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Nadia continued. ‘The client – let’s say it is this Salamander for now – wanted to attack the UK two years ago, via a nuclear strike. If it is the same man, then he now has a nuclear weapon to carry out the strike, to finish what he began.’
The colonel shrugged. ‘Nice story, but that’s all –’
‘Have there been any announcements by terrorist organisations, claiming what they’ve done? Any demands made, discreetly to the government, or even publicly?’
The colonel said nothing.
Nadia leaned forward, in his direction. ‘Because it’s the same client. The warhead isn’t for ransom, or as a political bargaining chip. He means to use it.’
No one spoke for a while, until Katya chipped in. ‘My sister can talk to MI6,’ she said. ‘By now they must have investigated every possible lead.’
Nadia stared at Katya, as if she was seeing a new side to her. But work with MI6? They’d imprisoned her these past two years. She raised an eyebrow and mouthed spasiba to her sister, hoping she’d pick up the sarcasm.
Sergei addressed the colonel, his tone conciliatory. ‘At the moment, the minute we land, we will both be taken into custody for questioning, because we have nothing to offer. I have lost a submarine; together we have lost a nuclear weapon. Our careers will be the least of our worries.’
The female lieutenant joined in. ‘Sir. If this Salamander has been operating undetected for two years, his influence may well reach inside the Kremlin. Imagine if you were the one to uncover him.’
Nadia was impressed. This woman’s career instincts were pretty slick.
The colonel reddened slightly again, then turned to Nadia. ‘Very well, Miss Laksheva. Tell us everything you know.’
She did, including the name of the man they would need to discreetly contact via a covert channel to MI6. Jake Saunders. The colonel’s aide said it would take a day to set up a telecom.
‘We will put you in military accommodation, our barracks –’
‘No,’ Nadia said. ‘The Radisson overlooking Gorky Park. And my money gets wired to my account before I talk.’
The colonel looked aghast. ‘You don’t even have an account.’
Katya smiled. ‘The banks open in four hours.’
‘Just do it,’ Sergei said.
‘Very well,’ the colonel said. ‘But you work for me, Nadia. As a consultant. And we have recently acquired files on your activities in Sebastopol three years ago.’
She swallowed. She’d been there on an op for Kadinsky. In order to save one of her team from being killed, she’d shot two guards. Very carefully, so they would live.
He folded his arms. ‘When the warhead is recovered, I can make those files go away. But if you fail…’
***
They gave her a decent room, a junior suite overlooking the park. Katya was on the same floor with Bransk. Sergei… She had no idea where he was. She wondered if he might come to see her, but imagined he’d have his hands full.
Someone at the door. Three sharp raps, then a quieter one, half a beat later. Katya. Nadia checked the eyehole anyway, then swung open the door. Her sister beamed.
‘Which first, ice cream or the swings?’
Nadia grabbed her jacket, and they headed for their favourite place in Moscow.
***
The sun lazed high in the sky, while they sat face to face at a small iron table on the boardwalk next to Gorky Park’s principal lake, watching the swans. People wandered past, a few single parents with toddlers, but mostly working people taking in the air during their lunchtime break: men in suits striding along at a brisk pace, women in twos or threes circuiting the lake more slowly, in deep conversation, and pairs of lovers dotted here and there holding hands or kissing.
She told Katya that one of the men on the sub seemed to know their father. Katya was dismissive until Nadia shared the part about missing her like the rain.
Katya’s features tightened. ‘He was just trying to bait you. Maybe he was Spetsnaz, knew Papasha in the old days. When they find the sub and his putrefied corpse, they can confirm it.’
Ah yes, the Yuri. Nearly a kilometre down, and the weather was still difficult back there. Sergei had said they’d have deep-sea divers in submersibles there within a week, depending on the weather. She had no doubt the colonel was using paperwork to cover his ass, hyping the intrigue around Salamander. Everyone loved a good conspiracy theory, especially Russians, for whom it was practically a religion.
‘Tell me about Bransk,’ she said.
Katya was instantly back on form, her eyes dancing as she talked about how they’d met at a diplomat’s party a year ago, how he seemed so serious, but was different whenever it was just the two of them. A high-flying businessman in the oil and gas sector, with mid-level contacts in the Kremlin. Another fairy-tale romance. Katya was a magnet for them. But Nadia was glad for Katya, especially after she’d had to endure five years with Kadinsky, and all that had entailed.
She took Katya’s hand again. ‘Ice cream time.’
As they meandered back towards the hotel, Nadia picked out the plain-clothes keeping an eye on them: two male, one female. Fine. She and Katya made one last ice cream stop, then they went to the bank, and an hour later she emerged richer and happier.
***
The call came through at ten p.m. on the mobile the colonel had given Nadia. It wasn’t Jake. It was his boss – and ex-lover – Lorne.
‘Where’s Jake?’
‘Unavailable.’
Nadia hesitated. ‘We think the guy who likes roses is back in the game.’
‘We?’
‘Me, Katya, and mother.’ As in Mother Russia.
There was a pause. The line sounded dead. Nadia waited. Thirty seconds. A minute.
Lorne came back. ‘Jake’s deepest dive,’ she said. ‘Your birthday.’
The line really went dead this time. Nadia clicked off her phone. It rang again. The colonel.
‘I need a flight to Kuala Lumpur,’ Nadia said. ‘Onward connection to Kota Kinabalu.’
‘What’s your final destination?’
‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’
‘Not good enough. They know where you’re going; we don’t.’
‘I’ll tell Sergei.’
The line clicked off. She called Katya, who answered the phone a little out of breath. Nadia told her sister she’d be away a few days, a week at the most, and that she’d come back to the hotel afterwards. Said she’d do some diving. Katya didn’t ask where.
After an hour, during which she watched some TV and remembered why she hadn’t missed it, her mind kept drifting to Sergei, his hands on her. She tried to dismiss it, but it had been two years. She started getting ready for bed.
There was a knock on the door. Two raps. She stole up to the eyehole and peered through, then opened it but stood with one hand on the door, the other one on the frame.
Sergei looked earnest. ‘Nadia, we need to talk.’
Her heart sped up. She tried to relax, then opened the door, and let him in. ‘It’s late,’ she said. An old song came into her mind – will you stay now? Two long, non-fucking years…
‘I’ll make it quick,’ he said.
No need. Really. Take your time. She caught herself. Stop it. Bad idea.
Sergei indicated the bathroom. She followed him in, unsure what was coming next. He turned the shower on full, as well as the taps for the sink. It made quite a racket. He leaned close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. Her heart rate climbed. The steam from the hot water made her cheeks flush.
‘Tell me where you are going to meet MI6,’ he whispered. His head stayed close. His breathing was deep, measured. Hers wasn’t. She put her hands on his sides to stabilise herself. Pure muscle. Zero fat.
She gathered herself. ‘Anspida. A remote island off the coast of Borneo. A diver’s heaven, apparently.’
‘And this woman, Lorne, she will be there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I could send one of my men. Get you a weapon out there.’
It seemed a bit extreme. ‘I’m not worried about MI6 –’
‘Not MI6. Salamander.’
She closed the door. The mirror had already misted over.
He didn’t blink. ‘It’s been a little strange since we both reported to our superiors.’
‘The colonel seems to think –’
‘Don’t be fooled by him, Nadia. He’s a lot smarter than he makes out. He’s gone far for his age; that doesn’t happen by accident. But it’s as if we’ve tripped over something. Things are in motion. We both now believe the Salamander theory may have some truth to it.’
‘I’ll find out what I can from the Brits.’
His black eyes bore into hers. His mouth was close, his lips moist. Her body was reacting. But it was a bad idea, even though it had been two years. She’d be okay, just, as long as he didn’t touch her…
‘Come back in one piece,’ he said.
He brushed her cheek with the back of a finger.
Dammit!
‘You were exceptional in the sub. I’m not easily impressed. Nor are my men.’ He drew back. ‘Get some sleep; you’ll need it.’ He reached towards the shower control. But her hand clasped his arm, pulled it back. He gave her a questioning look, and she made up her mind.
‘I can sleep on the plane,’ she said.
His smile returned. ‘Sure?’
She nodded, her breath loud in her ears, her heart pounding. She put her hands on his chest. Solid as a rock, while her fingers trembled. She touched his nipples, rubbed them gently between fingers and thumbs.
‘Just don’t disappoint me,’ she said.
His fingers traced the ‘V’ of her robe, glanced across her breasts, then he returned her favour, and teased her nipples. She gasped. He peeled the robe from her shoulders as she undid the belt, and the ensemble fell to the floor. She was naked, except for the soft silk around her toes.
Time to go with the flow. She gave him a crooked smile. ‘Not fair. You’re still clothed.’
Sergei’s lips collided with hers as she unbuckled his belt, and she felt the hardness there. He pushed his groin against hers. She pushed back. He mauled her mouth, her throat, her breasts. She started to unbutton his shirt, gave up, ripped it open instead. She grabbed the back of his neck with her left hand, pressed his mouth harder against her breasts. She glided her right hand down his torso, and felt tight bands of muscle.
She reached for his sex, but he knelt down. His tongue slid down her belly, lingered a second on her navel before continuing downward until she gasped, his hands squeezing and caressing her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Just when she was losing control, she grabbed the back of his head by his hair, and pulled him back up.
‘Not like that,’ she whispered.
He stood up, lifted her off the floor, and then he was inside her, rocking her body against warm, slippery wall tiles. Her body caught fire, and her pelvis took over, remembering what to do, matching his thrusts. She kissed him hard, felt him grow bigger, his arms begin to shake. She pulled back from his mouth, gasped for air, sunk her fingernails into his back.
He sped up, and slammed her repeatedly against the wall. She let out one long cry as a shuddering orgasm engulfed her, and those two, long, desperately lonely years of solitary where she’d hit rock bottom, even thought about killing herself, could finally go to hell where they fucking belonged.
***
The next morning she had a late breakfast. Alone. Katya was out somewhere. But just as she was getting ready to leave, Katya appeared with Bransk. He stayed in the background. Katya passed her a slim box.
‘Happy birthday, Nadia. You’ll be away, but we can celebrate properly when you get back. I saw and bought it this morning, straight from the dive shop.’
Nadia tore off the cellophane and opened the white box. A Suunto dive watch, the latest D6i in black, with a graphite-tinted steel wristband.
‘Handsome,’ she said. ‘Very.’ She slipped it on. It was chunky, not the sort of thing most women would wear.
‘Suits you, Nadia.’ Katya scrutinised her. ‘You look different this morning. If I didn’t know better…’
Nadia tried not to grin, and kissed her sister. ‘Da Skorava.’ She nodded to Bransk, then headed through the revolving doors to a waiting limo. Inside, on the black leather seats were her air tickets – first class.
She stared out the window as the taxi trundled down cobbled boulevards towards the airport. She thought about last night, looked again at her flashy dive watch and the first class tickets. Not bad. Not bad at all.
But there was one thing missing. The man she’d not seen for two years, whom she’d frequently sworn to forget because he’d abandoned her – but she couldn’t seem to forget him. And so she wondered.
Would he come?
Part Two
Anspida, South China Sea
Chapter Six
The sand was already scorching hot at nine a.m. Nadia ran on the balls of her feet from her hut to the white sand beach down by the jetty, and let the warm crystal water lap over her toes.
‘Breakfast’s up,’ Dominic shouted, one of three dive instructors working on the island you could walk around in twenty minutes.
She half-ran, half-hopped to the main building, an open timber affair with a tall thatched roof supported by sturdy beams. Four long wooden tables and benches were filling up with divers, some already wet, others waiting for the ten o’clock shift. Many of them were Japanese, and Yukio, a dive instructor from Okinawa, breakfasted with them on the local rice dish, nasi goreng. It smelled good, and though it was more like lunch than breakfast, Nadia grabbed a plate and sat at the corner of a table.
She devoured the noodle-chicken-vegetable melange, washed it down with coconut water, and ordered an espresso. The only luxury item she’d seen on the island was a professional Lavazza coffee machine. She might have two. After all, it was her birthday.
She left the rest of the group – half of them sleepy from jet lag or late-night banter, the other half excitable from the morning’s plunge into the South China Sea, which had the most varied fish life in the world. She would wait, just in case he arrived. Besides, she needed to digest.
She nabbed one of the hammocks strung between two palm trees, their fronds swaying in the gentle breeze. Not easy climbing aboard while holding an espresso, but she managed it. Closing her eyes, the smooth cup at her lips, she inhaled the Arabica aroma mixed with the salty tang of the ocean. Small sips rolled over her tongue, warming her throat. She rocked slowly. Dappled sunlight danced on her eyelids.
Bliss.
She opened her eyes and gazed beyond the dive hut to the forest. She’d explored it yesterday, just before sunset. A challenge. Dense foliage, a dozen shades of green, roots and thorny bushes, the sound of the sea lost after only twenty metres, replaced by the loud buzz of invisible, bloodthirsty insects. After wading through fifty metres, her shins covered in small scratches and bites, she was almost lost. But she ploughed on, rewarded on the other side of the island by a close encounter with a huge green turtle as it lumbered up the soft sand slope to dig a hole and lay eggs.
She’d watched it from a distance until it grew dark and the mosquito shift came to feast on her, despite having plastered her skin with repellent earlier. The turtle struggled, terribly weary judging by its slow, jagged digging movements, but it never stopped. Nature imbued its progeny with an incredible will to prolong the species. She walked beside the turtle as it lumbered down to the sea, and clapped as it floated and then disappeared beneath moonlit waves. By the time she’d walked around the beach back to the dive centre, she’d missed dinner, and didn’t care.
In the hammock, she turned her head back towards the emerald sea that shifted to cobalt blue farther out in the depths. She heard the distant whine of an engine. Shading her eyes, she searched for the boat – not so easy with the sun low in the sky, flashes of white skittering across the wave-tops. It was the same speedboat she’d arrived on, a sleek five-metre affair with a rectangular orange canopy to stave off the sun, a single powerful engine at the rear. Several passengers. Her breath shallowed. One of them stood out from the others. At the prow. Only a silhouette, but his broad-shouldered swimmer’s physique gave him away. She rolled off the hammock and stood under the shade of the palms.
She thought about running to the jetty to greet him. But she was still pissed off with him. No visits, no letters, no communication whatsoever. He was probably with someone else, married for all she knew. After all, it hadn’t been a big romance. Made love three times, had a couple of deep conversations. Not a relationship. Barely an affair. A fling, that was all.
He disembarked, and saw her. He handed his holdall to one of the locals, and walked straight towards her.
As he approached, she folded her arms. ‘Nice of you to drop by,’ she said. But he didn’t slow down. He came right up to her, took her head in both hands and kissed her, hard, urgent, passionate. The opposite of Sergei, who had been seductive, smooth, confident.
She came up for air. ‘You have some explaining to do.’ But her body was already reacting to him. The chemistry between them burst alive, and was kicking. But her anger was there, too.
‘Why didn’t you come to see me?’
‘Later. Here’s what matters. I haven’t made love to anyone since the day you were taken away.’
She eyed him. Was it true? She searched those deep blue eyes.
Damn. She’d been looking forward to a storming row, him being guilty, begging her to forgive him. And now this? He’d been faithful, whereas she’d slept with Sergei less than forty-eight hours ago… She felt her face redden with embarrassment. She hoped he’d mistake it for sunburn. But she realised it touched her – if he wasn’t lying about it. No one had ever cared about her that much. She needed time to work out how she really felt about it, but sensed that time was the one thing that was in short supply.
‘Where’s your room?’ he asked.
Unbelievable. But at least now she was on more familiar ground. ‘What, the hammock isn’t good enough?’
He took her hands, held them behind her back with one hand and kissed her throat, his chest brushing against her breasts, while his other hand held the back of her head. He nudged her back towards the hammock. Cheering erupted from one of the breakfast tables. The Brits, naturally.
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