Undercover (11 page)

The third added, “The rear admiral is informed, and he has approved our decision.”

Alex lifted an eyebrow, and the man continued, “All you have to do is live there. Maybe you could get a job at that company where pretty Jenny works. You will be required to acquire some information from time to time, maybe build small things or deliver objects. Maybe at times remove… obstacles… that stand in the way of progress. You will be serving your country.” He grinned, saying the word, “Undercover,” in English, and the others chuckled, apparently finding him very amusing.

Alex didn’t think it was funny at all. He didn’t want to be either a spy or a terrorist, and even if they started out with small things it would escalate. Things like these always did. He understood the hidden warnings much better now, and he should have left well enough alone, but it was too late.

It would be dangerous too, and not just for him. Violence led to more violence, he knew this all too well. There was also the fact that if he were caught, blame would fall on Jenny. As friendly as the American society might seem, he didn’t think they would easily forgive the significant other of a terrorist. “What if I refuse?”

“There are still very interesting internment camps where your girlfriend can spend a lifetime. It might be a short lifetime; I heard they had fifty-four degrees below zero the other day, but it would surely be long enough to allow her to think about her choices in life.”

Fifty-four… How cold might that be in Jenny’s measurements? Fahrenheit was tricky. He couldn’t figure it out, and it was a silly thought anyway. Weather like this would kill her in no time, no matter how he measured it. Bringing her to Russia had been a mistake, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Picking her up in Severodvinsk or Massachusetts didn’t make a difference. Here, at least, he still stood between her and them. “You can’t do that. She’s an American citizen and people would look for her.”

It was irrelevant, and reasoning with them was meaningless. People had disappeared before, and would do so again.

“Alexei, you disappoint me. Details like this never stopped
you
before, and no one would ever find her. Not even you.”

Could he grab Jenny and run for their lives as soon as the door closed behind these three goons? No, it would be futile. If these men wanted it badly enough, running to the end of the world wouldn’t save her. They might do it to set an example, or because they found it fun. He wanted to tell them she was innocent, she didn’t even speak a word of Russian, but it would be a waste of words.

One of the old men chuckled. “Now, we know you can live with hurting an innocent, you’ve done that enough times before, but this is the woman you love. Possibly, the
only
person you’ve ever loved. Do you want harming her on your conscience?”

Alex was cornered. He acted without thinking, taking the nearest bottle from the table and throwing it against the wall with all his power. It shattered, and the clear liquid streamed down the wall. One of the men chuckled, “Easy now. She
is
a fine woman, and I do think she’ll find that kind of behavior overly dramatic.”

They all turned to leave, their words hanging in the air, “You’ll let us know, won’t you? Don’t think too long.”

Chapter Thirteen

Jenny heard the men leave and waited for a while, quietly circling the kitchen and the living room. Alex didn’t come out, and eventually her nerves couldn’t take it anymore. She peeked into the office and saw her lover sit behind the desk with his feet up, drinking vodka straight from a bottle.

She walked carefully, making sure not to step in any of the shards that glittered on the rug. He stared at the bottle. “I’m sorry. I need to go out and get very drunk.”

She didn’t like the sound of that, and liked the look on his face even less. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he sat straight up in the chair, pulling her up on his lap and holding her so tight he nearly squeezed the air out of her lungs “I wish I could tell you about it.”

She managed to draw a breath. If he was serious about going out, she shouldn’t let him go alone. If he left the apartment on his own she would never see him again. Maybe sex would hold a big enough allure to make him forget all about it.

It could have worked, but as he ran his hands down her back, he mumbled, “Not tonight, my love. It’s a night for drinking, not for loving.”

He sounded determined, and she had to admit defeat. She pressed her lips against his temple and begged, “Let me go with you, okay? Please?”

She expected him to oppose the idea, and was prepared to argue her case. She would cry, plead, or do whatever it took for him not to leave the apartment on his own.

*****

Alex looked at the beautiful woman perched on his lap. His original idea was to go out, get drunk, and shoot himself, thus eliminating any threat to her.

A bullet to the brain would be quick and solve so many problems, and with him gone, there wouldn’t be any reason for anyone to go after her. She could go back home and live out her life in peace. Maybe she’d cry a little, but they knew each other for such a short time. She’d get over it.

It was a good plan, nearly flawless.
Nearly
was the word. Nearly flawless. He had something to live for now, and was unwilling to give it up. He should push her away, go out without looking back, but she was so warm and alive and real, and her smell was more intoxicating than any drug. There was no way to resist her, no way to deny her wish, and he cursed himself for being weak.

This was a decision he would regret later, he already knew he would, but he still nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

*****

There were many people in the bars, and everyone drank vodka, vodka, and more vodka. The bottles were like beer bottles: one opened them, and there was no way to close them again. Alex seemed to find her amazement funny. “It is bad luck to leave a bottle unfinished.”

She stared at him and he added sardonically, “Yes, country has a rampant problem with alcoholism. I think average life expectancy is fifty-five.”

He didn’t usually skip little words like ‘the’ and ‘our’ when he spoke. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he would get really drunk.

The night scared her. The places they went to were too dark, people around her were too intoxicated or high, and everyone they met spoke only Russian. She could just as well have been on another planet.

She had never known him to get restless or impatient before, but this night he couldn’t relax anywhere, and they didn’t stay long in one place. Eventually, they passed a club that was actually lit up. Music boomed from the inside, and it perked her curiosity. She didn’t want to go into another dark cellar, and she wasn’t prepared for Alex’s reaction when she asked him about it: he burst into laughter.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and almost made them both fall over as he veered to the side. “That, my precious darling, is a strip club run by the mafia. I do not think you want to see naked women have sex with animals in cages, but if that is your preference, I will go with you.”

Jenny rolled her eyes and pulled him along, wondering what kind of twisted country this was.

Most of the men who occupied the bars were there alone or together with bought women who defied the cold and snow in miniskirts, tiny tops, fishnet stockings, and high heeled pumps. Some of them had invested in short fur jackets, but most of them wore less than Jenny would all by herself inside a warm and comfy house. She was sorry for them, but there wasn’t anything she could do.

Ordinary women, like her, were rare. Jenny was both pretty and foreign, and stood out in the crowds. Most of the men found the American woman hard to resist, but most of them also backed off when they saw that she belonged to a large and drunk officer.

One of the men, however, refused to give up. He had long black hair, and a scar over his neck. He also seemed to have at least eight hands that were everywhere, feeling her hair, and trying to squeeze her butt and her breasts. There had to be limits to what a woman was supposed to put up with. She slapped him, leaving a red mark on his cheek. If anything, it urged him on. He laughed and grabbed her, pulling her close with her wrists in an iron grip and his other arm around her waist. Her struggle was futile.

Her eyes darted around the room, pleading for help and finding nothing. She didn’t know where Alex disappeared to, and for all she knew, he might be passed out in some corner somewhere. Fear made her fight harder, and she hollered, “Let me go, you big ape.”

A second later, her lover stood there with a peculiar little smile on his face, holding a gun the size of a Chevy Suburban. He pressed the muzzle against the other’s neck, and muttered something in Russian. She didn’t know what he said, but it was effective. The man let go immediately and disappeared out of sight. She jumped into Alex’s arms and he murmured, “It’s alright, my darling, he is gone.”

He reached around her for a drink and sounded a little too amused when he said, “It is a good thing he isn’t a known mafia leader, or we might have a bigger problem.”

Through the night, he retained enough sense to stay close to her, keeping an arm around her or holding her on his lap, but she was still terrified. Eventually, he was drunk enough to fall off the chairs, and she pleaded with him to follow her home. He sat on the floor and squinted towards her, and she sobbed with relief when he nodded.

She didn’t think she’d be able to get him back home. He leaned heavily on her, and about half way to the apartment he stopped to veer over to the side, leaning against a high concrete wall, throwing up in the snow. He banged his forehead against the wall, swearing quietly, and she didn’t know what to do. A part of her wanted to go to him, but another part thought it might be better not to. She was fed up with both Russia and winter, and it surprised her a considerable part of her wanted to add
him
to the list of annoyances. She wanted to shout, “You’re impossible!” get a taxi, find a plane, and go home.

The apartment wasn’t all that far away, but it became a long journey when swerving all over the sidewalk. He was too heavy for her to hold even on flat ground, and when they reached the building, they faced stairs.

By the time they got up to the apartment, she almost carried him, and he fell into bed with coat and shoes and everything, muttering something that sounded along the lines of, “
ya tyebya…
”

She muttered, “Yeah, whatever,” but googled it phonetically the best she could. It was only the beginning of an expression and gave her bad conscience for her mean thoughts. It meant, “I love you.”

*****

When morning came and Alex’s alarm went off, Jenny was astounded to hear him get out of bed. It shouldn’t be possible. She heard him enter the bathroom, turn the shower on and throw up. Was this the usual way of life in Russia? If so, she didn’t think she’d be able to handle it in the long run.

She stayed in bed, expecting him to come back. He didn’t. He moved through the room like a shadow, and she heard his steps approach the front door. Jumping out of bed, she called out his name and ran after him. He stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking pale, tired, and puzzled.

Throwing her arms around him, she pressed herself against him and held him hard. The uniform and coat felt inflexible and rough through her thin nightgown, but that wasn’t important.

He rested his head against hers. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry… I’m sorry about… everything.”

Holding her with one arm, he caressed her hair with the other. “Perhaps, maybe you should go home. Go on with your life and forget…”

It was the wrong thing to say at the wrong time, and he didn’t get time to finish the sentence. She wriggled free from his embrace and pushed him backwards with both her hands against his chest. Normally, she wouldn’t be able to move him at all, but he would have fallen over if his back hadn’t bumped against the closed door.

“Stop that! I’m not a toy you can play with and throw away.”

He looked utterly surprised and held both hands up with the palms out in a soothing gesture.

“I didn’t come all this way just to run back home when you get something else into your drunken mind. Am I making myself clear?”

He reached out for her, and she slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me if you’re going to be like that. I put up with all your Mister Mystery shit, and you’re giving up?”

She didn’t expect him to look amused, but he did. Making an apologetic gesture, but also laughing softly, he reached out for her again, and this time she let him touch her. “You, my dear, have the heart of a warrior.”

He held her tight. Maybe it was to keep her from hitting him again. His breath was hot against her ear when he whispered, “If we do this, we might have to run for our lives. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, I don’t…”

“I know.”

He buried a hand in her hair. “I have to go, or they’ll come looking for me.”

“I know. Take care and come back to me soon. You have to come back to me.”

Looking out the window, Jenny could see him enter the big black car that came to pick him up every day. It wasn’t cold, but she still shivered.

*****

Alex was queasy, but only had himself to blame. He already wished he’d gone through with his original plan and shot himself. Being dead held much more appeal than feeling like this.

The world spun around him, and he fought the nausea that rose from the gentle movements of the vehicle. It wasn’t just vodka that made him sick, self-loathing had a lot to do with it. During most of his life, he couldn’t have cared less about anything or anyone, and now when he did, it rendered him completely useless.

Once he reached the large office complex by the harbor, his commanding officer met him just inside the front door.

“Alexei, you do no not look well.” He added in a lower voice, “I am sorry about this. I tried to warn you, and I tried to stop them, but I could not.”