“The shop is under new management.” The woman’s eyes were as unfriendly as her voice. “Can I help you find a book?”
Alanna looked around, noticing for the first time that the English stacks had been moved. “Um . . . yes. Do you have any English editions?”
The woman chuckled with a dry and cynical sound. “Of course not. We will carry only Russian authors, only books that promote the glory and prestige of Russia.”
“I see.” Alanna answered, but her heart refused to believe what her mind told her. This couldn’t be happening, not at the dawn of the twenty-first century. Pogroms and book banning and anti-Semitism were abhorrent practices that should have vanished with Hitler and Stalin.
She measured the Russian woman with a cool, appraising look, then nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she murmured, before turning on her heel to walk away.
After leaving her silent bodyguard at the door of the suite, she moved back to the kitchen and sent a message to Daniel, pouring out her heart about her virtual imprisonment, the signs of an impending pogrom, and the injustice done to her friends, the Benjamins.
She finished her note in a flurry of keystrokes:
I am quite certain they are innocent of these ridiculous charges, but the unstable condition of the Russian economy has provided an opportunity for Jews to be used as scapegoats. Advise me, Daniel, please.
Within ten minutes she had received his answer:
When another Jewish girl found herself imprisoned in a political leader’s palace, she mourned her fate. But her uncle counseled her with these words: “Who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?”
I cannot reveal the future for you, Texas. But, until you can escape, you might be of use to many people. God has a purpose for you, too.
Lauren and I are praying that you find it.
D.
Alanna remained in a dark mood for the rest of the day. Daniel’s religious comments made no impression on her mind or heart, and she couldn’t begin to see herself as some sort of heroic figure. She had ventured into this situation thinking that she might be able to do a good deed for America and pick up some exciting stories for her grandkids, but she would never have grandchildren if she didn’t leave Russia soon.
At eight o’clock, she bathed and then dressed for bed, steeling herself for tomorrow’s meeting with Vladimir. Perhaps he would dismiss the guards upon his return, and she could slip away while he slept. In the meantime, she would tidy up and make him think she had been anxiously awaiting his return.
She was transferring a bouquet of flowers from the dining room to the darkened kitchen when she looked up and saw a man’s shadow in the foyer. Gasping, she dropped the bouquet. The crystal vase shattered, scattering glass and roses and water droplets over the tiled kitchen floor, but the man advanced confidently toward her, mindless of the shards beneath his boots. “Alanna, my darling, forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you.”
Alanna shivered as Vladimir drew her into his arms. She should have known he would come immediately to see her, but she hadn’t expected him until tomorrow. And the secure laptop, her most dangerous secret, still lay on the kitchen counter. The computer would be in plain sight if Vladimir turned on the light.
“Vladimir!” She pressed her trembling hands to his cheeks and stepped backward, drawing him into the light of the dining room. “I did not expect you back so soon. Colonel Petrov said—”
“You have spoken to Petrov in my absence?” He smiled, but a jealous light gleamed in the lucid depths of his eyes.
Alanna’s breath seemed to have solidified in her throat. “Only once, love. I—I asked him about the guards and when you would return. I wanted to prepare a special welcome for you.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He smiled, but the suspicious light in his eyes did not dim. “I can take a great many faults in a woman. I can excuse ignorance, pettiness, foolishness, and even laziness. But not disloyalty.”
“Vladimir.” Alanna kept a smile on her lips like a label on a bottle, hiding her fear. “Have you ever known me to be any of those things?”
“Some would say you are foolish for loving an old man when you could win a younger fellow like Petrov.”
He peered at her intently, and Alanna hoped with everything in her heart that this outburst was rooted in simple masculine jealousy. She could handle a jealous man.
She pulled the length of her hair over one shoulder and stroked it, then gave him a tremulous smile. “Why would I want Petrov when I could have you? I care nothing for colonels. I am a general’s lady.”
He digested her answer in silence, then raked her with a fiercely possessive look. “Then I am here and ready for my welcome. Best of all, I have great news and a great many presents for you.”
“Have you? You’re so good to me.” She forced a light laugh. “I have missed you so much.” She kissed him and stepped back, pulling him through the dining room.
Vladimir’s hand wound tightly in her hair, snapping her head back. “Ah, my little czarina, what a feisty one you are!” he whispered, his voice low and tense. “I wish you could have been by my side to see history in the making. I would have liked my associates to see you, too, for not one of those men will have as exquisite a treasure resting in his arms tonight.”
Unable to make sense of his words, Alanna caught her breath. What was he talking about?
Suddenly, he released her and took a half step back, his boots crunching the glass on the kitchen tile.
She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth only wobbled precariously. “Surely you’re not leaving me already?”
He gestured over his shoulder toward the wine rack by the pantry. “I am going to get a bottle and two glasses. We should drink a toast to the future.”
“Not yet, Vladimir.” Her heart had risen to her throat, but she caught his hands, then lifted them to her lips. “Later, darling.”
Her eyes filled with real tears, and at the sight of them he stepped forward and lifted her into his arms. “I had no idea,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. “Like all men, I dared to dream you might be fond of me, but I could not allow myself to believe you truly cared.”
Wrapping her arms about his neck, she buried her face in his shoulder. Though she could hide the anxiety in her eyes, she could not stop herself from trembling as fearful images rose in her mind. Would he be holding her now if he knew she was Jewish? Would he kiss her if he knew she was reporting his movements to an American?
“Poor darling,” Vladimir whispered, his breath burning her ear. “I am home, and all is well. You must be brave for me and not carry on when I have to leave you.”
“I am trying to be brave.” She croaked out the words. “I am trying so very hard.”
“You will succeed,” he said, carrying her out of the dining room. “You and I will be examples for the Russian people.”
An hour later, Vladimir lay dozing on the sofa under a cashmere coverlet. Alanna pulled her wrap around her shoulders and slipped from her place, grateful that he had been tired enough to fall asleep. In her soft slippers, she padded through the dining room and into the kitchen, pausing at the threshold where the light switch hung on the wall.
If she flipped the switch, the light would reach into the foyer and the living room beyond and might disturb Vladimir. Better, then, to work in darkness.
She moved through the kitchen with a gliding step, trying to push aside the shards of glass as she moved. She found the computer, fumbled for the cord leading to the electric outlet, then quickly pulled it out. She wrapped the cord into a ball and thrust it into the plastic wrap, then hurriedly shoved the wrapping over the laptop.
As quickly as she could, she opened the kitchen cupboard, moved a couple of bottles, and slid the computer inside. She’d replace it behind the disguised panel after Vladimir had gone.
She was squatting on toes of her slippers when she heard the click of a lamp. As light from the living room bled into the kitchen, the
glass shards on the floor sparkled like diamonds.
“Alanna?”
Panic like she’d never known before welled in her throat. Moving swiftly, she laid the cleaning bottles inside the cabinet, then gently closed the doors. Completely mindless of the glass on the floor, she tiptoed to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle, wincing when a sharp sliver of glass cut through the bottom of her slipper and sliced the tender arch of her foot. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the cabinet where she kept the goblets.
Suddenly the kitchen bloomed with light. Vladimir stood in the doorway, a pistol in his hand, an angry look of steely resolve on his face. “What are you doing?”
She felt as if a hand had closed around her throat. Her voice came out in a squeak of fear. “I was . . . getting the wine you wanted.”
Vladimir’s eyes shifted, took in the glass, the bottle in her hand, the pool of water and spilled flowers on her floor. “Why didn’t you turn on the light?”
“I was afraid I’d wake you. You were so tired from your trip.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are trembling, Alanna. You have never trembled at the thought of waking me.”
“Vladimir, I—” She winced in real pain. “If I’m trembling, it’s because I’m in agony. I cut my foot on the glass.”
He regarded her quizzically for a long moment, then set the gun on a table in the foyer. “I thought it was a burglar.” He held out his hand. “Come,” he said, apparently not willing to trust his stockinged feet on the floor. “Come and let me tell you how a leader of Russia rewards such devotion.”
With prickles of cold dread crawling along her back, Alanna left the wine bottle on the cupboard and gingerly stepped forward until she reached the carpet. Then Vladimir lifted her again, making quiet tsking sounds as he carried her to a chair.
“Do you see how I am bowing before you now?” he asked, kneeling at her feet. He lifted her foot, slipped off the slipper, and frowned as his fingertip brushed what felt like a dagger in her flesh. “All of Mother Russia will soon be kneeling before you, darling. Russia’s glory will be restored before the end of this year.”
He was staring at her foot, attempting to pull the shard from the soft skin. Alanna pressed her hand over her mouth as a sludge of nausea oozed back and forth in her belly. Had he gone mad? For a moment she had been convinced he was ready and willing to kill her, yet the eyes he lifted now shone with brilliance that could have sprung from ambition or desire, or even love.
“Be still, darling, I know you are in pain,” he whispered, pulling the bloody shard from her foot. “Your love drives you to sacrifice for me. I shall reward you, and the people of Russia shall revere you. Do not be afraid, Alanna. Nothing can harm you as long as you are mine.”
Overcome by confused thoughts and feelings, Alanna covered her face with her hands and yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
District of Columbia
2200 hours
ALONE IN THE FAMILY QUARTERS OF THE WHITE HOUSE WITH ONLY HIS DOG (A sorry substitute for family, but the only White House resident Sam fully trusted), Sam Stedman draped one arm over his favorite chair and stroked the mastiff ’s silky ears as he watched a videotape of Bill Blackstone’s recent campaign through the South. Blackstone was speaking to a crowd at a nursing home in Florida and had just told a group of World War II vets that theirs had been the last great war. “Americans should not ever have to police the world again,” he proclaimed to a mob of applauding senior citizens. “Your grandchildren are responsible to defend these fifty states and no one else! We shall solve our own problems, defend our own borders, and supply our own enterprises. America first, last, and always!”
The elderly patriots ate it up, and so did the news reporter. As he complimented Blackstone’s appearance, the camera swung over the crowd, lingering for a moment on a row of dignitaries standing on the platform.
Sam’s heart thumped against his rib cage when he recognized the tall man looming directly behind Blackstone. Adrian Romulus himself, as smug and self-contained as ever, stood in the line of VIPs behind the Democratic candidate.
Hate beat a bitter rhythm in Sam’s heart as he stared at the face of his enemy. Though he couldn’t prove it, he knew Romulus had been responsible for Victoria’s death. The man had virtually held the country hostage while Sam lay in a drug-induced coma, and only Daniel Prentice’s genius had saved Sam—and the country—from certain domination.
The camera zoomed in on Blackstone, but all Sam could see were Romulus’s eyes . . . gloating, sinister, knowing eyes.
“You’ll get yours,” Sam muttered, slowly pulling himself upright in the chair. The dog, sensing trouble, lifted her head with a sudden low woof, her ears pricked to attention. Sam kept his gaze fastened to the television screen. “If it takes my last breath, Romulus, I’ll see that you get everything you deserve.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jerusalem
1635 hours
Friday, October 13
THE LATE AFTERNOON AIR WAS WARM AND BURNISHED WITH SUNLIGHT. MICHAEL paced outside the entrance of the Mount Zion Hotel, a little surprised at how quickly the city of Jerusalem could shut down as it prepared for the Sabbath. Though sunset was yet a few hours away, most of the shops on the boulevard had already drawn their blinds and locked their doors.
Devorah had warned him they would not accomplish much on Friday, for not only would the Sabbath begin at sundown, but sundown also marked the beginning of Sukkot, one of the three most important religious festivals in the Jewish year. For the next eight days, life in Jerusalem would slow to an almost motionless crawl. Even the military bases, hospitals, and emergency agencies would operate with skeleton crews.
They had spent the morning together, conducting a preliminary inspection of an air base in Beersheba, and she brought him back to the hotel for lunch. A glint of humor shone in her eyes as she dropped him off. “If I were you,” she told him, “I would not wear my uniform tonight. Dress comfortably, of course, but leave off the stars and bars.”
Michael hesitated before getting out of the car. “Does your father have something against Americans?”
“He appreciates all your country has done for ours,” she said, absently brushing a windblown curl from her forehead. “But he lives in a spiritual world, Captain, not a military one. I’ve found it easier to respect his little quirks.”
Michael had actually been relieved to shed his uniform and leave his briefcase in the hotel room. He now wore tan Dockers and a knit polo shirt, and he stood hatless in the rising wind. With his hands in his pockets, he squinted down the Bethlehem road toward the Jaffa Gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of Devorah’s blue sedan. Trouble was, all the cars looked alike here—compact and fast.
The Fiat zipped up to the curb and beeped before he recognized the woman behind the wheel. “Captain!” Devorah peered out at him from beneath a scarf and a pair of sunglasses. “How nice to find you waiting.”
Michael opened the door and lowered himself into the passenger seat, then folded his long legs into the small space. “If the navy has taught me anything, it’s punctuality. Actually, I think you are about two minutes late.”
She looked in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb. “You Americans are always complaining,” she said, but there was no irritation in her voice.
Michael grinned and braced his arm on the car door. He would never have expected to find a mischievous streak in Sergeant Major Cohen’s personality, but experience had taught him that many people underwent a subtle personality change when they stepped out of uniform. Frogger, one of the craziest, most daring men in SEAL Six, looked like a Caspar Milquetoast until he put on tiger striped camouflage and picked up an MP10. Dressed in combat gear, he became a man you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley.
Devorah slammed her foot to the gas and peeled out of the hotel driveway. Michael grinned, enjoying the change in the attractive woman at his side. She wore a lo
ng dress of dark brown material, but the white scarf tied around her head and throat emphasized the golden tones of her skin. The wind blew a curl from beneath the winding scarf, and Michael couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out and gently nudge it back into place.
“Captain Reed,” she glanced at him, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her mouth, “I should warn you that my father is very Orthodox. Do you have any idea what that means?”
Michael shrugged slightly. “He’s religious. If he’s like all the other Orthodox men I’ve seen around Jerusalem, he wears a black hat and dark clothes—and of course he wears a beard and those long curls in front of his ears.”
Her head tipped in a barely discernable nod. “The payos. Yes, you are right, but earlocks and beards are external things. Do you know anything about what he believes?”
Michael searched his memory. He had studied Arab-Israeli relations for years. He could have charted the history of terrorist attacks and wars since Israel’s founding in 1948, but he had never had a reason to study Judaism as a religion. He had known few Jews in his lifetime and had only worked with one or two in the course of his career. The Jewish people he had known were like Devorah—quiet about their beliefs and largely unobservant. They certainly would have little in common with a rabbi with earlocks.
He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about Judaism,” he confessed. “I know your people revere what I would call the Old Testament. I know the Jews are still waiting for the Messiah.”
“I haven’t time enough to give you a complete synopsis of Jewish beliefs.” Devorah turned the car into a section of western Jerusalem Michael had never visited, then tapped on the steering wheel to emphasize her words. “But let me warn you of a few things. First, you must be careful never to touch me—or any Jewish woman, for that matter. Touching is forbidden between unmarried men and women.”
By Dawn's Early Light Page 15