world. She walked down the hall to his study and entered the room. Unlike the last time, his briefcase was missing. Stepanov had left it locked in a compartment inside his car when they'd gone into the restaurant. There was nothing on the desk. She opened a drawer. There was nothing important inside. A second drawer failed to produce anything of interest.
She left the apartment and descended to the street, hoping for a passing taxi.