by Risk, Mona
Exasperated, Sergei heaved a deep breath. “I have nothing more to say, gentlemen.”
“Well, it is a good thing we received a full report from a reliable source and she didn’t spare us any detail.” The Vice-President’s lips stretched into a hint of a smile.
“She?” Sergei sputtered.
“Dr. Lornier,” the Vice-President specified.
“Where the hell did you see her?”
“In my own house, Generalle Fedorin. After she had gone shopping with my wife.”
Sergei felt like his eyes were popping out of their sockets.
“Yesterday, she visited the U.S. Ambassador and our friend here, Minister Letovin of the Environment,” the VP said, not bothering to conceal his sarcastic tone. “She was planning to continue her tour by stopping at your Ministry of Defense to rattle Minister Anatov’s ears. I asked her for a full confession, every single detail.”
A wave of frustrated rage engulfed Sergei. He should have guessed that Cecile wouldn’t abide by his command and keep her ass out of his business. His face must have revealed his fury as he turned toward his colonel. Nicouvitch raised helpless hands at the silent inquiry and shrugged.
Sergei grudgingly acknowledged the ironic glances thrown in his direction. He remained speechless, his jaws clenched so hard he was afraid he might break a tooth.
He glimpsed at Roussov and noticed with satisfaction his disgruntled expression. Apparently, the Director of National Security was not aware of Cecile’s campaign. For only a second, Sergei sent her a grateful thought.
Roussov narrowed his one good eye. “What type of confession are you talking about?”
But the VP ignored him. “Fedorin, in view of yesterday’s events and the deep repercussion it may have on our government, I am sorry to inform you we have decided to take action.”
Roussov smirked and leaned against the back of his chair. Sergei stiffened imperceptibly. It was time to activate his time bomb. He hitched his chin toward Nicouvitch who bent and opened a tote bag.
Sergei folded his arms over his chest. “Gentlemen, so far you have based your judgment on pictures. How about some music to go with the show?”
“Generalle Fedorin, we will not tolerate…” the Vice-President started and then gasped as Cecile’s voice filled the room.
In the tangible silence, they all heard the Director of National Security request five hundred thousand dollars for his service, insisting and bargaining.
Petrified, Roussov slouched in his chair.
Suddenly, his face twitched. “You can’t do that. You can’t destroy my reputation. I will kill you. And I will kill the bitch.” He drew a gun from inside his jacket pocket and waved it in Sergei’s direction.
The men sprang out and crouched behind their chairs. Sergei plunged and grabbed Roussov’s feet. The shot deflected, splintering the desk while they all jumped back.
The door burst open admitting two guards. “We heard a shot.”
“Arrest him,” the Vice-President ordered. The two guards took over from Sergei, holding Roussov still between them.
With icy calm, the Vice-President resumed his seat and folded his hands on his desk. “This session allows us to avoid the scandal of a military tribunal and an outside judge. All yours, Mr. Anatov.”
The Minister of Defense declared with an official tone, “Roussov, you are discharged from the Army of Belarus for abusing your position as Director of National Security for the purpose of your personal vendetta. You will be prosecuted for attempted bribery and attempted manslaughter.” He addressed the guards. “Lock him up.”
Sergei went to the window. His mind numb, he stared at the heavy flakes of snow swirling in a wind as cold as his soul. Everything he held dear had crumbled and collapsed. Love, mission and loyalty. Could a man lose everything at the snap of a finger—the flash of a picture?
“Gentlemen, please return to your seats. We need to continue this meeting,” the Vice-President ordered.
Apparently, they weren’t done dissecting his life and his future. With a sneer, Sergei folded his arms and sat.
The Minister of Defense cleared his throat, a sure sign he was trying to marshal his strength and strike a final blow. “Generalle Fedorin, just before coming here, our Vice-President, Minister Letovin and I discussed your case. Your lousy temper and lack of control have endangered the reputation of our organization and jeopardized its future. You were right. The decision was already made. After further consideration and with great regret, I have to inform you, you can no longer serve as our Major Generalle of Belarus.”
Nicouvitch gasped.
Fedorin kept his emotions under control and stared at the Vice-President. Not long ago, the man admired Sergei’s prowess and had bestowed a medal upon him.
The VP blinked and hesitated. “Fedorin, you are a war hero. We will not tarnish you reputation. I will accept your resignation. You will leave with all due honors.” He delivered his sentence in a crisp tone.
Sergei’s eyes narrowed. His lips thinned to a sad line. “You want me to resign? This is a bit too harsh. Don’t you think?”
“Consider yourself lucky to get out with your freedom,” the Minister of Defense bellowed with a slap on the desk.
“I would gladly give my life and my freedom for my country.”
The VP nodded. “I know, Fedorin. But our Minister of Defense has the responsibility to protect the Army from further scandal. You can still serve your country as a civilian.”
Sergei snorted. They acknowledged his patriotism but they would take advantage of his feelings. Having trampled his reputation under their feet, they would still expect him to serve. And he would, because he loved Belarus. Because he had promised his dead wife and mother to clear his country of pollutants. And because his greatest ambition had been the satisfaction derived from his well-performed duty.
“This session is not over yet. The Major Generalle, I mean the former Major Generalle,” the Vice-President corrected himself, “is leaving an important project half-done. Colonel Nicouvitch, we will count on you to head the Belchem Laboratory project and bring it to completion.”
“I am honored, sir, although, I am saddened. And I wonder if I can fill the shoes of my illustrious predecessor.”
Sergei’s lips stretched into a half-smile. “Fill them, Nicolai. Fill them, my friend. I would prefer to see you finish my project rather than an indifferent outsider. The American delegation will continue to work with you.”
“Have we covered all the items of this extraordinary meeting?” The Minister of Environment impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk.
“I have an announcement to give to the press,” the Minister of Defense said. “With the approval of our Vice-President, as of tomorrow, the Bureau of National Security is dissolved. We will organize an internal Intelligence based on better principles.”
“Gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned.” The Vice-President gaveled on the table to dismiss them. “Citizen Fedorin, please give this special message to your fiancée. My wife would like her to join us for dinner sometime.”
Sergei felt a knife digging into his heart. His eyes burning, he heaved a deep breath to control his rage. “Sir, our engagement was secret and is broken now.”
“Tss, tss, tss, Fedorin. My wife has set her heart on preparing a wedding and I can never disappoint my lady. You have twenty-four hours to clear your offices and…make peace with your sweet fiancée.”
“Vice-President, you have just shattered the career of a loyal and disciplined officer,” Sergei sputtered, unable to cope with more humiliation. “The Major Generalle of Belarus no longer exists. Citizen Fedorin will pick up the pieces of his life…any way he pleases…and alone. I don’t intend to see you again, gentlemen.”
He strutted out of the room his head high.
* * * * *
The hell with them all. Sergei left the Vice-President’s office, his heart aching from the sting of ungrateful selfishness. He was a man of action who never
analyzed his feelings. Tonight he had trouble sorting the various shades of disgust lumping in his stomach.
All he ever wanted was to serve his country, to protect the citizens and bring a better life to Belarus. He never really cared about his title of Major General. It had been an honor and a mean to help his countrymen but more often than not, it had been a burden restricting his privacy.
He wouldn’t have minded relinquishing the title and remaining a simple officer. But to be relieved of his duties before he could finish his mission tortured his heart like a burning stick in an open-wound.
They had all hurt him. Roussov, the ministers, the Vice-President and mostly, the fake little bitch who’d promised to love him and hadn’t been able to trust him.
Like a wounded lion, he paced around his desk, unable to sit. He clasped his hands behind his back, afraid to give in to violent anger and destroy this now useless office.
He had asked her to marry him. Twice. To please her, he had even fallen on his knees, for a formal proposal, the way they did it in her country. He had offered his heart and given her his mother’s ring.
And she’d betrayed him. She consorted with his worst enemy. Dined with him. Let the vile snake wrap his arms around her shoulders. Why?
Breathing with difficulty, Sergei hurled an empty cup against the wall.
Why couldn’t she trust him? Ask for his help?
He would have moved heaven and earth for her. He loved her and trusted her.
Damn her. He still adored her.
Because of her, he’d fought and beaten the photographers and guards. He wanted to protect her reputation and their privacy.
Because of her, he’d lost everything. His title, his career, his dream. And he would not keep his promise to Sofya and his mother. He would not clean the environment and fulfill his mission. Because of her.
An iron vise tightened around his heart. His jaw clenched. He banged so hard on his desk the lamp trembled. A glass snapped and shattered on the floor into thousands of pieces, just like his dreams.
* * * * *
Sergei spent the night in his little room at the Ministry of Defense. He put a lid on his churning mind and stretched out on his bed. Soon, sleep provided the much-sought blankness he yearned for.
The morning brought calm and indifference. He felt no resentment and would seek no revenge. As a citizen, he wanted to be free. Free for the first time in his life. When his head cooled off and his heart relaxed to a normal beat, he would pick up the shreds of his life and start somewhere else. With one regret hovering over his heart, he had not completely fulfilled his pledge to Sofya.
With a detached spirit, he dressed in wool pants and sweater and collected his few civilian clothes to dump them into a plastic bag. The uniforms would remain the property of the Army. Under the watchful eyes of two guards, he proceeded to empty his desk.
Again not much to take. Sofya’s pictures, the Belchem’s latest progress report, a copy of John Gordon’s new proposal for the Minsk environmental cleanup. Two sets of papers, two unfinished projects. Somehow he couldn’t let go of them. He stuffed those few precious items into the bag and slammed the drawer shut.
He threw his big coat over his shoulders and took his plastic bag. He shook hands with his sergeant and smiled with bitterness when he saw him straightening to salute him.
“Dasvidania. Goodbye, Eugene and thank you.”
“Dasvidania, Generalle.”
Sergei spent a couple of hours in his office at the Hall of Officers. He cleared his desk and filled another bag with three bottles of vodka and his few items of memorabilia. He stood in the office and stared at the rug. It was here that he’d proposed to her. He should have listened to Nicouvitch’s warning not to get involved with a foreign woman.
Sergei strolled to the Red Hall and surveyed the huge room, the place where he’d often headed special meetings. He strutted to the big seal adorning the end wall and saluted the flag. They could take away his uniform but in his heart, he was still an officer of Belarus.
With two plastic bags dangling from his hands, Sergei marched out of the Hall of Officers for the last time. As usual, the military Jeep waited for him. He asked the driver to drop him at the bazaar. Some domestic tasks would help him steer away from the drama that had invaded his mind and obstructed his life.
Chapter Twenty-six
As soon as the elevator door slid open on the seventh floor of his building, an incongruous smell hit him. His nostrils flared and he inhaled. Chocolate. A chocolate cake. It had been a long time since the cranky old neighbor had baked anything worth smelling or even tasting.
Sergei turned the key in the lock and frowned. The delicious aroma emanated from his own apartment. He entered and flicked the light on. Stunned, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a vase of roses adorning the table, set with his tablecloth, his china and his glasses.
Dropping his bags on the floor, he strode to the kitchen and sniffed. The chocolate cake sat on the counter. The stove was switched off but two covered pots stirred a grumbling in his stomach and fury in his heart.
God, Cecile had been here, making herself at home in his own kitchen, playing mistress of the house. She still had his key. He would ask Nicolai to retrieve it.
Sergei walked back to the living room debating whether he was going to eat the meal she had prepared or snub it. But his stomach wouldn’t allow him to dispose of such a treat. He deposited his groceries in the kitchen and carried the other bags to his bedroom. As he stepped in the room, his jaw sagged and he stared blankly.
Right in the middle of his bed, a lovely siren in a pink lace gown slept as peacefully as an innocent child—his far-from-innocent, treacherous, scheming ex-fiancée.
Her naked arms stretched under the pillows revealing alabaster-white shoulders crossed by thin straps. Sergei’s gaze followed the pink ribbons, each ending on a creamy mound and the deep V-neck plunging to the valley between.
Depositing his bags on the floor as quietly as possible, he knelt beside the bed, his throat as dried as old parchment. He wet his lips, feeling dizzy from her perfume and the sight of her. He should strangle her, hurt her, make her pay for his loss and his suffering. His breath coming in labored and ragged gasps, he bent over her face, then hesitated.
She was so beautiful. Would he ever be able to forget her?
His hand reached the golden strand shielding her cheek and lifted it away. Hard as a rock, unable to think, he felt inexorably drawn to her. His lips paused a mere inch away from hers. How could he still love her so much? After all she had put him through?
He would kiss her one last time, a farewell kiss, then push her out of his heart forever.
She sighed and stirred. Her lips collided with his. He captured them and crushed them with hunger and thirst, with rage and fury, with passion and love. Her arms looped around his neck and enchained him. He raised himself and flattened her with his body.
His gorgeous and dazzling Cecilya.
With a groan of remorse, he admitted he loved her even more than he had loved his dead wife. He needed to have her, to melt into her heat and fuse with her loveliness. Reason deserted him. Passion fired his blood.
Just one more time.
He lowered the straps and exposed her satiny flesh to his roaming hands. He fondled and kissed and lavished her with passion. His mouth clung to a nipple. Her moan chimed in his mind like a victory trumpet announcing she was his again.
He reached in his night-table drawer for protection then jerked her nightgown down her legs. With the same eagerness and without a word, she undressed him and they clung to each other, kissing and stroking and gasping for air. He pulled himself above her then slid into her blazing wetness as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I love you, Sergei. I love you,” she whispered against his skin.
Unable to withstand another second of sweet torture, he thrust deep into her. She clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. As he pulled her
harder against him, he felt her convulsing and his world exploded.
* * * * *
Spent and satiated, Cecile snuggled against his hard frame, unwilling to move. Her palm spread on his back to keep him welded to her body. He raised his head and stared at her, his eyes mirroring the same passion, the same longing she felt.
Without moving, he grumbled, “This was a mistake. You have to go.”
“I’m staying. And I’ll never let you go. Never, Sergei.”
“We belong to different worlds, different mentalities. It was wrong all along.”
Cecile shook her head. “No. We belong together, in Minsk, in Boston, or anywhere else. Sergei, I never betrayed you. I swear. I never did. I was tricked as much as you were.” Tears filled her eyes as she willed him to believe her.
“You never trusted me. I was the Major Generalle. You should have asked for my help and I would have forced Roussov to sign the permit.” His lips compressed in a bitter line.
“Nicolai told me to request your help. John insisted I go to the U.S. Ambassador. I refused. I had to get this equipment installed on my own. I was the Program Manager. A female PM, patronized by the macho guys. I had to do my job. On my own. Or I would have lost my position at EAL.”
“And now, are you happy you proved yourself?” he asked, his burning gaze boring through her.
“No. I wish I hadn’t. The price was too high.”
“I lost so much, Cecile.”
She buried her head in his neck and cried. “Yes. You lost your career, your mission and your dream because of me.”
He caressed her hair in a soothing motion. “No. Not because of you. Because of my damned father-in-law.”
She cradled his cheeks between her hands. “I can’t let you go, Sergei. I can’t. You see, I have no pride anymore,” she mumbled between sobs.
He comforted her with a smile. “A PM should not cry.”
“I’m not a Program Manager anymore. I’m a woman in love.”
“Please, don’t cry. We’ve hurt each other enough,” he said, wrapping her in his arms.
“You lost a lot…but I am ready to give up my career, my freedom, my country. For you. Willingly.”