He presented Ericka to his secretary of state, Anton Belosova, and again to his wife, Natalie. Anton smiled warmly at the American, his huge hand taking hers and gently shaking it. Anton’s soulful puppy-dog eyes missed nothing, yet his honest expression revealed only friendliness. “My wife tells me you are a heroine.”
“I’m just glad I was close enough to offer my help,” Ericka replied modestly.
Anton’s wife, Natalie, her shiny white hair in a neat bun, dressed impeccably as always in a designer gown, welcomed them with a friendly smile. “Nicholas, Ericka, so good to see you again. I’m glad you are both safe.”
“Thank you,” Ericka shook the woman’s hand. “We appreciate your concern.”
“You’ve had a rough entry into our country, but I assure you we Vashmirans are a warm-hearted people. If you ever need someone to show you around or would just like to talk, please don’t hesitate to come to me.” Natalie turned to Nicholas. “Any clues as to who set off the bomb?”
“Ira’s working on finding answers.”
Natalie leaned closer to Nicholas and Ericka. “My guess would be the protesters had something to do with it. The situation on the streets is nasty and I’ve forbidden Larissa,” she glanced at her daughter fondly, “to go out until this ugly episode is resolved.”
Nicholas’ gaze found Anton and his daughter, Larissa, who would have looked elegant in rags. She wore some little red number and seemed much more interested in trying to catch Alexander’s eye than in saying hello to him and Ericka. Sometimes he wondered if his brother’s assessment of her behavior was correct, that her flirting with Alexander was an attempt to make Nicholas jealous. If so, her scheme wasn’t working. Nicholas felt nothing for Larissa Belosova.
Larissa had moved away from her parents just before Nicholas and Ericka made their way over. Perhaps she was embarrassed about her cowardice on the beach. While Ericka had risked her life to help save the children, Larissa had only been interested in saving her own neck. Ericka had been most diplomatic about not pointing that out.
“So you’re the man responsible for foreign policy,” Ericka said smoothly to Anton, accepting a glass of white wine, sipping, then addressing the former fisherman. “Do you think the recent assassination attempt on Nicholas could have anything to do with the Mid-East peace talks?”
“I hope not,” Anton answered with an inherent honesty that Nicholas valued. This man read people well and was an excellent judge of character. He clearly didn’t mind Ericka’s forthright question, and Nicholas relaxed, unaware he had been so tense. His advice was always dead on the money. Anton had great people instincts and, as far as Nicholas knew, he liked Ericka.
Although Anton might have preferred the life of a fisherman, Natalie had done him proud—unlike his economic advisor’s wife, Janna, whom Nicholas wholeheartedly disliked.
At that moment his brilliant, oh-so-conservative, economic advisor and his wife, Peter and Janna Surak, joined the other two couples. Peter wore the long robes and turban of his Islamic people and could trace his ancestors all the way back to the time when Istanbul had been Constantinople and the trading capital in this part of the world.
His wife Janna, dressed in a robe that was demure but one size too small, couldn’t contain her frown of displeasure. Nicholas refrained from looking down, fearful that he’d see way too much of her jiggling curves. Despite all the official functions she’d been to, the woman had no sense of how to dress appropriately for her age. She dyed her hair an elegant gold but wore flashy jewelry, and Nicholas always thought she looked like a shop girl trying to dress up for a royal gathering.
The thoroughly unpleasant Janna scowled at Ericka. “Dear, a formal dinner is not the time to worry the men with politics.”
Ericka’s expression remained cool and composed but she raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“This is the time we socialize. Perhaps you should ask the Belosovas’ daughter, Larissa, to show you around, teach you the ropes.”
“Actually,” Nicholas interrupted, “I intend to show her around.”
By using the word we, Janna had implied that Ericka was an outsider. Ericka didn’t so much as flicker one long eyelash at the implied insult. Instead, she shot Peter an I’ll-forgive-your-wife-for-being-a-pain-in-theass-if-we-can-talk-privately smile. “Discussing politics is a passion of mine.”
Ericka had plenty of passion all right. That kiss on the beach had been passionate with a capital P. So passionate Nicholas would never, ever forget it.
“I hear you have many…passions.” Janna lashed out at Ericka as if realizing that this gorgeous young American woman and Peter had interests in common—interests she didn’t share.
Natalie, always the peacemaker, tried to intervene. “There’s nothing wrong with passion,” she said, giving her husband a loving look as she attempted to diffuse the tension.
While Nicholas could censor the press, he couldn’t stop the rumors Janna had so obviously heard about their kiss. He could step in, but decided to allow Ericka to handle the woman.
Ericka sipped her drink. “Why thank you, ma’am. I consider that a compliment.” She looked at Peter. “I was hoping for a private interview.”
“I have an opening tomorrow. Ten o’clock?”
“Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.” Ericka ignored Janna’s scowl as the couple moved away from them.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Natalie told her. “She’s slow to accept newcomers, but she’ll come around.”
Nicholas leaned forward and whispered in Ericka’s ear. “Well done. I never understood why Peter married that woman.” He thought her scheming, thoroughly grasping and unpleasant. The group of chatting people cleared, giving him a bird’s eye view across the room. Larissa had found Alexander and appeared to be hanging on his every word.
At Larissa’s clingy behavior, Tashya locked gazes with Ericka and then rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Ericka grinned and Nicholas realized the two women were able to communicate many of their thoughts without words.
“Ericka,” Tashya gestured for them to come over. “I’d like you to meet our father’s oldest friend, General Levsky Vladimir.”
Vladimir, wearing his black dress uniform and polished black boots, eyed Ericka with a stern expression that didn’t appear to faze her in the least. The rows of medals across his chest seemed neither to intimidate nor to impress her.
“Good evening, General. I was hoping you could spare some free time for me soon.”
“I can always make time for a pretty girl.” He spoke English with a heavy Russian accent.
Nicholas wondered how she’d react to being called a pretty girl. He knew enough about American culture to understand that a career woman might consider the general’s words an insult.
She grinned. “Great. I’m interested in your increased troop buildup on the northern border.”
Nicholas never doubted that Ericka’s question was in retaliation for being called a pretty girl, and he had to stifle a smile.
The general’s eyes narrowed on Nicholas, who shook his head slightly. He hadn’t mentioned any military movements to her.
The general’s Russian accent grew thicker. “How did you hear about—?”
“I do my homework,” she responded vaguely. “And you, sir,” she sliced off the general’s inquiry with a feint of her own by turning to Ben Golden, “are Nicholas’ press secretary?”
“I’m pleased to meet you.” Ben nodded politely, but from his stiff manner, he seemed most wary of her, an odd reaction for the normally friendly press secretary.
Did Ben resent her because she was an American reporter? Or was he simply afraid that she might publish material he hadn’t cleared? Many Vashmirans didn’t want Vashmira to strengthen ties to the West. But Ben was a moderate. What reason would he have for disliking Ericka?
Servants opened the doors to the dining room and everyone ambled into the room. Nicholas seated Ericka at the head of the table beside him and opposite Alexander.
Tashya hemmed her in on her other side. Normally, the family spread out, Tashya and Alexander making sure the conversation flowed smoothly, but as if his siblings sensed trouble, they’d closed ranks around Ericka.
A moment later, Sophia came rushing in, her long skirts swaying, and took the seat at the other end of the table. “Sorry, I am so late. My sons decided to shoot their water pistols in the bedroom.”
“They made a mess?” Nicholas asked with a chuckle.
“Not so much with the water guns. But Nikita thought Dimitri should be as wet as he was. Somehow, he attached a hose to the faucet with tape.”
“Did the tape hold?” Alexander asked curiously.
“For a while. Long enough for Dimitri to retaliate with the fire extinguisher he pulled off the wall.”
Tashya and Ericka both laughed. Nicholas shook his head, remembering the water fights he and Alexander had had and the messes they’d made in the stable.
“You won’t think it is so funny if the third story floor collapses into your office, Nicholas.” Sophia might be a tad upset with her sons, but Nicholas could tell from her tone that the damage wasn’t so bad. Besides, he could have kissed her for helping to relieve some of the growing tension in the room. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason, but Ericka’s presence had raised the anxiety levels in his inner circle by several degrees.
Or perhaps it wasn’t Ericka, but the earlier assassination attempt? Either way, a little levity was much appreciated.
As if he’d just jinxed himself, an aide rushed into the dining room, a note in his hand. At the same time, the general’s pager went off. So did the secretary of state’s.
Now what?
Nicholas stood, reached for the note and scanned it, aware of Ericka’s gaze on him. “Three thousand Russians on our north border have just officially asked for asylum.”
Peter Surak jumped to his feet, his robes swaying with his agitation. “We cannot let them in. We cannot afford schools and medical facilities for our own people. Our resources are already strained beyond our limits.”
Ben Golden spoke with strength and calm. “My friend, of course you would say that. The majority of people seeking asylum are Jews. Would your response be the same if it were your people asking for help?”
Janna gasped and spoke to her husband loud enough for all to hear. “How dare he talk to you like that?” Accustomed to her outbursts, the men ignored her.
Peter’s face reddened at Ben’s gentle chastisement. “As Allah is my witness, I don’t know.”
“Sir,” General Vladimir’s face looked grim. “One of our aircraft just went down.”
“Where?” Nicholas asked.
“Moldova. It collided with one of their planes and made an unauthorized crash landing in their capital city.”
“Our men?” Nicholas demanded.
“Alive, but…” The general’s gaze moved to Ericka as if he didn’t wish to say more.
“But what?” Nicholas pressed.
“We had sensitive intelligence gathering equipment on board.”
“It was a spy plane?” Ericka asked.
The general nodded. “We were trying to determine the conditions on our northern border. Three thousand people are living in camps without adequate food and water.”
Peter shook his head. “We cannot—”
Nicholas spoke to his secretary of state. “Anton, get the American and Israeli ambassadors on the line. See if they will accept the refugees.” He looked at his sister next. “Tashya, what kind of information can you get from Moldova?”
She sighed. “Nicholas, I severed my connection with the crown prince. You know that.”
“Reconnect. The lives of our men may depend on your efforts.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“How many men?” he asked the general.
“The plane had a crew of eight.”
“Eight men?” Tashya’s face tightened with worry. “I should have married the toad.”
Ericka looked from Tashya to Nicholas, concern filling her eyes. “Can’t you go through diplomatic channels?”
Nicholas shook his head. “There are no diplomatic channels.” He gathered himself, ready to face the crisis, wishing it could have come at another time. He needed to concentrate on courting Ericka, and now he was about to offend her reporter’s sensibilities again. But it couldn’t be helped. “Ben, brief the press. Ask them not to release the story while we negotiate for the release of the crew. For now, only official palace announcements are to hit the newspapers. I want to keep a tight lid on the story to prevent this crisis from escalating. Ladies and gentlemen, we must avoid an international incident, and I want those men home alive.”
“There’s more,” the general said.
Nicholas didn’t let his expression change, but his gut tightened. “What?”
“Our division commander has told me his men will not obey orders to fire on the refugees.”
Ben nodded as if he’d expected their soldiers to react in such a manner. But he remained silent.
“No such order has been given to fire on helpless refugees,” Nicholas glared at the general. “Has it?”
“No, Your Majesty. But if—”
“If we must protect our borders,” Peter interrupted the general, “we must find another way to do it—firing on innocents will guarantee civil war.”
“I agree,” Ben said with an appreciative glance at his Muslim friend.
Nicholas also agreed. Even if the Russian emigrants illegally crossed the border, soldiers shouldn’t be forced to shoot at civilians—any civilians. Yet, Vashmira didn’t have endless resources and could ill afford to accept the refugees.
He tossed his napkin onto his dinner plate. “Anton, General, we must find a diplomatic solution to this problem. I want suggestions on my desk within the hour.”
With dinner over before it began, everyone left the room except Nicholas and Ericka. She pushed back from the table. “I hadn’t heard about the refugee problem. Is there anything I can do?”
“Refugees have been trickling into our country for many years now, and we house them, feed them, educate them. Usually we take in an equal number of Muslims, Christians and Jews, so it’s not this huge a problem. However, it is expensive, and taking so many Jewish refugees will upset a very delicate balance in our country which is one third Christian, one third Muslim and one third Jewish. As leader of all our people, I must find a nonviolent solution.”
Ericka placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. “I gather your troops are divided into groups according to their religion?”
“Yes. We have only a few mixed squads. Eventually, we intend to make our army nondenominational—but as much as I would like to force the issue and just have us all blend and think of ourselves as Vashmirans, our groups are too diverse. They eat different foods, celebrate different holidays, and they don’t trust one another.”
“I understand.”
She understood? Sometimes Ericka surprised him.
“My country had similar problems during our history,” she told him with a gentleness and understanding of other political systems that most foreigners didn’t have. “Eventually, we overcame our differences, and you will, too. It takes time and good leaders. You are that leader, Nicholas. I have every confidence you’ll find a solution.”
Her faith in him both surprised and pleased him. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because you care.”
Ericka’s words stayed with him through the long hours of the night, bolstering his spirits despite the seemingly fruitless negotiations. He’d wanted to spend the next few days getting to know Ericka better. He’d felt they had made a good, although somewhat rocky, start.
Now, this morning, with the crisis on the border, he had to concentrate on administrative details too delicate to be left to underlings. Nothing had been resolved, but no shots had been fired. The Russians were at least talking to his diplomats. From Moldova there was still silence, yet according to their
best intelligence, the crew of the plane that had crashed on the Vashmiran-Moldovan border were all still alive.
Nicholas could have sent a messenger to Ericka’s room to tell her that her meetings with the general and secretary of state had been canceled due to the crisis, but he wanted to see her himself. He wanted to take her into his arms, hold her before he returned to solving another crisis.
He also wanted to share with her the progress that had been made. Although he’d told himself that she wouldn’t panic at the first sign of difficulty, she also might not want to live in a country like Vashmira where every day was an adventure. She might prefer a more civilized part of the world. And she might prefer a man who didn’t give orders to suppress the news.
Although his edict to suppress the news hadn’t seemed to upset her so much this time, he may have again set back their relationship, since once again he’d had to put the needs of his country first. Without newspaper headlines dogging their footsteps, diplomats had more room to compromise. Eventually she’d understand that he had done the right thing.
The closer he came to Ericka’s suite, the faster Nicholas moved. He checked his watch and wondered if she was an early riser, if she would mind his waking her. He knocked on her door and when there was no answer, he strode in.
“Ericka?”
Silence.
She must still be asleep. He considered leaving but knew he might not have another chance to see her today.
He strode toward her bedroom, knocked again.
Again, there was no answer.
“Ericka?”
He opened her bedroom door, expecting to see her curled up on the bed. Light shined in the window. Her closet was empty.
She’d left him.
He knew she had gone before he even read the brief note she’d left on the pillow.
Nicholas,
Be back in a few days. I’m off to the northern border to cover the developing story.
Ericka
Royal Target Page 12
