For the briefest of moments, Will wanted to forget about everything, to hold on to Korina, to lift her body and cradle her in his arms, to take her to a bedroom and gently lower her onto the bed. Instead, he pulled away from her and said, “Get dressed.”
Korina frowned; her eyes moistened. “I thought-” She stared at him for a while before grabbing the towel from the floor, positioning it over her chest, and shaking her head. Her expression now held anger. “I was stupid.”
Will sighed. “No.” Momentarily he looked away from her, silently cursing himself. Then he locked his gaze back onto her. “I need to freshen up and get into clean clothes. Then I’ll help you cook.”
H aving bathed and changed into his clean arctic warfare clothes and combat boots, Will walked into the kitchen. Korina was there, defrosting a whole chicken and prepacked vegetables in a microwave. She gathered the food together and laid it out on a large bench.
Staring at it, she muttered, “I now realize that I’ve never cooked for a man before.” She kept looking at the food and seemed uncertain what to do.
Will moved to her side, ignited the adjacent gas burner, placed a deep frying pan onto it, and reached for a large kitchen knife and chopping board. Expertly, he peeled and diced shallots and tossed them into the pan with olive oil and butter. Then he deboned and portioned the chicken, pan-fried it with crushed garlic, pepper, and finely chopped herbs, splashed red wine into the pan, and allowed the alcohol to burn off before tasting the liquid and adding some salt and sugar.
He looked at Korina. “It’s not five-star cuisine, but it will work with rice or potatoes.”
Korina looked surprised. “It looks and smells better than anything I could have prepared. Where did you learn to cook?”
Will shrugged. “For one of my lessons at school I had to choose between metalwork and cookery. I opted for the latter because I knew I’d be the only boy in a classroom of teenage girls.” He smiled. “It gave me certain advantages.”
Thirty minutes later they were sitting at the dining table and eating their meal in silence. Korina looked distracted and unsettled. When they finished, she looked out of the window and muttered, “I need some air. Will you join me?”
As they walked into the spacious garden, the snowfall was lighter, though large flakes still drifted slowly through the air. They reached a big oak tree. Hanging from one of its branches was a child’s swing. Korina sat on it and looked at the snow-covered ground. “My father loved his country but secretly hated the way it was being run. He believed that after the collapse of communism, Russia was supposed to be a better place. Instead he felt it had become a breeding ground for the worst excesses of capitalism, for mad dogs who would do anything to make money. Over the last few years, I’ve seen that his views are right.”
Will watched her for a while, staying silent, before moving in front of her. “So that’s how my MI6 colleague got you. He discovered that, like your father, you hated your country’s regime.”
I t was evening. Will was alone in the dining room, emptying the contents of his rucksack onto the large table. He realized that it had been packed for a Spetsnaz man to operate in harsh, rugged terrain. Carefully, he laid out two mountaineering ice axes, vertical-framed steep-ice crampons, a small spade, a pure down sleeping bag, inner and outer gloves, thermal tops, a white fleece jacket, a fleece-lined woolen hat, tactical goggles, waterproof pants, a compass, a first-aid kit, and a military knife. He stripped down and reassembled the workings of his AS Val assault rifle, attached the sound suppressor, checked his MR-445 Varjag pistol, unpacked and repacked magazine clips, and tested the tactical communications systems that he and Korina had used in Moscow earlier in the day.
Korina came in, barefoot and dressed in loose flannel pants and a baggy V-necked sweater with nothing underneath. Her hair was damp; she smelled of shampoo and soap. Moving to the fireplace, she put firelighters, twigs, and logs onto the grate and struck a match to get the fire burning. At the liquor cabinet, she poured large slugs of Chateau de Beaulon cognac into two big brandy glasses and handed one of the glasses to Will before taking a seat on the floor in front of the fire.
She took a gulp of the spirit and looked at him. “You call him Sentinel; I know him as Gabriel. I’ve always known it’s not his real name, just as William’s not yours, but that’s never mattered to me.” She glanced at the fire, wafted the cognac under her nose, and took another gulp of the liquid. As the fire crackled, its flames cast flickering light over her face. “Of course, I don’t know the identity of his other Russian agents, but I bet they all think about him in the same way that I do. He gives us so much hope.”
Will sipped his drink slowly, his gaze fixed on Korina. “He’ll crack under torture very soon. And when he does, there’s something you need to know. He’ll call and ask to meet you. He’s going to do the same with two other agents. Then Taras will try to kill all of you.”
Korina looked shocked. “I-”
Will held up a hand. “I’m not going to let you get anywhere near Razin. As soon as I get the time and location of the meeting, I’ll go there alone and watch the place.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
Korina looked sharply at him. “I’m a professional intelligence officer. I don’t need to sit here doing nothing.”
Will sighed. “It’s too risky.”
“So is staying here! GRU or FSB could come looking for me here while you’re away. Plus”-she placed her glass on the floor, spilling some of its contents-“Taras killed my father. I want to be there.” She stared straight at Will. “I’m going to be there.”
Will wondered what to say. Nothing came to him, because he understood exactly how Korina felt. He moved to the fireplace, sat next to her, and placed his hand over hers. She moved her fingers around his.
They stayed like that, not speaking, just holding each other’s hands, staring away at nothing.
Both intelligence operatives.
Fugitives.
And with no one else in their lives.
W ill stripped out of his clothes, turned off the light, and sat on the spare bed.
He tried to relax his aching body and put all thoughts out of his mind. But images kept racing through his brain.
He saw a Russian submariner lying on the floor with his body cut open, an old woman being torn apart by an explosion, a military commander raise a toast to peace, a noble but impoverished couple giving away their last food, a general expertly checking the workings of a handgun, the dead body of a Scotsman left to be eaten by animals, four American and Russian men throwing their guns to the ground as troops surrounded them, and an Englishman sweeping a hand over prone handgun cartridges with a look of utter sadness on his face.
He wondered if these images now meant anything.
Uncertainty and despair swept over him. He felt that the fate of Russia and the United States rested on his shoulders.
Standing, he looked at the bed before walking to the window. It was dark outside; he could see nothing. But he stayed there anyway, just looking.
He thought about Korina. She had taken so many risks for him, yet he had rejected her. That decision now seemed wholly wrong, because he knew that they were attracted to each other.
And they both knew that tomorrow they could be dead.
He turned away from the window, walked across the room, opened the door, and stood still. On the opposite side of the corridor was another bedroom, its door shut. Korina was inside. He stared at the door for nearly two minutes before making a decision.
It was the right decision.
He walked across the corridor and knocked on her door.
She was now before him, dressed in her bathrobe.
The slightest smile on her face.
A tiny nod of her head.
A minute step toward him.
Will moved to her, held her for a moment, lifted her body so that she was cradled in his arms, kissed her
