Chapter 3
"Power." When he turned back, his eyes were bleak, and Amanda fought down a sudden pang of sympathy. "It's always about power. Who has it. Who seeks it."
He paused, and the silence stretched uncomfortably, until Lee gestured for him to continue.
Zinoniev sighed. "It's the usual sordid story. There are so few of the old guard left. Just myself and a handful of others. But some are highly placed and still wield a modicum of control, and I know them all. Youngsters like Rostov are restless, hungry for esteem and power, and increasingly less patient to wait for their natural rise. Some sought to take the reins of power early. A coup, if you will."
His eyes fixed on the gilded mirror to his left, and his voice lost all traces of emotion. "It was my time. Time to lay down the burden of my service for Mother Russia and spend time playing with my grandchildren. A simple desire, really . . ."
Lee snorted. "Yeah, right, let's hear another one. Do you honestly intend to paint yourself as a victim here? I don't buy it. Skip the tall tales and get to the facts. Who's coming after you, and what are we up against here?"
"I was framed, to put it inelegantly." Zinoniev toyed with the edge of his sleeve. "It was to be my last assignment, and my years of service would have been complete. Instead, certain evidence surfaced which pointed to my subversion, my desire to betray the KGB, and a plan to defect to your lovely country. Of course, it was ludicrous, but in discrediting me, they also forced the hands of my friends in the division."
When Zinoniev's eyes met hers, Amanda could feel some sincerity in them, but Lee snorted again. "Okay, so what brings you here? Why are we so lucky?"
"To protect themselves and the organization, my . . . friends . . . were forced to call out the dogs. I was left with no option but to contemplate the very things I was accused of, or die. I found I was not ready to die quietly and alone with my name discredited."
The smile lifted the corner of his mouth again. "And who to help me in my time of need? Why, none other than the Scarecrow and the delightful Mrs. King." At Lee's grimace, he continued, "I let it be known to your Doctor Smyth that I might be willing to . . . well . . . cross over, shall we say? Smyth jumped at the chance." He turned a quizzical eye toward Lee. "Have you ever noticed that he seems a little unbalanced?"
His gaze traveled from Amanda to Lee and settled on the gun in Lee's hand. He shrugged. "Ah, well, never mind. I have placed certain limitations on the information I will provide to your Agency. While I have no qualms about bringing down Rostov and his bullyboys, I will do nothing to harm the interests of my country. Now why don't we all sit down and talk about it. I'm getting a decided crick in my neck staring up at you."
"Are you hungry?"
Both sets of eyes trained on Amanda as she pulled a chair from the small table in the corner of the room and pushed it in Lee's direction. She snagged a second chair for herself and settled into it. They were still staring at her when she picked up the receiver and pulled out the room service menu. "Oh, come on, if we're going to be talking all night, we might as well have something brought up. I'm starving. Remember, my dinner was interrupted." She brushed at the drying stains on her dress. Too late to worry about that now.
Lee's posture relaxed just a little, and the muzzle of the gun dipped.
"Did you actually reserve this room Mr. . . . um . . . Zinoniev, or did you just . . . well . . . borrow it?"
Zinoniev flashed her a wide grin. "The room was reserved--after a fashion--under a pseudonym. And I think dinner would be a grand idea. We are sailing under a flag of truce, are we not?"
Amanda looked up at Lee, who hovered over his chair. With an exasperated sigh, he holstered his gun and plopped into it. "Yeah, right."
His expression was closed and suspicious and spoke volumes. She knew he wasn't about to trust the wily Russian. Neither was she. But the man was their assignment.
And she was very hungry.
Lee cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "I don't know about a truce, but I still need to know the details. Who's after you and how many? Were you followed here? If you were followed, how long until they make their move?"
"I wish I had answers for you. I don't believe I was tracked here, but you must remember, we are dealing with the best. I know. I trained him. Now that the hound has bitten his master's hand and tasted blood, Rostov will follow the scent until he has found me. As to the numbers we might face, I suspect it's no greater than three."
Zinoniev paused and pinned Lee with a pointed stare. "Lad, if they have tracked me here, then we will need to work together, you and I. And the little Scarecrow, of course."
"She's not the--"
Zinoniev cut him off with a wave. "She is to me."
Lee started to rise from his chair, and Amanda rustled the menu to break the tension clouding the room.
"How about Italian?"
------------------------------------------------------
Amid the jumbled empty plates, half-filled glasses, and napkins, Amanda and Zinoniev chatted like old friends. During dinner, the conversation had drifted to duty and the things one must do for one's country. While Lee had to agree that there were certain necessary and somewhat unsavory acts committed in the name of duty and country, the damn Russian had taken it to new heights. Duty? Yeah, right. But Amanda seemed to be buying the guy's entire load.
And then came the touching family stories, enough to make him sick. First it was Zinoniev's wife, then the kids, and now the man was showing off pictures of his grandkids, to Amanda's appreciative murmurs.
He couldn't believe it. There was something surreal about the scene. It felt . . . well . . . it was just wrong. He cleared his throat for the third time.
It was Zinoniev who caught his glare over the top of Amanda's head. Something about the superior grin made Lee want to remove it permanently from its owner's face, but it would have to be business first. Before he could gather enough breath to speak, Zinoniev beat him to it.
"Little Scarecrow?" His grin grew broader as he touched her shoulder. "I believe the tall lad is trying to get your attention. Either that, or the last bit of garlic bread didn't go down well."
Lee clenched his fist, but forced a calm smile of his own and gestured when Amanda swiveled around to look at him. "Can I see you a minute?"
He tucked his hand under her arm and ushered her into the bathroom. He could still see Zinoniev reflected in the mirror.
"Okay, here I am. What's going on?" Her tone carried a hint of annoyance.
She didn't get it. His own impatience began to leak through, and he didn't try to stop it. "Amanda, just what do you think you're doing? Next thing, you two will be sharing recipes. You know this guy is a killer, right? He ordered me killed and nearly shipped you to Russia. He's killed our people, and he'd do it again."
Amanda's eyes were wide, but not with chagrin. "Of course I know who and what he is. As well as you do. But right now, he's our duty." She placed one finger against his chest and gave a little push for emphasis. "The more we know about him, the better off we'll be. Come on, you can't deny that."
"Just don't get too friendly."
"Sharing recipes, huh?" She turned and walked away. "Viktor makes a mean strudel."
It couldn't get much worse, but thankfully, the torment would be short. In a few hours, the Agency would descend and remove this thorn from his side. And Viktor Zinoniev would be nothing more than a bad memory.
Three hours later, the thorn was still there and seemed to be settling in for the night. Lee caught Amanda's eye and motioned her into the bathroom. Again.
"This is getting to be a habit." She grinned and then sobered. "Are we going to spend the night here?"
Her gaze dropped to her stained dress, and her thoughts were as plain as day. "I'd really like to change," she said. "Do you think it's safe to go back to our room and get a change of clothes and maybe take a shower? I'd rather not shower here."
"Not with our friend in the next room, huh?"
She shook her head.
"I see. Hands across the water only reach so far?" Temper flashed in her eyes, but as he held her gaze, humor began to creep in, until they were both grinning. After a furtive look over her shoulder, she trailed her fingertips up the front of his shirt, until she could cup his cheek in her hand. He leaned into the caress and captured her hand with his own.
"Not exactly the second honeymoon we planned, is it?" she murmured. "No quiet time just for us. I wish . . ."
He pulled her close, for once not worrying about Zinoniev, or the Agency, or anything else. For one moment, his focus was clear. As his lips caressed hers, she signed and leaned into his embrace.
"Later," he whispered. "Just you and me--"
"And Baby makes three. Isn't that how it goes?" Zinoniev watched them with something akin to fatherly pride. Lee reluctantly released Amanda and nudged her toward the door. "I think it's safe for you to go back to our room and get some things. But if you're not back in twenty minutes, we'll come find you."
"Play nice, boys." With a final look, she slipped out the door, leaving him alone with the still grinning Zinoniev.
It was going to be a long night.