wouldn't it? Logically, I mean?' Varakov felt himself smile.
Natalia laughed, a little laugh. Varakov liked her voice. It reminded him at times of that of her mother. 'Well, will you listen to me, young man?
For I need your help. Natalia needs your help; she doesn't know it yet.
She is leaving here—for an extended stay.'
'Uncle?'
'I had Catherine pack your things; they are aboard
that aircraft out there.' Varakov gestured behind him. 'Everything.'
Varakov looked at Rubenstein, then past him at Natalia. 'You are both so young. It is the young who always risk for the errors of the old—like me.
I have learned something of paramount importance—to your friend John Rourke, something which I must discuss with John Rourke in person. It is of importance to him and—'
'Tm not bringing John into a trap,' Rubenstein snapped, his right fist tightening on the butt of the pistol he held.
'Two questions. Would Natalia knowingly do Rourke harm?'
'Of course not,' Rubenstein told him.
'And would I, if I were planning to deceive both my niece and Rourke, entrust Natalia to him, through you? Obviously not. That is why she goes with you—for that reason and for her own safety.'
'My safety . . .' Natalia began. 'But—'
'You asked no questions when I sent you to explore Rozhdestvenskiy's office.'
'Roz—what?' Rubenstein asked.
'Rozhdestvenskiy, a singularly good-looking fellow, yet singularly unpleasant, I am afraid.' Varakov looked outside the window, watching his driver and the driver who had brought Natalia and Rubenstein, talking; he wondered about what. 'I need you, Mr. Rubenstein, to take Natalia, my niece, to wherever it is John Rourke lives —'
'The Re—'
'The Retreat? Yes. I believe that's the place. Then,'— and Varakov fished inside his case—'you will give him
this message. I am also giving you papers of safe conduct, for yourself and for Rourke, but I cannot guarantee how long my orders in such matters will be strictly enforced.'
'Uncle,' Natalia began.
'Silence, child.' He looked at Rubensfein. 'Can I entrust to you, sir, the one thing in my own life I hold most dear—her life?' Varakov extended his hand.
Rubenstein hesitated a moment, glanced at Natalia, then took Varakov's hand. 'What the hell is going on here?'
'See? I told you you would like me, young man; I told you.'
He started out of the back seat, opening the door, hearing Natalia's voice behind him as he exited the car.
'Uncle!'
She ran around the back of the car, then came into his arms. ' would not have let you go without saying good-by, child. I will see you again. Do not fear.'
'What is happening, Uncle Ishmael? What is ... that report of Rozhdestvenskiy, the Eden Project abstract?'
'Be thankful you read no more of it. You will learn the details when you come back here with John Rourke. There is no other way.'
'Come back here with—'
'You must, child—and when Rourke reads the letter I have sent him, he will want to come. If he is the man I think he is—that you think he is ... he is the only one.' Varakov stepped back, holding his niece at arms' length.
'You look lovely—a beautiful dress; that coat—real fur?'
'Yes.' She looked down.
'I fear where you are going you'll have to change
aboard the aircraft. I know little about survival retreats, but I don't imagine one reaches them in high heels and silk stockings.'
'They are nylon—silk stockings are—'
'Yes. Nylon. Be careful.' He folded his arms around her. There was a possibility, he knew, that he would never see her again.
The noise of the rotor blades was uncomfortable, despite the protective muffs on his ears, and there was always the distraction of the radio chatter coming from other ships in the squadron. But he didn't wish lo lurn it off.
Rozhdestvenskiy looked at the ground beneath him, the shadows there. Could Bevington, Kentucky, be far
