Was falling in love with Devorah Cohen part of God’s plan? Michael knew her father wouldn’t think so. And if he were supposed to accomplish some great thing in Israel, he still had no idea what it might be. Then again, perhaps a man’s subconscious mind always imagined great things for him.
He snorted softly and rubbed his hand over his jaw. General Gogol’s subconscious had certainly conjured up a grandiose and ambitious vision. Two weeks before, upon Russian President Chapaev’s sudden death, Gogol had made the leap from minister of defense to president, overwhelmingly elected by the 178-member Council of the Federation and the 450-member State Duma. As powerful as Gogol’s new position was, Michael suspected the wily general had far greater ambitions yet to fulfill.
“What’s your secret, Gogol?” he murmured, resting his chin in his hand as the shades of night fell around him. “You make conquering the world look so easy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Moscow
2000 hours
Saturday, December 9
INSIDE THE CRENELATED WALLS OF THE KREMLIN, VLADIMIR STEPPED AWAY FROM the window of his new home, smoothed a wrinkle from his tuxedo shirt, and smiled at his reflection in the window. He and Alanna had been living inside the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of Russia for nearly a week, yet still he sometimes wanted to pinch himself. Chapaev’s removal had gone as planned; the old man had been so weak for so long that the people scarcely noticed his carefully scheduled demise. Still, Gogol insisted upon holding an elaborate state funeral inside the Cathedral of the Assumption. Long lines of mourners passed before the ebony casket, pausing long enough for the world’s television cameras to note that Gogol’s Russia would continue to honor the fallen ones of previous eras.
He drew a deep breath and thrust his hands behind his back, glorying in the grandeur of the mansion he intended to occupy until the end of his days. He had already planted his spies among the Duma and the Council; when he had eliminated the cancer of Israel once and for all, they would exalt his name to the skies. He would restore Russia to its deserved place as supreme among the nations. He would show them all that he was not just another man, another president, but one who deserved the title Czar of all the Russias.
He paused as yet another black limo pulled up outside the window. He had invited only a select group of influential people to be his guests this night, for this was a private, most special occasion. He lifted his head in satisfaction as he recognized the couple alighting from the car—American ambassador Horace Nance and his wife, Irene.
Vladimir pursed his mouth in resignation. Though he was not pleased with the obstinate posture the Americans had taken during the recent United Nations debate, at least their ambassador had not voted against his resolution. He could forgive their abstention, particularly since Alanna counted Irene Nance as a friend.
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, catching the attention of a guard at the door. “See that all the guests are assembled in the ballroom,” he told the man, pausing to adjust his white tie in the reflective windowpane. “I will go find Madame Ivanova. The moment we enter the ballroom, the orchestra is to play the national anthem.”
The guard nodded stiffly. “Yes, Mr. President.”
Vladimir found Alanna in her dressing room, as pale and beautiful in this silver gown as she had been on the night he first saw her. He entered softly and ran his hands over her bare arms, then smiled when he felt her shiver. She looked up, her wide blue eyes meeting his in the mirror. “Am I late, sweetheart?”
“It is time.” He caught her hand and helped her from the vanity stool, then carefully linked her arm through his. What an elegant beauty she was! The dull politicians and ambassadors assembled in the hall would be speechless with surprise at his announcement, but they would understand his reasoning once they looked at his treasure. Alanna Ivanova possessed an ideal sort of beauty, pure light and brightness. Her loveliness, combined with his strength, would produce children fit for the throne of Russia, kings deserving to rule the world.
“I should probably warn you, my love,” he whispered as he led her out of her dressing room, “but the group downstairs is rather small—only one hundred people. These are the men who will be closest to me in the days ahead; they are the ones who should know just how important you are to me. That is why I invited them tonight.”
She looked up, her blue eyes filled with shifting stars. “Is there something special about tonight?”
“Of course.” He patted her hand. “Tonight is the night I announce our impending marriage. After all, the president of Russia certainly should be married to the love of his life.”
He heard her quick intake of breath. “Married?”
“Of course, darling.” He kept walking, pulling her through the ornate outer chamber. “We will have a small wedding next Wednesday, nothing to attract undue attention. A simple wedding now, a glorious coronation later. How would that please you?”
It was a simple question, but her head jerked up as though he had stabbed her with it. “Vladimir, you can’t mean—” Her luminous eyes widened in astonishment. “I thought you were just joking, all this time—”
“I never joke, darling. I mean every word I say.” He turned to face her and took both her hands in his own. “When I have returned from the battlefront, Russia will change. The people are hungry for a strong leader, and I am ready to lead. Already I have planted the seeds of revolution. The land is being plowed, the stones removed and purged, the land tilled for growth. A new and fertile nation will rise from the broken soil, and Russia will be stronger than ever before. And you and I, love, will reign as czar and czarina over all the Russias.”
Her eyes were as wide and blank as the windowpanes, as though the shock of surprise had shooed her wits away. A little alarmed, he reached up and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Alanna? Darling, you must look happy tonight. I know this may not be what you expected of your life, but destiny has brought us together. Your life is now entwined with mine.”
Her mouth curved in a bland smile. “Of course, Vladimir. Whatever you say.”
“You are a good girl.” Vladimir pressed a kiss to her round cheek, then linked her arm through his again and led her out to meet their guests.
Alanna couldn’t speak. Vladimir was leading her down a wide, carpeted hallway, yet his quick steps were no match for her pounding heart. All she could feel was anxiety like a balloon in her chest, swelling and swelling until it would surely burst.
Married! How could she marry him? She couldn’t. She was already a prisoner, now locked even more securely within the thick walls of the Kremlin itself, but at least she had remained free in her own eyes, in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of God. But if she married him, she’d be his wife, his partner, his . . . czarina?
The fears that had been lapping at her subconscious suddenly crested and crashed. Gogol was a madman, a bloodthirsty tyrant, and she’d been so blind! Daniel had tried to warn her, Mrs. Nance had told her not to get too close, but she had allowed Gogol to woo her with luxuries and power and influence. What price would she pay for her foolishness? He was talking about revolution.
She bit her lip, resisting the urge to scream as panic rioted within her. Revolutions were wrought in blood; kings and queens and their innocent children were murdered solely for political reasons, and those who toyed with political power almost always paid a dear price. She hadn’t meant for it to go this far! She had been waiting, obeying Daniel, hoping she could slip away when Vladimir left Moscow to join the Russian troops. If they were married, he would never let her get away.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry, and felt her fear intensify when Col. Oleg Petrov suddenly came around the corner.
“Mr. President.” He snapped a salute and bowed. “I am glad I have caught you.”
“Can it wait, Colonel?” Vladimir pressed his free hand over Alanna’s, silently urging her to be patient. “We are on our way to join a very important party.”
&nbs
p; “It is news of Brussels, sir.”
Vladimir’s jaw tensed, and when he spoke again, he spoke in Russian. Alanna looked away, pretending not to understand, but an oddly primitive warning sounded in her brain.
Petrov spoke in Russian, too, in clipped sentences and staccato cadences. “The diamond cutter—we can’t find him anywhere, and we’ve been searching for nearly two weeks. No one in Brussels knows where he has gone.”
“The people at the bourse are bound to know.”
“They say they do not—indeed, I can’t find a single diamond merchant in the entire syndicate who has heard of a cutter called Yacov Witzun. He and the diamond are both missing.”
Two deep red patches appeared on Vladimir’s cheekbones, as though someone had slapped him on each side of his face. A stream of curses spewed from his mouth as his fist pounded the air, then he glared at Petrov. “Those filthy Jews are in league with one another! Of course they know who he is! They know where he is! They have conspired to mock the glory of Mother Russia!”
Petrov blanched. “At least we have not lost the money. We have not paid the bourse.”
“Still, it is a matter of honor! Those Jews pride themselves on their integrity, and an agreed-upon sale is binding. They are doing this to mock me, and they will pay for this in blood.” Breathless with rage, Vladimir lifted his arm again, and Alanna took a hasty half step back. His anger resonated through the hallway, and the power of it frightened her.
Petrov turned slightly and lowered his voice, murmuring words that were obviously designed to console or appease. Alanna shivered in the silence, fighting hard against the tears she refused to let fall. If she lost control now, all would be lost. Her only hope at escaping this nightmare was to find help and keep Vladimir under her power.
At last Vladimir drew a long breath, controlling the fury that had taken him. He reached out and took Alanna’s arm again, then looked at Petrov, radiating disapproval. “Find another stone, another cutter, another bourse. See if you can find a diamond broker who is not a Jew! And do not worry yourself about the Jews in Brussels. We will take care of them and their kind . . . very soon.”
He clenched his fist and squared his shoulders, somehow managing to tamp down his anger, but he was still breathing raggedly when he smiled down at Alanna. “A bit of bad news, love, but nothing to worry us. Shall we continue?”
He led her down the red-carpeted stairs, then swept her through the gilded arch that led to the ballroom. An orchestra began to play the stately Russian national anthem as they appeared in the doorway, and a sea of tuxedoed and sequined guests burst into polite applause. Alanna looked around the crowd, as dazed as a deer caught in a hunter’s spotlight, until her gaze fell upon a familiar face: Mrs. Irene Nance.
Somehow, the kindly face of the ambassador’s wife supported Alanna through the nightmare of Vladimir’s announcement and an endless chorus of congratulations.
After an hour woven of eternity, Vladimir released her to mingle with the women while he joined the men. Alanna smiled stiffly at Russian wives until she thought her face would break, then she found Mrs. Nance and pulled the woman into a recessed window nook. “You’ve got to help me,” she whispered, casting a false smile over Irene’s shoulder as she waved to a couple watching her from the dance floor. “I can’t marry him. I didn’t even know what he was planning until tonight.”
Mrs. Nance’s brows nearly met her hairline. “Oh, dear. I thought—we thought—well, never mind what we thought.”
A tide of uncertainty washed through the woman’s eyes, and Alanna was certain Mrs. Nance saw the same dark currents in her own. “Please, Mrs. Nance, you’ve got to help me. If I could get to the embassy, you could help me get back home, couldn’t you?”
The sharp look in Irene’s eyes pierced Alanna’s soul. “We assumed you had fallen in love with him. When time passed and you continued to see him—”
“I’ve been a virtual prisoner for months.” Alanna nodded pointedly toward the guards stationed at each entrance. “I’ll admit that I took things too far, but I was lonely and—well, selfish. But when Vladimir instigated the purge, I knew how dangerous he really was. By then I couldn’t get away. Daniel was going to try and help me—”
“You’re still in touch with Daniel?”
“Yes. I’d have gone crazy without him and Lauren.” She paused to smile at another couple, a heavyset man and his wife who were staring at her with frank curiosity.
She lowered her gaze and met Mrs. Nance’s eyes. “Please. I’m in over my head, and I don’t know how to get out.”
A tremor touched Mrs. Nance’s smooth, elegant face. “I’ll help you if I can, dear. But I think it’s time you turned to someone more powerful than me.”
Alanna nodded. “I’m trying. But Daniel’s not here, and I don’t know what he can do from a distance—”
“I wasn’t talking about Daniel. I was talking about God.”
Alanna snapped her mouth shut, stunned by the woman’s answer. God? What did God have to do with anything?
“Darling!”
Vladimir’s voice broke into her reverie, and she could only nod at the ambassador’s wife. “I will try to help if I can,” Mrs. Nance whispered, patting Alanna’s hand as Vladimir approached. “And you can always talk to Daniel and Lauren. They know that God is orchestrating this situation. He cares about you, Alanna.”
She stared, speechless, as Mrs. Nance glided away and Vladimir took her place.
While Vladimir snored on the pillow next to her, Alanna stared at the domed ceiling and wondered how many other Russian presidents had slept in this room. The Presidium was huge, with over a dozen chambers that could function as bedrooms, but Vladimir had chosen this, the grandest one, for her. Tonight he had told her that in just three days, after their wedding, it would be hers for life.
She turned her head. Asleep, the taut skin of his face had slackened against the pillow, and he looked strangely old. His hand, thick and powerful, lay pressed against his pillow, while the other stretched across the sheet as if reaching for her.
She slid away from him, slipping silently across the satin sheets until her toes touched the cold floor. A crystal nightlight burned above her bureau, and the luminescent numerals of the clock glowed through the darkness: 3:53.
She stood and reached for her robe, then shivered as she knotted the belt around her waist. She had no idea what time zone Daniel and Lauren Prentice were living in, if they were awake or asleep. But she knew she desperately needed to talk to them.
Leaving Vladimir asleep, she tiptoed to the outer room. Several boxes of her personal belongings lay stacked along the wall, and her laptop computer lay hidden inside one of them. She hadn’t used it since the move, not trusting the phone lines in this public government building, but perhaps no one would suspect a single encrypted call.
She lifted the laptop from the box, pushed away the torn plastic wrapping, and untangled the telephone and power lines. A silvery rectangle of moonlight streamed in through the tall window between the two sofas, lighting the coffee table but leaving the wall in darkness. She ran her hand along the plastered surface, then sighed in relief when she found a pair of outlets. Working quickly, she plugged in the computer and the modem, then sank to the floor in front of the sofa and tapped the power on.
Almost too late, she remembered that the computer would beep as the operating system booted up. She grabbed a pillow and held it over the machine, muffling the sharp sound, then let the pillow fall to the floor. She clicked on a series of keys, activating Daniel’s encryption program, then sent a query:
Hello? Anyone up and awake? I need to talk.
Texas.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the computer beeped with a reply. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as she looked toward the open doorway that led to the bedroom, but nothing stirred in the darkness beyond. He still slept.
She looked down at the computer and saw Lauren’s reply:
Hi, Texas
. Daniel’s asleep, but I’m here. How can I help?
L.
Alanna’s fingers flew over the keys, keeping pace with the erratic rhythm of her pulse.
I really wanted to talk, Lauren, but I can’t have this thing beeping every time you post a message. V. is in the next room asleep, and we’re no longer living at the hotel. He’s moved us to the Presidium, and I’m scared to death. He wants to marry me, in just three days. I don’t see how I can, but I don’t see how I can get out, either. Help!
She clicked the Send key, then picked up the sofa pillow, ready to smother any sound the computer might make. To her surprise, the computer didn’t beep, nor did Lauren send an answering e-mail. Instead, a small window opened at the bottom of the screen, and Lauren’s words filled a text box in an easy, conversational pace.
“Why don’t we do it this way? Daniel’s figured out how we can chat in real time. It’s an encrypted program, so you don’t have to worry about being picked up.”
Alanna pressed her hand to her chest and sighed as her pulse began to slow. Operating on instinct, she moved the cursor to the text box, clicked, and began to type a reply: “Thank you, Lauren. I am going crazy here.
What am I supposed to do? I thought I could slip away when Vladimir goes to lead the army, but if I’m married, I’ll never be able to get away. If the security around me is tight now, I shudder to think what it will be like if I am the Russian president’s wife.”
“Do you know when he is leaving to join the army?”
“No, but the wedding is set for next Wednesday, so he’ll be in Moscow at least until then. He won’t give me details about the military operation. He just keeps saying it’s a routine operation to force the Israelis to keep the terms of their peace accords. More frightening, he keeps insisting that things will be different when it’s over. I never knew how different until tonight. He actually thinks he can convince the legislative houses to name him czar!”
By Dawn's Early Light Page 29