Deep Past

by Eugene Linden

  Claire hid her alarm. “No, come in. You look like you need a drink—I seem to remember that you’d asked to have a drink with me not too long ago.” She moved to the counter. “I’m not profiling you, but is vodka OK? Hope so, because it’s all I’ve got.”

  Stepping in, Sergei regained a little of his poise. “Yes, my people like very much the vodka.”

  Claire fetched him a glass filled with a generous portion. She handed it to Sergei and plunked herself down on the couch. Sergei looked around for a place to sit. It was clear that he was still trying to make sense of the situation. Moving as though he was picking his way through a minefield, he started walking toward the desk chair.

  Claire patted the spot beside her on the couch.

  Sergei sat down, took a sip of vodka, briefly glanced at Claire, and then looked off in the distance.

  After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Claire finally spoke. “Sergei, what’s wrong?”

  Sergei sighed and took another sip of vodka. He looked really uncomfortable. Then he muttered, “I’m being stupid,” and put down his glass. He got up to leave.

  He hadn’t advanced a step before Claire leaped up and grabbed him. “You’re not going anywhere, mister, until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Sergei looked miserable but collapsed back into the couch. “Claire, I’m uncomfortable because we have a professional relationship and what I came to tell you presumes we have something more than a professional relationship.” He fidgeted.

  Unsure of whether she should be elated or devastated, Claire drew Sergei to her and kissed him softly on the lips. She offered a shy smile. “Does that answer that question?”

  Sergei sighed. “Yes, I think so.”

  Claire gave him a direct look. “So?”

  Sergei shrugged. “This is difficult for me, but here goes. A woman from my past reached out to me.”

  Claire held her breath, or rather, didn’t breathe, because she couldn’t.

  Sergei continued, “I had been deeply involved with this woman, and when I read her email, it brought back so many memories of that part of my life.”

  Claire had been dumped a number of times, but never before a relationship had started. But, if this was going to be it, she wanted to get it out right then. “Do you want to go back to this woman?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Sergei said, causing Claire’s heart to freeze. “What all those feelings made me realize,” he ploughed on, apparently unaware of the impact of his phrasing, “was that in my heart, I really want to be with you.”

  Claire could breathe again.

  But Sergei wasn’t done. “But then I wondered whether I am being a complete fool since we work together and have never even gone on a date.”

  Claire felt tears of joy well up. “Oh, Sergei. We can have that date right now!”

  Sergei smiled. “You mean like American prom?”

  “Yes!” Claire clinked his glass and thought about her own high school prom, where, despite heroic—borderline wanton—efforts on her part, she had failed to detach Anthony Marberry from his friends. She looked Sergei right in the eyes. “Very much like prom.” She gently put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him toward her as she half closed her eyes. After first touching his lips, she pulled back a tiny bit. “Only better.” She kissed him again. “Much, much better,” she said softly.

  After that long kiss, Claire said, “I was just thinking that I should drink vodka more often.” She got up, dimmed the lights, and reached for Sergei’s hand. “No more talking,” she said as they moved toward her bed.

  Later, actually much later, they lay languorously intertwined. Claire ran her fingers over his shoulder and back. “So, not a windsurfer,” she murmured.

  Sergei kissed her lightly. “I’d probably better be getting back to my room.”

  Claire didn’t want to break the spell but knew that he was right. She nodded, and Sergei rolled over to start getting dressed. Once he was walking to the door, Claire roused herself. Still naked, she walked over to him and put her arms around his neck. After a minute she pulled back to look him in the eye. “I knew this was going to happen, but I don’t know if it will ever happen again—and we have to act as though it never happened—but I want you to know that I loved tonight.”

  Sergei smiled sadly. “I did, too.” He gave her one more long kiss. He opened the door, looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and was gone.

  Claire went back to her bed and lay down. It wasn’t the first time she had had a fling with a coworker, but she didn’t feel the usual pangs of remorse that, in the past, had usually set in within minutes of an exit. What was so remarkable about their lovemaking, she thought, was how normal it felt. How did that happen? It was just good, she decided, and vowed that she wasn’t going to do her usual molecular-level deconstruction of the evening.

  So, she decided to think about what she knew about him. Not much, she realized. She imagined her mother’s first question. That was a no-brainer: “So, have you met anyone?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “That’s wonderful! Another scientist?”

  “Yes.”

  “What state does he come from?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s in Russia?”

  “Russia!”

  There would follow a disapproving silence.

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. He came to Kazakhstan under mysterious circumstances.”

  “How do you know he’s not a spy?”

  “It’s possible that he is.”

  “Claire, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, why are you attracted to him?”

  “He might be the most intelligent man I’ve ever met, and he’s also got a wonderful sense of humor. He doesn’t take life too seriously, but he always seems to know what to do in tricky situations. He also saved my career. He’s beautiful, too. Oh, and he knows me, and that’s all I’ve ever really wanted from anyone.”

  “OK, OK, I’m sorry I asked. How serious is this?”

  “I’m not even sure there will be a second date.”

  “Really.” Her mother would sound hopeful.

  “But I hope there will.”

  41

  Hayden was going over plans for the next stage of development of the concession at the headquarters when Rob poked his head in the door. He looked concerned.

  “What’s up?”

  “One of your Russian partners just showed up and asked for you.” Rob arched an eyebrow. “It’s Andrei Bezanov, the head of Primorskichem.”

  Hayden leaped to his feet. “Bezanov! Here?”

  Rob nodded, waiting for instructions.

  Hayden’s mind raced. Why would Bezanov show up unannounced? He knew the rules. Yet Hayden couldn’t stonewall him. He turned to Rob. “Show him in, and while he’s here, see who he came with. Text me when you know. And be fast—this is going to be a short meeting.”

  Rob left and a minute later reappeared, silently ushering Bezanov into the room.

  Hayden rose, offering a casual handshake. “Andrei, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you all the way from Vladivostok?” He pointed to a chair and the two men sat down. “Tea? Drink?”

  “Thank you, no, Fletcher. It seems that I’m not the only interested party showing up unscheduled at Transteppe. You, for instance—why is it that our major partner shows up suddenly? I can only think—make that hope—that there has been some major discovery.”

  Aha, thought Hayden. It stood to reason that word would get out that he was at Transteppe. He thought a minute.

  His phone pinged, and Hayden glanced at the text—“He came alone—just security.” Hayden thought furiously. Clearly something was up. The best way to stall, he decided, was to tell Bezanov the truth.

  “Things are going well, Andrei, but that’s not what brought me here.” Hayden briefly described the discovery of the bones and his interest in archaeology, s
tressing that he was paying all associated costs personally and that the company was cooperating with the relevant authorities in Kazakhstan. When he finished there was a brief pause.

  Bezanov listened intently. “I see. That does sound interesting,” said the oligarch in a voice that suggested that he didn’t find it interesting, or, thought Hayden with a start, surprising. Bezanov somehow knew about the bones. There was another pause.

  “Ah, I see. Perhaps I can meet this archaeologist.” Hayden nodded noncommittally.

  “And I hope,” Bezanov continued, “that they turn out to be sufficiently significant to justify your extraordinary visit.”

  Hayden nodded again—he didn’t like the slight sarcasm in the word extraordinary. He waited for Bezanov to get to the real point of his visit.

  “And while I’m disappointed that you don’t have a breakthrough to announce, I’ve been hoping for a chance for us to talk face-to-face.”

  Hayden tensed. “If this involves Transteppe business, you know there are well-established channels for communications among the partners.”

  “I know, I know, but this is informal chat, and it’s not about Transteppe business, but Transteppe ownership. You were put on the board by two Canadian groups that together control 31 percent of Transteppe. You’re exactly the man I want to talk to.”

  Hayden was on high alert. “Andrei, as you well know, the concession falls under investments of strategic significance, and the ownership structure was set at the treaty level.”

  “Again, I know, but if the external investors agreed to buy or sell their interest among each other, I’m sure the Kazakh authorities would be accommodative.”

  “I don’t want to sound stiff, Andrei, but this kind of conversation is only appropriate in a formal setting.”

  “Bah, you know as well as I do, formal meetings only ratify arrangements made earlier through personal relationships.”

  “Andrei, my hands are tied. The ownership structure that took years to work out delicately balances a lot of competing interests, and I’m not going to enter into any conversation that might upset that balance. I’m sorry you came down here for nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, too, but before I head back, I’d like to look around for a bit. Do you have someone who might show me around—a Russian speaker, perhaps?”

  Hayden knew he meant Sergei. Why would he want Sergei to show him around? On the other hand, he could hardly deny a major partner a chance to inspect the operations. He buzzed Rob. “Mr. Bezanov would like a Russian speaker to show him around for a bit before he leaves. Could you see if Sergei’s available?” He turned to Bezanov. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  At this, Bezanov seemed to start. He got up. “Thank you, I’ll wait for him outside.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ve been wanting a cigarette, and even oligarchs don’t want to deal with antismoking Nazis.”

  After a perfunctory handshake, Bezanov left, leaving a puzzled Hayden to wonder what the oligarch didn’t want him to see.

  He rang Rob. “Don’t hover, but keep an eye on them.”

  ¬

  Hayden was deeply worried. Bezanov was an oligarch with close ties to the Russian leader, which meant that Primorskichem’s interest in expanding their stake had the government’s blessing. Moreover, Bezanov had to know that Hayden wouldn’t talk informally about something as sensitive as ownership. That meant, reasoned Hayden, that Bezanov was either going through the motions or he was feeling out where Hayden stood. But why?

  42

  Rob was worried, too. When he had called Sergei and told him that Primorskichem’s owner specifically wanted Sergei to show him around, he could almost feel the instant tension on the other end of the phone. Rob kicked himself for not telling Sergei in person so that he could gauge his reaction.

  Sergei was unusually quiet when Rob picked him up. “Do you know this guy?” asked Rob, casual as can be.

  “I don’t travel in his circles,” Sergei snorted, with a dark look that shut down that conversation. Then, quickly, he lightened his tone. “Life is too short as it is,” he said, sounding like the old Sergei, “and the closer you get to people like Bezanov, the shorter it gets.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  Sergei shook his head. “Thanks, but not necessary.” He thought a second, and then said, “But it might be a good idea to get everyone out of the workspace and back to their rooms. Like right now.” He looked at Rob to see whether he got the message.

  “Got it,” said Rob, reaching for his phone.

  They found the oligarch smoking in the shade outside the headquarters building. Rob was easygoing as he made the introductions, but he watched the handshake intently. Bezanov seemed amused and casual, and Sergei also tried to maintain a polite front. Rob could tell, however, that Sergei was struggling mightily to contain some powerful emotion.

  Rob had provided Bezanov with an immaculate luxury SUV for his visit and also had acceded to the oligarch’s wish that his security detail do the driving. Bezanov got in the passenger seat in the front, and Sergei and a bodyguard took the back.

  After they were in the vehicle, Rob sent Hayden a terse text. “They know each other and hate each other.”

  In the car, Sergei sat silently. He had only one ambition in this meeting: to keep Bezanov away from Claire and the area where she was working. They sat in silence while the car idled for a minute. Finally, Bezanov turned slowly to look at Sergei.

  He stared for a long time before saying, “Let’s go see the lab where you do your work.”

  So much for the game plan. He gave the driver instructions for the short trip, and as they were driving over, he desperately tried to think of a diversion. He couldn’t.

  As they entered the giant warehouse, Sergei was pleased to see that it looked deserted. Good job, Rob! He didn’t ask what Andrei wanted to see but launched into a flat description of the workspace when Bezanov interrupted him.

  “Hayden told me that some ancient bones were found on the concession. Show me.”

  Sergei looked at him levelly. “I’m not sure I would even if you asked politely, but no.”

  The oligarch flared with disbelief. “You won’t!”

  “They’re not here. One set is with the archaeological dig, and Kazakhstan’s great leader has the other.”

  Andrei waved the air in exasperation. “Then let me meet this sorceress who gets everyone to jump at her beck and call.”

  Sergei didn’t dare look up, but he was absolutely sure that Bezanov was looking in the rearview mirror to see his reaction. “You would have to go through Mr. Hayden to arrange that—he is sponsoring her work here.”

  “Oh, you don’t have her number?”

  Bezanov was clearly enjoying this. He knows! thought Sergei. But how?

  Sergei was so intent on maintaining his cool that he didn’t notice that Bezanov’s attention had shifted to the far end of the building.

  “Ah,” said the oligarch, “it looks as though I won’t have to deal with some tiresome bureaucratic procedure.”

  Bezanov immediately started walking toward Claire, who was walking toward them.

  “Sergei, what’s going on?” said Claire. “I just …”

  “Dr. Knowland,” said Sergei sharply, interrupting her midsentence, “this is Andrei Bezanov, owner of Transteppe’s Russian partner, Primorskichem. He’s interested in your discovery. I was just telling him that Mr. Hayden could set up a meeting, but here you are.” He offered a weak smile and hoped she got the warning in his words.

  Bezanov ignored Sergei and offered his hand to Claire, who shifted her gaze in some confusion between the two men as she returned the handshake.

  Not letting go, Bezanov looked her directly in the eyes. “A great pleasure, Dr. Knowland. Hayden only just mentioned your discovery. I’m told the bones are very old. Have you dated them?”

  Claire carefully extracted her hand. She didn’t see Sergei subtly shake his head. “Yes, we’re narrowing the time frame, b
ut Sergei’s initial estimate of over five million years is very close.”

  “Ah, so Dr. Anachev has been helping.” He looked at Sergei in mock reproval. “Why didn’t you mention that you were involved in Dr. Knowland’s study?” Turning back to Claire, he said, “And it’s all going on here at Transteppe. Perhaps you could brief me on your project?”

  By now Claire had gotten Sergei’s message. “Forgive me, Mr. Bezanov, but I’ve got a team meeting. And it’s very early on in my research. I’d be delighted to show you what we’re doing once we’ve got more to tell.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Bezanov said with an awkward smile. If it was meant to be playful, it came off as menacing. “Perhaps when you’re further along, you can brief me? We could make this very pleasant and have the meeting on my yacht. I will send a plane. It would make for a nice break, yes?”

  “Sounds very enticing,” said Claire, keeping her tone level but not brusque, “but let’s hope we get something to report that’s worth all that trouble.”

  She started to turn, but Bezanov was not done. “You know, I’ve always been fascinated by the past. Not the deep past like you, but the near past. One reason we can’t escape the past is that the decisions we make every moment become the DNA of both the past and our future. Isn’t that right, Dr. Anachev?” Sergei, trembling, didn’t say anything. “As a chess player,” Bezanov continued breezily, “I’ve always been amused by how players can see every move they make in a mere game as life or death, but then they return to real life and give very little thought to decisions that turn out to be life or death.” He looked at Claire. “Even simple decisions, like coming through that door. Human nature, I guess.”

  With that he turned and walked away, signaling with a finger for his security to follow.

  Claire waited a few minutes after the oligarch exited before saying anything. She could see that Sergei was still trembling but couldn’t decide whether it was rage or fear. Maybe both. She knew it wasn’t the time to ask but couldn’t help herself. “What was that about?”