by Risk, Mona
Cecile had swallowed two aspirins before getting dressed and had decided to avoid alcohol tonight. People lined up along the two endless tables. Many of the guests came with their wives and Cecile began to feel less conspicuous among the male contingent.
Nicolai requested silence. The Minister of Defense delivered the first toast to Dr. Lornier. Three hundred people lifted their glasses to honor her. She nodded, smiled brightly and brought the glass to her lips without drinking. Sergei noticed and started protesting. She stopped him by grabbing his hand under the table. “Please, don’t insist. I’m not feeling well.”
“The vodka will help.”
“Not this time. Don’t worry, I’ll toast with everyone but I won’t drink.”
At that moment, Roussov entered the room. Her jaw dropped and her morale began to sag. Beside her, Sergei scowled and squeezed her hand with an iron grip. “If he just looks at you, I’ll punch his face. Don’t leave my side.”
How dare he order her like that? She didn’t like Sergei’s tone but was too tired to protest.
The toasts succeeded each other. Soon it was her turn to present one. She glanced at the dignitaries surrounding her as she reached for her glass. They looked at her, waiting. Whom was she going to hail?
She grabbed the microphone. “Gentlemen, I have been impressed by your zeal to improve your country. But no man can do anything without the help of…” She paused and saw the heads straining to listen and the eyebrows rising in question. “Without the help of a smart and loving woman. Gentlemen, a toast to your wives and the ladies of Belarus.”
Seconds of silence were followed by a thunder of applause as they downed their vodka.
“Absolutely true, my love.” Sergei gave her a sizzling look that melted her apprehension and made her knees wobble.
He filled a platter of hors d’oeuvres for her. She ate and began to relax and enjoy herself. Roussov hadn’t tried to approach her.
The evening proceeded amid fun and toasts. By ten o’clock the ministers, their wives and many guests came to thank her and took their leave. The assembly began to ebb.
One of the reporters who had interviewed her in the morning accosted them and handed Sergei a newspaper. “Colonel Roussov asked me to give Dr. Lornier a copy of the evening edition. There is a nice picture of her on the front page.”
She raised her head and saw Roussov waving a hand at her before disappearing out of the restaurant. Sergei opened the newspaper and sputtered a word she didn’t understand. The reporter gasped and scampered away.
“What? What is it, Sergei?”
“This.” He spread the paper under her nose. She felt about to collapse.
Displayed on the front page, occupying half the sheet, was a picture of her and Roussov. She was smiling, his arms surrounding her shoulders and his head close to hers.
She stared at Sergei and swallowed hard. She’d never seen such fury on his face. His eyes shot blazing daggers at her and his clenched fingers lowered to his side. “How could you, Cecilya? How could you?” he asked with a controlled rage.
The blood drained from her face. Her throat became dry. She wet her lips and raised a hand but he inched away.
“Sergei, listen to me, please. Roussov tricked me.”
Sergei threw a look at the picture and his mouth twisted. Cecile read anger, disgust and sadness in his eyes. He condemned her without listening. She gazed at him with love and desperation, then turned her back and left the restaurant without a word.
Chapter Twenty-two
So that was it. The dream was over.
Alone in her room, Cecile slumped into a chair and stared at the wall, her mind numb.
Her hero was gone, already receding into the clouds of her memory—or her imagination. Did she dream the fairy-tale story? Cinderella in love with her prince charming, her hero from far away?
If only she had listened to Nicolai, refused Roussov’s invitation and asked for Sergei’s help to get the instruments. If only she had ignored her pride and her overinflated ego.
If only he had listened to her, given her the benefit of the doubt and accepted her explanation.
Her heart thudded in her chest and tolled the end of her romance as she battled to control her anxiety. She felt a stabbing burning sensation in her stomach, the ulcer resurrected by stress and she clutched her midsection.
If only she could cry, shout, or vent her pain. But years of discipline and control had taught her to compose her face and suppress her emotions. She unhooked the tightly fitted waist of the skirt and took a deep breath. Right now, an antacid would help. She reached for her purse and rummaged through it.
Her fingers stumbled across an envelope. It was the money for the reception. She’d forgotten to pay the restaurant before rushing back to her room. She chewed on a couple of antacid tablets and pulled out the envelope. She would go and pay now. Cecile hooked her skirt and walked to the door.
She heard the pounding as she reached it. “Who is it?” she asked without opening.
“It’s Sergei. Open the door, Cecile.”
With a sigh of relief, she opened, unable to hide the joy that flooded her being. He had come. She would explain and everything would be fine again.
Sergei stormed into her room, a somber expression on his face, the newspaper still clenched in his hand. He threw it on the bed. “How could you have dinner with him?” he asked with a bellowing voice. “You are smiling, laughing in this damned picture. You are sitting there in his arms, the arms of my mortal enemy. And it said the picture was taken two weeks ago. Explain, Cecile.”
She raised her arms toward his shoulders. He backed up. Anger flared in his eyes. “No kissing or hugging. Don’t try to evade my questions. You are so good at that. The truth, just the truth. Even if it hurts.” His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps.
Cecile wouldn’t let his insulting words enrage her. One of them needed to remain calm and she’d already managed to drain her anger.
“Sergei, you’re right. We need to talk, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I swear to God, I will give it to you flat and plain. But before, at the risk of having you misjudge me one more time, I have to go and pay the restaurant. I was on my way out when you came.”
He snatched the envelope. “Stay here. I will do it for you and will be back in five minutes. Don’t move from here,” he ordered.
“Sergei, there’s about five thousand dollars here.”
“I will bring you the change. Don’t move from here,” he repeated.
He wrenched the door open, then slammed it behind him.
She immediately heard a loud exclamation in the hallway and rushed to open it again. Sergei stood facing the left of the long corridor, his face contorted with rage.
Cecile grasped his arm. “What happened?”
He didn’t need to answer. A flash hit them from the right side. Cecile gasped. “What the hell?”
“Stay in your room. You hear me,” Sergei shouted. “I will get the damned photographer.”
He dashed into the corridor chasing the man who’d already vanished around the corner. Cecile reentered her room and locked it.
It must be Roussov. One of his dirty tricks. A photographer ambushed on the left side of the corridor. Another stationed on the right side. Roussov was concocting something and this time, he was going at it full speed.
Cold and irrational fear gripped her heart. Although she guessed he was determined to destroy Sergei, she didn’t understand his intricate plan, or the inner workings of his twisted mind.
She thumped on the chair and waited, her gaze fixed on the door.
Cecile checked her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. He hadn’t returned. She started pacing the room then paused and changed into a comfortable warm sweat suit, wanting to be ready.
Ready for what? She didn’t know. She had a premonition that something dreadful was going to happen. Feeling claustrophobic in her room, she grabbed her purse and dashed to the elevator.
When it reached her floor, Paul stomped out of it with a grave expression. “Cecile, I was coming to see you. Sergei asked me to make sure you’re all right.”
“Sergei did? Thank God, he’s fine.” Relief washed over her in a tidal wave.
Paul scratched his chin and hesitated. “Yes…”
“But what? Paul, tell me.” She grabbed the collar of his jacket and shook him.
His eyes filled with pity.
Her stomach twisted in knots. “Tell me. I can take it.”
“There’s a big commotion going on in the lobby. The general got into a fight with two reporters. I wanted to help him but he yelled at me to go check on you.”
Cecile pushed him and stepped inside the elevator. “I’m running downstairs. You can come if you want.”
“Of course, I’m coming. There’s no way on Earth I’d leave you alone. But the general may not like you downstairs.”
“I know. He already told me to stay in my room. Since when do I accept orders? I’m used to giving them.”
When the door of the elevator opened in the lobby floor, Cecile gasped and forgot to step out. Her eyes widened at the sight of the carnage playing out in front of her. Five men circled around Sergei trying to hit him. He had abandoned his uniform jacket on the sofa. Like a devil with seven arms, he punched, kicked and wrestled.
Paul slid a hand to her elbow and guided her to a far corner from where they stood to watch the scene. Except for the registration clerk who observed the fight with cool interest, the place seemed deserted. Cecile tried to wriggle free out of Paul’s clasp. He wouldn’t let go.
John edged beside them. “Cecile, don’t do anything foolish,” he tersely admonished. “I told Rob and Paul not to interfere. We’re foreigners on an official mission here. If you get caught stirring trouble, you can be deported and cause international problems. So far, Fedorin seems to be managing quite well. No wonder the guy’s a general.”
Two men lay on the floor unconscious. One doubled up and staggered to a sofa. Another fled, a hand covering his bloody eye.
“Great, four down, two to go.” Rob announced the score, his tone filled with admiration and respect.
Roussov materialized out of the blue near the registration desk. He lifted the telephone receiver and dialed a number.
“What the hell is he still doing here?” Paul stretched his neck to see better.
Feeling her bones icing with fear, Cecile squeaked. “Oh my God, he planned the whole thing. I knew it. My picture with him in the newspaper. The two reporters taking a picture of Sergei going out of my room. All of it is part of his strategy. He wanted to goad Sergei, to make him lose his temper.”
As if to corroborate her assumptions, two men appeared from the glass door of the lobby and flashed a picture at the battling opponents, just as one more fell. The last one glanced toward the door and ran away.
Sergei turned and assessed the battlefield. Cecile tried to disentangle herself from Paul’s restraining hand but John grabbed her other arm. “Don’t move, Cecile. You hear me.”
She focused on the man she loved and noticed his swollen eye, torn shirt and the reddened area on his jaw. Sergei was in one piece and still standing on his feet. She breathed a sigh of relief. Roussov was finally vanquished.
Suddenly the place swarmed with men. They rounded on Sergei talking in Russian and exhibiting identity cards.
“The National Security guards probably,” John said.
Immobilized in her place by Paul and John, Cecile watched the scene as if it was a horror movie orchestrated by this monster Roussov. She turned a hateful look at him and then stood petrified. Roussov was searching Sergei’s jacket.
Cecile’s nails clawed into Paul’s palm. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Paul followed her gaze. Straightening up from the sofa and beaming with triumph, Roussov waved the envelope full of dollars. He shouted in Russian and two men came toward him. He opened the envelope, pulled out the green currency and brandished it as if it was the flag of a fallen warrior. One of his companions replaced the money in the envelope and wrapped it in a newspaper.
Beside her, Paul gasped. “What the hell are those dollars doing in the general’s jacket?”
John grumbled. “How could Sergei do such a stupid thing? A Belarusian officer is not allowed to carry foreign currency.”
Cecile suddenly bolted out of their hands and darted toward the Belarusian group. Paul followed her and gripped her shoulders, halting her. “Are you crazy? You can hurt his cause more than help.”
“You don’t understand,” she cried. “It’s my fault. It’s my money. I gave it to him to pay the restaurant. That’s all. He was going to do it and come back in five minutes. Let me explain to them.”
John held her hand. “No. They won’t listen now. Let it go, Cecile. You will complicate things even more.”
She felt completely responsible for Sergei’s misfortune. It wasn’t fair he stood there, surrounded like a trapped animal.
“Someone must help him,” she shouted, unable to withstand the sight of the man she loved all alone, with that pack of wolves circling him, ready to attack.
Paul ran to the reception telephone and dialed a number. He came back within two minutes. “I called Nicolai. The colonel will be here as soon as possible.”
John raked nervous fingers through his frizzy hair. “This doesn’t bode well. I wonder what they’re waiting for. I’d have thought they’d have taken him away by now.”
“Taken him where?” Cecile wailed.
“I don’t know. But obviously they’re not going to let him go.”
Rob shrugged. “You don’t arrest the Major General of Belarus like a common thief. They can lose their heads when he gets through with them.”
Those were the words Cecile wanted to hear. Sergei was not their next door neighbor. He stood high on a pedestal, respected and honored by the people of Belarus.
At the registration desk, Roussov barked orders into the telephone. The glass door opened one more time and a dozen policemen entered. They spread around the battered men that Sergei had incapacitated and began interrogating them.
Roussov slammed the receiver down and headed toward her group. He stopped two feet away from her and snarled, “You didn’t want to deal with me. You didn’t heed my warning and stay away from him. It was just as well. You helped bring him down.”
The man gave her the creeps. “You can’t harm him. He’s the Major General of Belarus. The people adore him. They will skin you alive,” she screeched.
“I know this, my dear Cecile. But you tarnished his reputation. The staunch and loyal Generalle fooling around with a foreigner, the same American Program Manager he’s working with. Wait until you see the caption under some new pictures. And then, the glorious Generalle fighting and beating the citizens who were flirting with his girlfriend.”
“What?”
“With a little bit of imagination and a camera, one can create a big scenario. Do you think the citizens will continue to admire the fallen hero who betrayed their trust? People forget quickly. Most of them love a good scandal.”
His foul vodka-tinged breath nauseated her. “You’re a monster. I don’t think the Minister of Defense will let you have your way.”
He bowed with a sarcastic smile. “You think of everything. I always considered you an intelligent woman, except when you foolishly fell into the Generalle’s arms. To answer your question, I was just on the phone with the Minister of Defense. Of course, at first, he didn’t want to believe me but I gave him enough details. He is dispatching a deputy to assess the situation.”
If it wasn’t for John and Paul still holding her hand and arm, she’d have scratched his eyes out. He must have felt the extent of her contempt. His eyebrows gathered into a menacing scowl. “You will learn to respect me,” he sputtered and left.
Rob wrapped an arm around her. “He’s insane. Don’t pay attention to his threats. The general is a mighty man. It won’t be easy to toppl
e him from his position.”
“I hope you’re right.” She had to believe in her general’s power, in order not to lose her sanity.
She heard John’s sigh of relief and Rob’s exclamation at the same time she saw Nicolai, in full military uniform and decorations, entering though the glass door. He ignored them and hastened toward his commanding officer and the group surrounding him.
“It looks like the colonel will stay away from us and play the full Belarusian card,” John said, analyzing the situation. “The less we, foreigners, get involved right now, the better for Sergei.”
Cecile agreed with him in principle but her heart bled with pain. “It’s all my fault.” Her eyes welled with tears at the extent of the damage she felt responsible for.
A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder. Rob gave her a tissue. “Cecile, this feud started long before you arrived in Minsk. You’re just a pawn in Roussov’s game. You couldn’t have guessed his motives.”
“These people have a different mentality and culture.” John expanded some more on the same subject. “For years, they lived in fear and kept their thoughts to themselves. Don’t blame yourself, please.”
Paul took his turn. “Don’t worry, Cecile. Sergei will get out of it. Maybe with some ruffled feathers. But we know our general. He’s not a man to sit idly by and accept his fate. Look at the mess he made in this lobby. Five or six men out of commission because they dared to bother him with their cameras.”
She couldn’t suppress a smile at the image Paul described. Her friends’ soothing words calmed her. She needed all her wits to draw up a plan to help Sergei.
Two men strutted in through the glass door. One raised his voice in a tone of command. Immediate silence hovered over the lobby. Everyone’s head turned toward the newcomers.
“The deputies from the Ministry of Defense,” John assumed correctly.
The circle enlarged around Sergei. With the colonel beside him, her proud lover, calm and cool, raised a brow and stared at the two men.
Roussov and the man carrying the newspaper-wrapped envelope joined them. More discussion took place. The newspaper was removed, the envelope opened and the dollars displayed and counted.