the possible exception of Karish-nikov. The policeman was a little old for the game but perhaps he could still play fullback. This speculation was only a game for Oleg, an exercise of his imagination. The policeman would never play. In addition to which Oleg really did not wish to see the man and his partner ever again. Oleg had good reason. Oleg preferred never to see any policemen again. He was sure he had done well, but the young one had smiled and made Oleg feel uncomfortable.
“I didn’t betray Yevgeny,” Oleg told himself. “Yevgeny went wild.
It was when the German touched Yulia between her legs and Yulia bit her lower lip and tried to look as if she were thinking of somewhere else, another time.”
It was in Yulia’s apartment on Kalinin. Yevgeny was just a little drunk and he told Oleg they would surprise her. Surprise her they did. She answered the door wearing a pair of pink silk panties and a matching bra. She didn’t try to keep the two men out of the room. On the contrary, she had opened the door for them to enter and they had immediately seen the German, Jurgen, sitting naked on the spindly legged sofa. His arms were outstretched and draped along the top of the sofa.
Oleg immediately noticed that the man was flaccid, though his penis was unusually thick and long, even longer and thicker than Dmitri’s.
Yulia gave no explanation. She closed the door to the room and went to get herself a drink from the small wooden cabinet against one wall.
“An unexpected visit,” the German had said. “And from such a distinguished member of the government. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
Neither Oleg nor Yevgeny had responded. The German had continued talking with only the slightest accent.
Oleg was well trained in his hatred of Germans. He and two generations before his were taught in school with graphic photographs of staggering numbers of dead Russian soldiers, women, and children. Those who had survived and helped repulse the ob-scene invasion of their country told tales of German atrocities and the horrors they had endured and witnessed. The teachers, the survivors, the books did not differentiate between Nazi soldiers and German citizens. They were all born with a madness to conquer.
This one was no different.
“Yulia and I were waiting for the proper time to suggest a lu-crative business proposal with you,” the German said. “Your coming now is a fortunate act of fate.”
Yulia had now put on a flimsy robe, a white one through which you could see. Oleg, though his sexual interests were with another gender, recognized the long-legged beauty of the woman and understood his friend Yevgeny’s obsession with her.
She handed Yevgeny a drink: vodka, no ice. She offered Oleg nothing. In the several years his friend had been having binges with her at his side, Oleg had met Yulia only twice. Oleg did not drink.
He did not carouse and so he seldom saw Yulia, though the two had formed an instant dislike of each other from the moment they had met. The source of their dislike was obviously Yevgeny, whom she quite successfully manipulated when he was drunk and whom Oleg tried, with almost no success, to wean back to sobriety and safety. Yevgeny was too prominent a man to continue to avoid being exposed by the press for his drunkenness, his gambling, his being seen around with a beautiful woman who was obviously his mistress. And Yevgeny was not one to fade into the shadows when he was on a drunken spree. Oh, no. He was loud, very loud. He practiced speeches in the streets and stopped individuals to tell them what had to be done to save Russia and return it to a power its people deserved. If anyone recognized him, they did not admit it. Most people simply walked by.
While Yulia and what little she wore had not disturbed Oleg, the German sitting naked on the sofa had disturbed him deeply.
He was sitting there like an Aryan prince, smiling with perfect white teeth. He was enjoying the surprise visit and made no move to cover himself. In spite of his instant dislike of the man, Oleg had found himself engaged in a sexual fantasy. He had managed, however, to put it away, though he knew it would come back sometime in the future and he knew he wanted to remember.
“Please sit,” the German had said, pointing to two chairs that matched the sofa from which he reigned.
Neither man sat, nor did the woman.
“As you wish,” said the German, standing and smoothing back his hair. “Yulia.”
The name had been spoken as a command, and the woman moved across the room, drink in hand, to the desk neatly tucked in a corner. She opened a drawer and removed a wooden box. She crossed the room again and handed the box to the German, who took hold of her arm and clearly ordered her to stand at his side, though he said not a word.
“In this box are items, not the originals but copies,” the German said. “The originals are someplace safe. Open it. Gaze upon your fate.
The dazed Yevgeny had taken the box. He stepped back to Oleg’s side and opened the box. Inside were small cassette tapes and photographs. Some of the photographs were of Yevgeny in bars, casinos, laughing, looking drunk and red-faced, Yulia at his side. Most of the photographs, however, were of Yevgeny and Yulia in sexual embrace. As Yevgeny went through each photo and Oleg watched, the soccer coach’s initial response was that his friend had no sexual imagination. In all the photographs in which they were engaged, Yevgeny was in the traditional male position, face to face and on top. Oleg was more interested in the look on Yulia’s face. It was almost identical in each picture in which her face could be seen. Her head was turned away. Her eyes were closed. There was no smile on her beautiful face. Apparently, the sexual performance of Yevgeny Pleshkov left a great deal to be desired.
“Those are yours,” the German said. “Keep them. Destroy them.
Listen to the tapes. Some of them are difficult to understand.
Many of them are of indiscretions on your part, in which you reveal information of a highly sensitive nature about others in the government and secret actions, which I am sure were not meant to be revealed outside of a very small circle in the Kremlin. Some might even say that the sharing of such secret information with a woman would constitute treason.”
“I don’t have money,” Yevgeny said, closing the box with a sudden snap and handing it to Oleg.
“Money,” the German said, running a hand down Yulia’s body.
“No, I am not after money. I need your power, your influence. I need to be able to go to business and political sources in other countries and guarantee them certain things from Russian governmental agencies, things which you can arrange.”
Yevgeny had swayed slightly, his eyes on the German. Oleg had no idea what his friend was thinking. Yevgeny cheated on his wife-which, considering his friend’s wife, was completely understandable. Yevgeny was often away from his role in running the fragile government; he gambled away his money and was ever prepared to take offense at a look or a comment. He was easily swayed by a pretty face.
On the other hand, Yevgeny Pleshkov was an honest man who stubbornly held to his own principles in spite of pressure from his own party, from outside lobbies, and sometimes from the press.
The people seemed to love him. An honest man in a dishonest world. A compassionate man who was frequently quoted. Once he had said, “To err is divine. To forgive is human.” People who loved Yevgeny and did not know him smiled when they spoke these words. In the valley of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Yevgeny might well become a political king. Oleg didn’t always agree with what his friend said and stood for, but he admired and respected his courage in saying what he thought, doing what he believed was best for Russia.
Maybe he was thinking about such things as he looked down at the wooden box. And then he looked up and saw the German’s hand move under Yulia’s gown and between her legs. She neither protested, moved, nor indicated in any way that she welcomed being used.
Oleg knew what was coming. He had seen Yevgeny like this before when he had been drinking. Oleg wondered if Yulia had warned the German, and if the German knew some kind of mar-tial art or had a gun, but he was stark naked. There was no place to hide a weapon.
The German stood, working his hand between Yulia’s legs, under her open gown.
Oleg reached for his friend’s arm as Yevgeny strode forward toward the couple and made a deep animal sound. The German spread his legs, amused for a moment, but only a moment. Oleg had no idea what the German had expected, but he certainly didn’t expect to be hit in the face with the wooden box. The German staggered back in surprise and pain. Blood spurted from his nose.
A purple welt like a fat worm streaked over his left eyebrow.
