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Love and spy: An Ideal City for a Murder

A picture that accidentally fell out of a book excited a host of recollections in the narrator, a Russian-English interpreter and spy twenty years before, who had accompanied a small British delegation during its two days visit to Moscow in the early nineties of the past century. The delegation consisted of the top manager of a big British arms company – his name is Robert Hewlett - and his secretary Mary Kilgorn. The narrator – his name is Sergey - is about forty, very handsome (and he’s fully aware of this fact as it soon comes out, because he uses his good looks and charm as a means of worming secrets out of the women he comes into close contact with). The novel is set in the early nineties Moscow with its horrible realities of wild capitalism, raging criminality, total corruption and degradation of moral values.

DaoistVlxFB1 · Realista
Classificações insuficientes
29 Chs

17

If there hadn't been semidarkness there I would have seen her face blush. She hid it again behind the glass which she grabbed with both her hands. She took two sips, then put the glass back. I waited for the unavoidable sequel.

"But", she began and stopped. "What do you expect from me?"

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I never expect anything from a woman. The woman herself interests me ."

"But", she stopped again. She lowered her voice to a coarse whisper. "But I'm ugly".

I was let in the territory where I was a master.

"Oh, no, don't you ever say that!" I said with ardor, lowering his voice almost to a whisper to match her mood. "You can't possibly know that. Never believe common and banal judges, they can never see beneath the surface, they can't go above standards and schemes, they can't appreciate the real value of a person if it's not revealed to them by different eyes than they have got, and even then they won't understand. You're only uncommon, not ugly, a thousand times no!"

I took another sip to catch his breath back. I laid his hand on Mary's. She didn't take her hand away.

It was a good sign.

"Excuse me," there was a woman's voice coming from the door, "have you got a lighter?"

I turned my head, in the half-opened door stayed Lena's figure. She looked sternly at my hand on Mary's, or it seemed to me so. "Oh, hi," she said in Russian, "I didn't know you were here. At work?" she slightly nodded towards my hand.

"Like you. I didn't know you were a smoker," I replied in Russian and added in English: "We don't smoke, I'm sorry."

"Ok," she said smiling and disappeared.

My hand was still laying on Mary's, I slightly pressed it and took away mine.

"My impression is that you know her well. Have you met her before?" said Mary.

"Well," he said, "her face wasn't unfamiliar to me before today. I must have caught a glimpse of her on some occasion. She's a journalist, you know."

"I know", she said. "She's very pretty, I've already told you so, and I can repeat it." And, after a pause:

"Do you find her uncommon?"

I sighed and almost ground my teeth:

"I don't know. I know her little. She may be a simple baby doll, beautiful but brainless."

"I don't think she's brainless", said Mary. "I think Robert is falling in love with her."

"Are you sorry for that?" I wanted to ask and refrained at the last moment.

I said instead:

"It's a futile thing, these restaurant sessions, artificially created atmospheres and all that. Life is more interesting."

The waiter came in with a tray.

"I wonder if they cooked it well," muttered Mary.

"Do you like good food?" I asked, happy with the arrival of the dishes that led us off a delicate subject.

"Can't you see it from my figure?"

"No," I said , and I wasn't sure I was lying this time. "It's a matter of taste."

My cell-phone rang. It was Pavel, his voice sounded gloomy and hollow:

"My wife attempted suicide, she's now in the intensive therapy unit, practically hopeless. Please, do something."

"Have you learned something from your pals at the police?" I said rudely, leaving out a phrase about how sorry I was. I had to keep Pavel from his sorrow, and I knew that coarse tone and rude language could do it better than any courtesy formula.

"No. They are all vague and generic."

"Listen, if you don't stop being desperate and pessimistic, you won't see your boy anymore."

"I won't see him anymore."

"Stop wailing!" I shouted. Mary cast me a frightened look. I gave her an awkwardly soothing smile. "Now, listen to me. Ring those guys, you must have their number on your phone, tell them that you have got the briefcase, but they won't have it – and here be firm, I beseech you! – unless they return the boy immediately. Don't show them that you care much, be disdainful. Get somewhere a briefcase like that one, it must not be so hard, I saw one similar in our hotel at the reception. Get busy and quick. If you feel unable to do it, I'll do it instead of you. Remember, they are greedy, and they want only the money. If you wave the briefcase before their nose, they will come."

"But you promise me that will recover the briefcase tonight."

"I'll do my best." I said briefly and wound up.

"Something wrong?" said Mary.

"Yes," I said. "My colleague's son has been kidnapped. They ask the briefcase with the million for his release."

Mary gasped. Her small eyes widened with terror.

"I knew that briefcase would do us no good", she whispered and put her hands on her cheeks. "I knew it."

She stood up and said:

"I'll go to Robert."

I stood up too, grasped her hand and said firmly:

"You will go nowhere. Please, sit down. First, we know the briefcase is no more in his possession. Second, even if it were, why would he give it to you? He needed it badly for his own safety, and then, as you told he was in low water lately. These Russian troubles are not his business. And third, our bandits will hardly return the boy alive even when they have the money. Greed and ruthlessness is the slogan in today's Russia. And unfortunately this slogan influences everybody who comes to Russia, it infects them like an illness. Sit down, please."

I squeezed her hand and pulled it down towards her chair.

She yielded, though very reluctantly, and subsided into the chair.

"What are you going to do?". She gazed sternly at my face.

"I gave him some instructions as to how to behave in the next hours. He's out of his mind, as one can expect from a desperate father. Ah, another thing, his wife is in the intensive care unit after a suicide attempt, practically dying as he says. I advised him to delay and to tease them, greed comes first, if they kill the boy they will lose every lever of extortion. Now it's a war of nerves, and I'm not sure he'll be enough firm in it. I must try some other ways."

"If you have to go now, I won't mind," said Mary softly.

I gave her a reassuring smile:

"Not now, first we finish our delicious dishes," and I took the knife in my hand.

"Frankly speaking", said Mary, "somehow I lost appetite."

I cut off a bit of meat and put it into my mouth, though I was fully aware of the falsity of my action and words. Yet the inertia prevailed for some time.

"How wonderful!", I said and hI meant it. "Mary, I strongly invite you to join me, unless you want to spoil the whole evening. Let's leave aside all that's irrelevant to this event. My motto: make the most of every moment of your life. Stop thinking of anything else!"

Mary took the knife with a doubtful expression, stuck it into in the meat. But soon afterwards she put it away. She looked up and said:

"You could try to charm Ann, you will be able of doing it in no time."

"What?" I said feigning surprise. "How do you imagine that? I go there, at her hotel, call her on the internal phone and say what? That I want to meet her and go to bed with her? It would be the quickest seduction in history. But tell me, why should she comply with my wishes? At first glance? Who do you take me for? Am I a hypnotist? But I'm not, and I have never been."

Mary muttered:

"It can be like that. You can come up with some plausible story."

"What? Do you insist on my going there? But what if she's not there? Where shall I look for her?"

"You should try to find her". Her voice was soft but firm.

"Mary, you're an angel of kindness."

"I'd prefer to be on Ann's place right now," she said laying her hand on mine. I laid my other hand on hers and slightly pressed it. Then I rose to feet.

"Are you really going?" cried softly Mary. "But how..."

Our further brief dialogue was a mute one.

"I must go", I said. "My friend's son is facing a mortal threat. I'm the only person who can help. Do you mind?"

"I think it's a reckless idea," she said. "But you Russians are made that way, the more reckless an idea the more attractive it is in your eyes. You'll lose time and get nothing. You should stay here and wait for news, you should support your friend morally, guide him in his contacts with the kidnappers. And you are going away instead. Think of it."

"I've already thought. I know what to do."

Then he said aloud:

"You stay here. I'll keep you updated."

With these words I placed a kiss on Mary's hand and exited quickly.

Outside the door I spotted our waiter and handed him two hundred dollar bills.

"It's for tonight's dinner. I hope it's enough. I must go. The lady will leave when she wants to."

The waiter nodded as he accepted the bills and smiled understandingly.

I cast a glance into the room where Hewlett with Lena were seated. There was nobody there. They must have gone upstairs. My heart ached.