by Kiera Zane
But I know Dragunov and Sobchak are watching the news, too. I know they’re wondering if I’m doing so well as his confident and lover that even the press has noticed it; or whether I’ve become overexposed, a liability.
Beyond my usefulness to the State.
I get my answer as I’m walking back to my apartment from the office. Jon and I agree to take a night off, so that he can make some public appearances on his own, help control the press coverage of our love affair.
Leaving me exposed.
“That was quite an interview,” Dragunov says from an alley as I walk past. I turn quickly, not wanting to be jumped from behind. “There can be no denying your intimacy with the senator now, eh?”
“When did you ever have reason to doubt me?”
Dragunov steps out of the shadows. “Since day one, dear sister.” He steps closer to me, one hand in his coat pocket. He’s carrying something; I can see the definition of the object through the wool, but I can’t make it out.
A gun? A knife?
He’s going to try to kill me. Right here, right now.
Instead of brandishing his weapon, he says, “But we need more than your mere intimacy.”
I don’t mention my meeting with the president, even though it would shut Dragunov up and probably buy me a lot of wiggle room.
It could also backfire on me, put me on the end of a chain and two open electrical wires, tortured for precise information about the White House, the staff, the possible weak spots and places vulnerable to attack.
“I’ve done what I can,” I say instead, standing my ground, eyes flashing down at that pocket, ready to break his arm if I have to. “And I’ll keep trying, you know that. I gave you his ties to organized crime and you blew it.”
Dragunov smiles, but there is no mirth in it. “Do you really think we didn’t know about his ties to the American mafia? Do you really think we attached you to Caine because he has a promising career organizing waste disposal?”
“You knew? I don’t understand -- ”
“That’s the first correct thing to tumble out of that pretty mouth since I picked you up out of the gutter -- ”
“You might just as well have kidnapped me from my own home.”
“It a matter of approach. As is the Kremlin’s tenuous dealings with a certain small island not far south of Florida.”
Cuba!
“Khrushchev wants to invade Cuba and launch an attack on the United States from there,” I presume.
“That’s correct. And the American mafia is still very much entrenched on the island. We theorize that President Kennedy is using Jonathan Caine as a liaison to the mafia, who are reporting back on the situation in Cuba. We need to know Cuba’s real disposition, and that of the United States, in order to best prepare for the event to come.”
The events to come, I repeat to myself. Nuclear war between the United States and the Soviet Union.
World War III.
I say, “If you knew this, why didn’t you tell me, instead of letting me fumble around in the dark while -- ?“
“It was Sobchak’s desire that you not know, lest you capsize the entire enterprise. And he was right to doubt you, as I always have. And as for stumbling around in the dark, I’d say we all do that... from time to time.”
“It was you,” I say, “that night, when I was asleep.”
“Of course, a memorable night even when you weren’t awake to enjoy it.” He chuckles a bit. “Well, some men have the gift, others don’t. No need to thank me.” After a mean silence, he adds, “Nor to undergo the formality requesting a return engagement. I’ll consider it an... open invitation.”
“You make me sick.”
“Tell me, dear sister, is he bigger than me? Is that what I shall tell Sobchak, that you’re entranced by how the man fucks you, instead of it being the other way around? Perhaps this is what we will tell your father and mother before we execute them, that you’ve become a politician’s whore and failed even at that?”
I try to speak, but can only choke on my rage. He steps closer to me, his rank breath hot around my face. “Keep our little secret and don’t fail us again, or they’ll feel unspeakable pain in addition to their humiliation... not to mention your own.”
“I’ll kill you, Dragunov, I swear it.”
“You’ll try, I have no doubt. Because next time, you’ll be awake when it happens.”
“When what happens?”
We turn to see Jon standing behind Dragunov, who turns with a start. I know in an instant that Jon lied about having other things to do, that he chose to follow me. And Dragunov seems to know it, too. “Senator,” Dragunov says.
“Dmitry,” Jon says, looking at me before saying, “Lexy. You okay?”
“I’m fine, Jon, just... chatting with my brother here.”
Jon looks from me to Dragunov and then back. He says to Dragunov, “Listen, Dmitry, as much as I don’t like to involve myself in the family matters of others -- ”
“Then kindly do not,” Dragunov says.
“I will tell you this,” Jon continues, ignoring Dragunov’s interruption. “I don’t want you upsetting my personal assistant, or stalking her through the streets. I don’t care if you’re her brother, her father or her personal lord and savior. If I get the feeling you’re compromising her personal sense of privacy or wellbeing, I’ll bring an end to it.”
Dragunov sneers at Jon, looking him over. “And what are you going to do, eh?”
Jon smiles, but only briefly. It disappears fast, replaced by a snarl as Jon grabs Dragunov by his lapels and slams him against the brick wall of the row house nearest to us. Dragunov pulls his hand from his coat pocket, the weapon coming out with it. But it’s only a cigarette lighter, which falls to the ground as Dragunov tries to punch Jon in the ribs.
But Jon is already raining punches down onto Dragunov’s face, four powerful blows in quick succession.
Every punch registers on my body almost as much as it does upon Dragunov’s face. I feel that hard fist sending ripples of twisted pleasure through me, exhilaration and excitation with every fierce blow. I can almost feel the blunt force of those tense, curled knuckles pushing the breath from my lungs, leaving me limp and weak and vulnerable, barely able to stand.
What a man this is, I think to myself. How like my father, so loving and protective. Yet so clearly defined in his individuality, like no man I’ve never known or will know; like no man before him or ever thereafter.
Dragunov goes limp as Jon tosses him across the sidewalk and into the side of a parked Cadillac.
Jon lurches forward to protect me, to disable this threat and to assume it as his own fight. We’ve fought, sometimes with pitched screaming and slapping that resulted in craven sexual releases; conflict and devotion melding in the same molten brew, hot and bubbling and scorching to the touch.
But let anyone else step into a conflict with me, and Jon turns on them like some massive protective beast; a dog without a chain, a grizzly bear with long black claws and a demon’s roar.
But I know that Jon sees himself beating up some poor, average man; not a trained killer. He doesn’t know how dangerous this confrontation is.
But I do.
My instincts are to find some way to kill Dragunov now, while Jon has him distracted. But that would reveal me to Jon, and I can’t do that.
There’s no more time for deliberation. Before Dragunov can recover from the blows, Jon is upon him once more, pulling him away from the car and into a face-to-face stare down, their noses inches apart. Jon hisses out, “What’ll I do? Three guesses, Dmitry. Just know that I never repeat myself.” Jon pulls his head back a bit, then slams it forward, his forehead ramming into Dragunov’s nose.
Jon lets go, giving Dragunov a little shove, blood pouring down his nose. “Don’t let me see you near her again.”
Dragunov shoots him an angry look, then looks at me with even greater fury, before nodding and stumbling off in another direction.
&nbs
p; I think to myself, He’ll kill me now, for sure.
But I don’t care. I rush into Jon’s arms, a mixture of fear and lust with lust winning out in the last. My face pressed against his, our lips mashed together in a fleshy commingling of heat and desire. My heart is pounding in my chest, ribs threatening to shatter with the pressure. Blood surges in my veins, skin tingling behind my skull, every wisp of my blouse setting my skin ablaze with tingling desire.
“Wait until we get home, baby.” He mumbles, “Keep it together.”
We get home in record time I think, and make to his bedroom, a trail of clothing, shoes and coats in our wake.
Jon returns my passion with his own; hands pressing with gentle firmness, fingers pressing, arms wrapping around me in the dark, our grunted vows of lusty union the only declaration of our commitment; none other is necessary.
He pulls open my blouse, hands gentle but firmly rubbing my breasts. I feel a delicious tightness between my legs as his hands then lips lazily explore my chest. His lips suck softly on my nipples, and my panties get wet, the feeling between my legs more insistent. I feel his other hand pushing down the front of my pants, pulling them down so that all that’s between us is my satin panties, and the bulge in his jeans. His hand finds its way between my legs, fingers exploring between my legs in the slit and finally rubbing, my clit softly. I open my legs wider in response.
“You like that?” he whispers in my ear, his fingers rubbing my clit gently but nonstop. I feel the feeling building. I want to cum all over his fingers.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, more.”
He smiles obliging; sucking my left breast hard, tongue lashing at it, teeth gently rubbing against them. I am in heaven; my body feels so alive, sensitive and full. I want him.
“Please make love to me.” I whisper. “I want you inside of me.” I can’t believe I’m begging him again. What happened to all that training. Do I just turn to mush every time his fingers touch me? “Pretty please.”
He smiles. “In time, baby.” He continues to play with my clit which is building to orgasm without my help or consent. I love the feeling; I love that somebody can make me so vulnerable without hurting me. His lips are closer to my sex as he kisses down the center of my stomach. Lower and lower. I want him to lick me; make me so horny I can’t think straight. I moans as he kisses the top of my groin carefully pulling my panties down. I am exposed on the bed to him, and he stares down at me admiring. He licks his lips, parts mine and sucks my clit . . . hard.
It was such a change, so quick and intense; I breathe in quickly, and then out. Omigod, I’m going to cum in three seconds. His sucking is driving me right over the edge. Just as I feel like I’m going to explode, he switches to soft kisses and blowing on my engorged sex. “That feels so good.” My voice and body just give me away.
“Like that, huh?” he laughs softly. He parts me again and sucks again, this time sucking steadily and hard until I explode into delicious orgasm. At the point that I orgasm, he plunges into me, his cock thrusting nonstop, rubbing that special spot I had only heard about. I feel another kind of orgasm coming, and go into shuddering ecstasy once again, just as he releases, groans and cums deep inside of me. He gives a small laugh, collapsing in a happy heap on top of me.
He pulls up on his elbows and looks down at me in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Even though we could never be closer evidenced by the dewy sheets crumpled up around us, I can still sense a suspicion behind his smile. I know he is beginning to doubt me.
That night, I dream of him; flashes of Jon standing over his desk, Dan Oglvy nodding and glancing out of Jon’s private office. In addition to the visions, which are nothing new, I can hear now.
Voices.
Words.
“A foreign power,” Jon says. “Russia, maybe.”
“You think she’s got something to do with our friend... on the island?”
“I don’t know, maybe; find out everything you can!”
I can’t be sure if he’s talking about me, or Dragunov, or both of us. Since I know one will lead to the other, I realize it doesn’t really matter. As soon as Jon launches that investigation, which I know he will do, I’m as good as dead; either at the hands of the United States or the Soviet governments.
Worse, my love with Jon will be dead. I will have let him down, betrayed him, hurt him once more, perhaps even worse than his wife did; another blow to that heroic heart, another instance of innocence cast before the ravenous dogs of love and war. I don’t think I could live with that, I know I wouldn’t want to and I hardly expect the chance to.
I have other visions too; Dragunov on a telephone, Sobchak back in his office screaming at him to end this now. I hear him bellow, “He’s asking too many questions! Take care of them both!”
There can be no mistaking it.
Then next day, I’m sent on a series of errands while Jon and his staff go to the senate, where Jon is expected to make an address. It’s important that I not be anywhere near there, for reasons of public relations.
But I have an awful feeling in my gut that something isn’t right, that terrible things are about to happen; forces coalescing against us, ready to lurch out from hiding and destroy us in hideous ambush. I spend the day looking furtively around; at strangers who walk past as I head out of the dry cleaners, at the drivers of cars that stop at the intersections as I cross, at the open windows on the buildings around me, hoping for a life-saving glimpse of a sniper’s rifle just moments before he pulls the trigger.
Russian snipers are known to be among the best in the world.
I imagine it; the hot burn of the bullets, the searing flesh, the ringing in my ears, vision going black as I fall to the curb and die in the gutter; never to see Jon again, or my family, or any living person.
Dead.
But it’s not me they go after.
It’s Jon.
And I only hear about it after I get to my apartment, the phone ringing wildly. “Hello?”
“Lexy, it’s Nathan, you gotta get down here right away!”
“Where, the office, or -- ?”
“Of course the office! Haven’t you seen the news broadcast?”
I say, “Nathan, you know I was running errands all day. What happened?”
“Somebody tried to kill the senator, blew up his limo.”
I can already imagine the carnage; I’ve seen it before, in Moscow. This is the KGB’s work, no doubt. But I turn on the TV anyway, the burning limousine engulfed in flames, people hustling and murmuring around it.
I say, “Is he dead?”
“The senator?” Nathan confirmed. “No. He went back into the office for some notes. But Dan Oglvy, Vivian, Deloris, of course Tige, his driver...”
He doesn’t need to say it.
They’re dead.
Because of me.
I sit in my apartment, looking around with a sudden chill. I drop the phone and run out of the living room, nearly tripping over my own feet as I scramble down the stairs. I make it out of the front door and down the six steps of the stoop before hitting the sidewalk.
That’s when my apartment erupts with a deafening explosion, heat and fire and shattered glass spilling out of every window and pushing me forward and to the ground.
I crawl away, the heat unbearable as the apartment building roars and crackles behind me; every apartment on fire, every window a peek into the burning bowels of hell.
Just where I’m headed.
I don’t know if anybody else is in the building. I don’t know if Dragunov is there, if he’s been tipped off; maybe the move was his to execute. I can’t know for sure until Dragunov reveals himself to me, if he does before Sobchak finds out I survived and takes another shot at me, this time without failure.
But one thing I do know is that Sobchak is making his move; against Jon, against me, against anybody not in the productive service to the State. And he’ll know Jon survived, probably that I did too.
Which means he’ll be back, h
arder and stronger.
I have to go to Jon, Tell him everything and hope our love is strong enough to survive these terrible revelations. At least, Jon will have a chance to survive, even if I don’t.
Chapter Nine: The Escape
"To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable." -- Erich Fromm
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!” Jon’s voice is soft to me, the lump in my throat making it hard for me to breath. I want to leave; I want to die. Anything other than this.
“I’m sorry.” He starts pacing again; the rug will be no more by the time this conversation is ended. “They will kill me; they will kill my family. They will kill you. I have done all I can do to protect you.”
“You lied to me, not once but continuously.” The pain in my chest is sharp. I am going to lose him – the man of my dreams, the one and only man I have truly loved after my parents. Our intimacy is blown; I feel the distance between us.
“Yes.” I gaze into his blazing, green eyes. Is there any hope? I only see fury and rage in return. “I had no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.” I feel his spit on my cheek. I choke back a sob. How can I make you understand what they did to me, what they will do to me . . . to us because I have failed. How can you, an American who has enjoyed freedom all of your life understand what it is to be a slave to your country – brutalized, beaten, trained and threatened into silent obedience. I must make you understand or my life, your life and our love is over. I take in a breath. “Listen to me, Jon. I will tell you why and how I could lie to you. But first, I need you to know that I love you with all of my heart, that everything I did, have done is to protect you, me and our love.”
“Protect me. Why do I need protection?”
You have never met KomDiv Sobchak. “My name is Aleksandra, Aleksandra Zolotov. I am from Siberia where my parents, two brothers and I lived for all of my childhood. The KGB came to our village, and took all of the eligible girls away to learn to be spies. We were given a choice: go learn to be a spy or you and your family will be sent to a gulag to die.”