by Risk, Mona
Tania greeted them with a smile that could revive a dead body. “Dobroye pajalavat, Madame, Mr. Gordon. Welcome to Belarus.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cecile said, smiling back.
They managed to stuff all their suitcases into the van. Once Cecile and John were seated inside, their driver followed Roussov’s military Jeep out of the airport. The highway extended before them, vast, bumpy and almost deserted. Cecile gazed out of the window at the unfolding scenery, a horizon of dark forests with tall, leafless trees.
As the van approached an inspection gate, a police officer stepped out of a kiosk on the side of the road and waved his gloved hand. Tania slammed on the brakes. The old VW burped and then came to an abrupt halt, hurling Cecile forward. Her palms flattened against the dashboard.
“Police,” Tania mumbled.
Cecile maintained a blank expression while the policeman threw a suspicious look inside the van. Colonel Roussov jumped out of his Jeep and yelled at the man who immediately saluted and signaled for them to move. When the colonel approached her side of the car, Cecile lowered her window.
“Dr. Lornier, I apologize for the inconvenience. It will not happen again.” Roussov turned toward Tania and ordered, “Proceed.”
The van moved away. “Many policemen patrol the streets. Always inspecting,” Tania explained. “But of course, this policeman was scared when he saw Colonel Roussov.”
Cecile frowned. “Why would he be scared of the colonel? Roussov seems like a decent man. He’s doing his best to please us.”
“Everybody is scared of Colonel Roussov. He was the head of the Belarusian KGB. There is no KGB anymore.” Tania shrugged. “They call it National Security now.”
“But it’s different,” John interjected.
“No, it’s not.” She snorted. “Why do you think Colonel Roussov came to receive you at the airport? You are important foreigners. He had to check you personally.”
“Thanks for reassuring us,” Cecile muttered wryly.
Tania’s laughter chimed like a crystal bell. She wagged a well-manicured finger. “I think you passed his test.”
“Really? I’m wondering…” Cecile turned her head toward the back of the car. “Hey, John, I saw you cracking up earlier when Roussov had trouble pronouncing my name. What’s going on?”
A sudden bout of laughter overcame John, bouncing his impressive belly.
“Come on, John, share with me. I could use a little morale boost right now.”
John rumpled his frizzy hair and controlled his hilarity. “Until your arrival, the Belarusians thought that Dr. Lornier was a man. They misspelled your name on the contract.”
“I noticed they wrote Cecile without the E. So?”
He shook his head, his eyebrows quirked. “You see, they aren’t used to working with executive women. They even prepared male entertainment for your pleasure. The gentlemen’s club, the whipping massage…hmm…”
“Whipping mass… You’ve got to be kidding me.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“It’s just a way to entertain clients in Belarus. There’s no golf here.”
Cecile pinched her mouth shut. Talk about unprofessional behavior. Well, she was not a male Program Manager and she didn’t do whipping massage. “That explains why Roussov gawked at me. Why didn’t you clarify things during your previous trip?”
“And miss the fun? No way.”
Dismayed, Cecile stared at him. Selfish oaf.
He cleared his throat. “Hmm, you wouldn’t understand. Nothing exciting ever happens in my boring office at the CDDD.”
Typical John. Cecile knew better than to judge him on appearances. He had come on this trip specifically to audit her work and report her daily progress to the CDDD.
With a shrug, she dismissed the subject. “Now that I’ve met them, the officers will forget the misunderstanding.” God, she was so tired, physically and mentally. She couldn’t wait to lie down.
John grumbled. “It may not be that easy.”
So far, nothing had been easy with her contract. She had fought to get it and then fought to keep it. She was capable of playing hardball to manage the project.
“It’s not the first time I’ve installed a lab and trained chemists. I’m good at it. The Belarusians signed the agreement. They’ll have to accept me. Even if they’re not used to working with executive women.”
She could imagine Rob’s smirk if she returned to Boston without fulfilling every codicil of the contract. His voice still grated in her ears. Forget it, honey. Too far over your head.
“I will succeed,” she vowed, her pulse accelerating as her gaze swayed to her hand and fixed on the very spot the general’s lips had warmed. Friend or foe?
“We’re going into the city now,” Tania announced as they left the countryside and entered the outskirts of Minsk. The car steered from the highway to a broad avenue. The traffic grew and the streets swarmed with a colorful mix of civilians and militaries.
Cecile blinked, perplexed by the number of uniformed men strolling down the sidewalks. Banners extended across the width of the avenue and a cluster of people hid from the wind under a plastic shelter.
Tania lowered the driver-side window, allowing an alcohol smell to waft into the vehicle. “Few Belarusians own cars. The bus stations are always crowded. You often see people eating sandwiches or drinking vodka while waiting.” A moment later, the van stopped in front of a modern high-rise. “This is Hotel Nievol and down there, Szwifloch River.”
Roussov dashed out of his Jeep to open the van door for Cecile. “It is our most luxurious hotel. I hope you will be comfortable here. Have a good evening, Dr. Lornier, Mr. Gordon.”
In the lobby, Cecile stroked her gloved hands over her icy cheeks. Would it ever get warm in this country? The marble floor, dimly lit chandelier and old furniture created a dark ambiance, even at three o’clock in the afternoon.
After taking care of their reservations, John said, “Cecile, I’ll see you at six-thirty in the lobby. We’ll have dinner at the second floor restaurant. Tania, we’d like you to join us.”
Tania nodded. “I will wait here.” She raised a questioning gaze toward Cecile. “Unless…Dr. Lornier would like me to help her unpack?”
“Yes, please,” Cecile hastened to reply. She wouldn’t leave Tania waiting alone in the cold lobby.
They juggled her luggage into a narrow elevator, stopped at the fourteenth floor, and dragged the suitcases along the corridor. With Tania’s help, Cecile managed to open the door of her room with the oversized brass key.
A crisp chill seeped through the thin gaps of the window frame and the room felt as cold as the North Pole. Freezing, Cecile rubbed her hands.
Tania gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, there is no heating. Our government allows heating only in the winter months, from November first to April thirtieth. But maybe I can do something.” She tucked a pillow against the windowsill for insulation, then pulled a wool blanket and bedspread from one of the twin beds and piled them on top of the other bed, building a warm cocoon. “This way you’ll feel warm tonight.”
Cecile went to inspect the bathroom. Nice, quite elegant with green tiles. Hmm, the toilet paper was brownish and looked like sandpaper. She touched it. Darn, it felt like sandpaper. She checked the faucets and shower. Thank heaven, they delivered hot water.
“Mr. Gordon mentioned you fell at the airport. How are you feeling now?” Tania asked.
“Much better, thank you. But my back is still sore.”
“You were so lucky. I wouldn’t mind falling into the arms of our Major Generalle.” Tania giggled. “He is sooo gorgeous. Every woman in Minsk is a little bit in love with him. He is our big hero.”
“His wife doesn’t mind?” She fumbled with the lock of a suitcase, waiting for Tania’s answer.
“He’s been a widower for some time. They never had children.”
Cecile released the breath she’d been holding. “I see.” She opened her luggage
and organized her bottles of water in the refrigerator.
“You brought only dark suits, Dr. Lornier?” Tania asked as she hung the severe attire.
“They’re suitable for meetings and conferences.”
The girl gaped at her. “What are you wearing in the evening? After work?”
“I’m here only to work.” She had come to Minsk to set up a laboratory and fulfill a contract, not to go out and waste time. At least, that was her plan, the plan she’d carefully devised while sitting for long hours in the plane. So why was she glaring at her outdated wardrobe?
“Just work?” Tania’s lips drooped in a grimace. “Maybe I can take you shopping?”
“I doubt I’ll have time for shopping.” On second thought, she could make time if the General… Forget it. Remember the mess with Rob. Never again would she muddle business with personal fun. You’re here to work, work, work. “How do you say ‘work’ in Russian?” She should learn the useful word.
“Robota. You’re not married, Dr. Lornier?”
“No.”
“You should have some fun in the evening, after a whole day of robota.” Tania shook her head as she folded a beige turtleneck.
Cecile shrugged, preferring not to discuss her social life—or lack of it. The excitement of the trip was enough to alleviate her loneliness and break the monotony of her work.
“You wouldn’t understand. I really love my work.” Ignoring her driver’s puzzled frown, Cecile watched the icy rain batter on the windowpane. After her extraordinary encounter with the general, nothing could be boring about work and the new project. She just hoped he wouldn’t interfere in her professional decisions.
“But still, a pretty woman like you should have a special man,” Tania insisted boldly.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Cecile remembered brawny arms and a steel chest. A special man? Hadn’t she met one a few hours ago? His sensual mouth had fanned a warm breath close to her face, scalding her all the way to her toes.
Cecile lowered her eyes, recalling the feeling of his body against hers and the smell of his after-shave. He had been gallant and courteous.
Actually too gallant.
His lips had lingered on her hand, long enough to melt her apprehension and boggle her mind.
The image of her virile savior danced behind her closed lids, increasing her anxiety. A special man. None other than the Major General, the hero of Belarus she’d have to impress with her work.
She pursed her lips in defiance. Whether he liked it or not, the general would have to work with this woman.
* * * * *
Major General Sergei Fedorin sat at his desk and pulled two pictures from the drawer. He gazed with love and longing at the faded photo of a lively seventeen-year-old with long hair and twinkling eyes. Sofya, his pretty neighbor, who used to meet him behind the stairs of their building to cuddle and kiss.
He flipped to the other picture. His breathing caught in his throat. The image of a sick Sofya, already affected by cancer, smiled back at him. His wife of fifteen years, blonde and pale, with blue eyes too big for her face and a yellow dress too loose on her frail body.
“I will keep my promise, Sofya. I will purge our country of the Chernobyl pollution that cost you your precious life.”
On the day she died, five years ago, he was detained on military duty three hundred miles away. His heart still gnawed with the pain and guilt.
Their country was poor, too poor to feed its citizens, let alone start an environmental cleanup program. He inhaled deeply. “I will decrease the rate of cancer in Belarus. Now, the American delegation will help me,” Sergei vowed as he closed the drawer on the pictures.
A knock on his door jolted him from his deep thoughts. “Come in.”
Colonel Nicolai Nicouvitch walked in and saluted him. “Dobroye Pajalavat, Generalle. Welcome back. Good to see you, Sergei.” His assistant and good friend clapped him on the back. “How was your trip?”
“Not bad. The return was even more interesting. I met the American delegation. Why weren’t you at the airport to receive them?”
“I am sorry, Generalle. Roussov convinced our Minister of Defense to let him go instead of me.”
“I see. Another of Roussov’s manipulations.” Sergei’s jaws clenched tightly as he wished his antagonist to hell and away from the American delegation.
“What’s your first impression?”
His impression? Or the reactions he would never confess to anyone? The tightening of his muscles when her fingers had trembled on his arm. The surge of protectiveness overwhelming him as bewildered hazel-green eyes had locked on his. The racing of his blood when her generous breasts had crushed against his chest.
And the shock he’d experienced at the introduction of the tall, gorgeous American he’d held in his arms as the Program Manager of his contract.
She had instantly metamorphosed from a delicate beauty to a serene ice queen—the assertive Dr. Lornier, modestly garbed like an older woman.
“Well?” Nicolai’s voice pulled him out of an interesting contemplation. “What do you think of the American scientist? Will he be amenable to a change of plans?”
Sergei narrowed his eyes on his officer. “The Program Manager is a woman.”
“A what?” Nicolai’s jaw dropped.
“Dr. Cecile Lornier is a young and pretty woman, although she manages to project a very serious image. Nothing like our local beauties in bright colors and heavy makeup. Colonel, how did you allow such an error to occur?”
Nicolai cursed. “A woman? Er…I assumed…” A muscle twitched in his cheek. He cleared his throat. “I mean I could not guess… The name Cecil…” Embarrassment dripped from his colonel’s voice. “Remember, my Generalle, the first American movie we saw in Belarus was by Cecil B. DeMille. It never occurred to me that the American Program Manager handling such an important responsibility would be a woman.” He looked to the heavens. “This has never happened before in Belarus. A woman. Who could have guessed?”
“She is too young for this job. Thirty. Thirty-two at the most,” Sergei declared. “Much too young.” And much too pretty for his peace of mind. The shoulder-length light brown hair, in disarray from her fall, had partly shadowed her lovely face but he had admired at length her dainty profile and the stubborn chin, lifted in defiance. Her full lips, tightened in aggravation, had beckoned to him like forbidden fruit—an unwelcome distraction to his mission.
Nicolai’s sigh sent warning bells jangling in his head. “What are we going to do about her? She may ruin everything.” The colonel lit a cigarette and inhaled nervously.
Sergei pushed his chair and stood. For the first time in his life, he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He paced to the window and studied the blanket of clouds darkening the afternoon. His mood was as gray as the sky.
Had John Gordon lost his mind, signing over the contract so precious to Sergei’s heart to such a young woman? “I don’t know, Nicolai, I don’t know. A complex situation, a real problem.”
Blood pounded at his temples. The difficult project, his mission and the citizens’ dream of a country free from pollution would rest on her delicate shoulders.
“Generalle, we can’t let this young woman waste the U.S. aid on a laboratory when thousands of Belarusians are dying of cancer.”
“Perhaps I can turn the situation to our advantage. Instead of installing a useless lab, I will convince her to ship to Minsk the equipment needed for the environmental cleanup.”
“What about the sample analysis? It is required by the contract.”
“We will ask her to collect soil samples from Belarus and send them to Boston for analysis at her laboratory. It would be much more efficient anyway.”
Nicolai shook his head with a condescending smile. “If she’s young, she’s probably inexperienced. Persuading her to change her plans shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Don’t be so sure. From what I have seen so far, she is quite an independent lady. Not used
to following a man’s lead.”
“Svenya! Is she going to question every one of our decisions?”
Sergei cracked his knuckles. “Who knows?” Irritation thundered in his groan. “I will have to ask John to send us a seasoned male Program Manager to coordinate the actual cleanup.” It was the only way to keep his promise to Sofya and help the multitude of Belarusians who counted on him.
“Generalle, about the entertainment…” Nicolai muttered.
Sergei almost choked, remembering the gentlemen’s spa and its usual activities. “Cancel. Cancel the whole evening.”
The colonel shrugged. “As you say, Generalle.”
“Tomorrow, try to keep her away from Roussov. You should have seen that son of a dourak at the airport. His smiles, his friendly behavior. Disgusting.”
“Friendly? Roussov? Svenya! The man is up to something.”
“I won’t let him interfere in our mission.” If only he could prevent the damned colonel from attending tomorrow’s meeting. Exasperation pummeled his heart and dried his throat. “Pour us a drink, moy drouk.”
His friend opened a closet and uncorked a bottle of vodka. He filled two shot glasses and handed one to Sergei. They raised their glasses and clanked them against each other. “To our mission, Generalle.”
“To a clean Belarus.”
Of course, Sergei didn’t mind the lovely Cecile staying in Minsk as an assistant.
Forget the laboratory, Cecile. Help me clean my country and I will make it up to you.
Chapter Three
The van passed through a wrought iron gate and navigated a paved driveway. Cecile got a glimpse of an imposing structure surmounted by a golden cupola.
“We are here. The Hall of Officers.” Tania stopped in front of a terrace surrounded by a colonnade and gestured to the white mansion protected by two black cannons. “In the old days, it was the summer residence of the Prince of Belarus.” A proud smile highlighted the young woman’s lovely features. Cecile listened attentively while John seemed more interested by the pretty driver than her historical information.
“Later on, the Soviet Supreme used it as a meeting hall,” Tania added.