Last Snow (42 page)

“I should have protected her.”

“In a perfect world, yes,” Katya said, “but, darling, in a perfect world you wouldn’t
need
to protect her.” Her eyes found his and she smiled. “This world is far from perfect, however, and nothing is easy or quick or the way we want it to be. The world is incomprehensible, and the harder we strive to understand it the more mysterious it becomes. And do you know why? Life is all moral compromises, and with each compromise we make a tiny piece of us gets lost. And when it isn’t compromises that we must make, it’s sacrifices, and sacrifices change us irrevocably, until we look like that tree outside.

“Consider what you have sacrificed for Annika—you have gone to the edge of the world, the place where even maps fail, where the devil resides, in order to keep her safe. I beg you to ponder that the next time you feel compelled to say ‘I should have known, I should have foreseen.’ ”

“Yes, yes, it’s true,” he said in a voice that betrayed him, for his mind thought one thing and his heart felt another. It took some effort to return her smile, but by the look on her face he knew that she appreciated it. “Everything you said is true.” He looked around as if awaking from a dream. “I’ll buy you a new plate.”

“Thank you, but don’t bother. That wasn’t the first one you’ve smashed and it won’t be the last.” She laughed. “That’s why I put out this particular service, it was a wedding present from my mother and
I never did like it. It’s so, I don’t know, Victorian. Very her—not me at all.”

“Your mother and her lies,” he said, with a rueful shake of his handsome head.

“Lies are what drew you and me together,” she said. “Lies we had to create and then, far worse, perpetuate, in order to go on living. And these lies required both moral compromises and sacrifices that, while regretting, we wouldn’t change. I lied to my husband and you lied to Batchuk. I became friends with my husband so he would never find out how much I loathed him, and his money allowed me the freedom to live my life. For him I did not exist as a sexual object, or, if I did, it was only for a matter of months, if not weeks.

“As for you, my darling—” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You made your peace with Batchuk because everything in your world depended on your alliance with him. It took all your skill and charm to convince him that you were sincere, since he knew very well that you had every reason to want him destroyed. How did you manage it, I wonder? I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, even though I’ve certainly honed my acting skills over the years.”

“He made a request of me and I complied,” he said. “There was someone in his way, someone he couldn’t touch, couldn’t even get near. I could. Simple as that.”

He stood up and, hands in his trousers pockets, stood staring out at the gnarled tree.

“You of all people, darling, should know that nothing is simple,” Katya said, “especially when finding an answer brings an end to a life.”

“I know you’re not judging me, because you know very well what was at stake. When he made the request he knew I’d have to comply, which is why he enjoyed asking me. The idea of giving me an order appealed to him. It must have given him immense satisfaction knowing I would do it, knowing that he was causing me pain at
the same time he was ridding himself of a thorn in his side he couldn’t pull out himself.”

“It was that death that kept Annika safe, is that what you’re saying?”

He nodded, but didn’t turn around. “What Batchuk did was monstrous, unspeakable, depraved. It’s as if Stalin has risen from the grave.”

Katya rose, then, and went to stand by his side. “You’re not thinking about anything foolish, something that could get you killed, are you? Leave matters the way they are.”

“It’s too late, events have been set in motion. Batchuk is here in Kiev. He is looking for Annika.”

“You trained her well.”

“Because I was forced to make a deal with the devil. Are you saying I should withdraw my protection?”

She slid her arm around his waist. “Look at that tree. It has withstood drought, hailstorms, lightning, and torrential rains that turned the ground around it to a river of mud. But there it is. Its roots never gave way, it was never split asunder. It may be ugly and leaning, it may not be as tall as it once was, but it abides, darling, it abides.”

“T
IME
,” M
ILES
Benson said, standing in the doorway to the shadowed study. The brightest light came from Aaron’s iPhone. “Mr. Secretary, it’s imperative that we finish our conversation now.” But so fierce was the glare that Claire gave him he had no recourse but to take a step back, just as if she had pushed him.

“All right,” Paull said, but he never took his eyes off his daughter, who, it seemed to him now, had never looked more beautiful. She had been a child when she had left him; now she was a mature, self-confident woman. How the devil had that happened, he wondered. Seven years wasn’t that long a time; on the other hand, it was a lifetime for small creatures, an eternity for others. Claire had made the most of those seven years, and what had he done with the time?

“Wait for me,” he said to her. “I won’t be long.”

“Even if you are,” Aaron said, his bright, transparent eyes serenely regarding his newly discovered grandfather, “Mom and I won’t leave without you.” He looked up at Claire. “Right, Mom?”

M
ORGAN
T
HOMSON
was waiting for them. He had opened the glass doors to the library and when he saw them approaching, said with a sweep of his hand, “Let’s take a walk.”

There was a Japanese-style footpath made of slate-colored stepping stones, each slightly different yet related to one another, that led down to the pond and the moon bridge. As they neared the water Paull could see flashes of black, white, silver, and orangey-gold beneath the surface as the ornamental carp swam into the sunlight and out. Much to his surprise Benson took out a handful of dry food and sprinkled it on the surface. The greedy carp rose, their mouths open and gasping to suck in the food.

Assuming the professorial demeanor he so adored Thomson said, “Believe it or not this accord is going to consolidate President Yukin’s power both inside and outside Russia.”

At once Paull thought back to his conversation with Edward Carson in the limo on the day they had buried Lloyd Berns. Carson had voiced consternation that Brandt was trying to push through the accord despite the president’s unease. Paull assumed an expression of bland attention.

Thomson’s hands were clasped behind his back, his head tilted slightly upward as if he were sniffing the air for eavesdroppers, or clues to their ultimate fate. “As you no doubt know, since Yukin has been in power the government’s ownership of companies comprising the Russian stock market has ballooned from twenty-five percent to forty percent.”

“If that isn’t totalitarianism,” Benson said, staring down at the swarming carp, “I don’t know what is.”

“He has also made a mockery of the state governors’ races,” Thomson continued as if Benson hadn’t spoken. “No one can get on a slate unless expressly endorsed by Yukin.”

“Or his lord high executioner, Oriel Jovovich Batchuk,” Benson said without apparent irony.

Thomson shrugged. “It amounts to the same thing. Batchuk is deputy prime minister, he’s thrown in his lot with Yukin, he rises and falls on the strength of Yukin’s power. But in a sense Miles is correct: In his own right Batchuk is a formidable opponent.”

“A fucking latter-day Stalin,” Benson said. “There’s so much blood on his hands they say he lives in an abattoir.”

“Very funny,” Paull said.

“He’s a Russian,” Benson said levelly, “so who the hell knows, it might be true.”

“He’s a clever bastard, this Batchuk.” Thomson’s eyes met Paull’s. “More clever, even, than Iosif Vissarionovich.” He meant Stalin.

“Where is this all leading?” Paull asked.

“An excellent question.” Thomson began to move, and the other two men followed him as he mounted the moon bridge. At the apex of the arc he stopped and, placing his forearms on the railing, stared down into the depths of the pond. “General Brandt has made some sort of private deal with President Yukin, the details of which we have no idea, but I can tell you unequivocally that the moment we discovered the fact we severed all ties with him. Nevertheless, Brandt is out there operating on his own, taking the law into his own hands, and we have no way of stopping him.”

“B
ATCHUK IS
in charge of
Trinadtsat
,” Kharkishvili said to Jack, “which is a secret cadre—”

“I know what
Trinadtsat
is,” Jack said.

“You surprise me at every turn, Mr. McClure, you really do.” Kharkishvili’s eyebrows arched. “But possibly you don’t know this:
Trinadtsat
was created by Batchuk for one reason—a secret discovery of an enormous deposit of uranium—possibly one of the largest in the world—in northeastern Ukraine, very near the Russian border. Add to this the fact that the Kremlin has determined Russia’s owninground supply of uranium is far smaller than had been thought, and you have a major crisis in the making.

“What is crucial to understanding why the current situation has become a crisis is that Russia is firmly committed to nuclear power,” Kharkishvili continued. “We—that is, the members of AURA—were and are just as firmly committed to keeping the nuclear power industry in private hands in order to mitigate the Kremlin’s expansionist plans. We fought Yukin as long as we could, but he consolidated his power too quickly and too well. With Batchuk’s help he got inside our defenses, accused us of fiscal malfeasance or, in cases when that didn’t work or wasn’t for some reason sufficient, outright treason. He seized our companies and would have sent us to Siberia if we hadn’t been warned and fled here to Ukraine.”

Heavy weather had blown in off the Black Sea, and rain was beating at the windowpanes as Jack, Annika, and Alli sat at an enormous gleaming wood table in the vast dining room of Mikal Magnussen’s manor house. Four members of AURA sat at the table, big-shouldered men with guileful eyes but a singular lack of delicacy. Between them lay platters of food and cut-crystal flasks of vodka, slivovitz, and soda water, a feast for more than a dozen, but not one was eating.

“Now the worst has happened,” Kharkishvili continued. “With us gone, Yukin has nationalized the uranium consortium, just as he did with Gazprom. Yukin has come to the same conclusion we did almost a decade ago, that Russia’s dependence on foreign oil—especially Iran’s—puts it at a strategic disadvantage. That’s why he’s agreed to this U.S.-Russian accord. He doesn’t mind making concessions as far as his traditional business ties with Iran as long as he has a steady supply of uranium.”

“But without the huge Ukraine uranium strike he won’t have it.”

They all turned as a man entered the room. He was darkly handsome with the rough-hewn features of a Sean Connery or a Clive Owen. His hair was shot through with gray, the color of his eyes, as if he’d trekked through a snowstorm to arrive here. And, who knew, there may have been a number of metaphorical snowstorms in his past.

He turned to Jack. “I’m Mikal Magnussen, I apologize for not being available when you arrived.” He paused now, waiting while an aide appeared at Kharkishvili’s side and whispered briefly in his ear. Kharkishvili shot Annika an involuntary glance, which was so quick, so circumspect, it was possible that only Jack noticed it.

“So Yukin means to steal it,” Magnussen said, “using soldiers who are
Trinadtsat
personnel.”

“It’s my understanding that it takes a decade to get a uranium mine up and running,” Jack said. “I don’t understand how an incursion into Ukrainian territory is going to accomplish anything.”

“Ah, well, here’s the true genius of Batchuk’s plan.” This from Malenko, another of the dissident oligarchs. Burly and bald, making him look like a tenpin, he had the prominent jaw of a carnivore and tiny ears absurdly low on his skull. “The troops will be sent in under the guise of aiding Ukraine, but once they’re in the area they won’t leave. Instead, they’ll set up a perimeter so that Russian tanks can roll in across the border.”

“It’ll be a fucking mini-Czech,” Glazkov, another oligarch, said, referring to the Soviet Union’s 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia, “except the Russians will stop at the border to the uranium discovery.”

“They can’t just invade Ukraine on any pretext,” Jack said.

“They will, just as they did in Georgia, where their troops are still deployed,” Kharkishvili said.

“The economic situation in Ukraine, particularly the east, is dire, so much so that riots have broken out in several cities and are gaining
momentum throughout the country.” Magnussen had talked to the table, but remained standing. “Experience tells me that Yukin will use this economic crisis to doubtless claim his troops are there to protect both Russian and Ukrainian interests.”

“But our problem—and yours, Mr. McClure—is not only the Kremlin,” Kharkishvili said, “but one of your own countrymen. Yukin is being aided by an American by the name of Brandt. A general in your military, an advisor to your president.”

“General Brandt is the architect of the current accord being hammered out between Yukin and President Carson,” Jack said. “Carson’s success as president is more or less tied to the accord being ratified by both sides.”