by Risk, Mona
The Vice-President spun toward her and gave her a hard look. “Miss Lornier, I want a full report of your story. And know that I will verify it. If you want to save your fiancé from a life in prison or a trip to Siberia, don’t falsify the truth.”
Cecile gasped. “Siberia? You must be joking. There’s no more Siberia…I think?”
The man narrowed his eyes in a menacing glance. “Miss Lornier, I never joke.”
“Yes, sir. I noticed.” She sighed, wondering how the petulant Natalia could live with such a gloomy character.
At that moment the butler introduced the Minister of Defense. He gawked at her. Cecile tilted her head but didn’t say a word to Sergei’s boss.
The three men talked in Russian. Cecile remained ensconced on the sofa next to Natalia.
The Vice-President faced her. “Go ahead with your tale, Dr. Lornier.”
Cecile collected her thoughts. This could be the most important presentation of her life. Sergei’s freedom and her happiness depended on it. She heaved a deep breath and launched into her story.
She started with the permit episode, the failing trip to the airport, Roussov’s invitation to dinner and the picture taken. Scowls blackened the foreheads of her audience. Heeding John’s warning, she carefully omitted the bribe episode.
She continued with the second trip to the airport and the charade she and Nicolai played on the airport clerk. The Minister of Environment burst out laughing, the Vice-President sniffed, and the Minister of Defense glared at her.
With a voice full of emotions, Cecile related her trip with Sergei to his village and his mother’s death. The three men inched forward. “The next day we decided to hold an inauguration ceremony for the new lab. Sergei asked me to marry him and stay in Minsk. I love him. I accepted but I insisted we postpone the announcement until after the inauguration. We both have a mission to fulfill.”
Cecile shifted her gaze from one to the other. She had their full attention. She related the events of the inauguration day, Roussov’s harassment, Sergei’s growing frustration during the day and the final coup of the newspaper picture with Roussov.
The Vice-President raised an eyebrow and threw a stern look at the Minister of Defense.
So far, her speech seemed to produce the desired effect to turn the tables against Roussov and away from Sergei.
She lowered her eyelashes and continued with a quivering voice. “Sergei was so upset when he saw this picture. We had a fight and I ran to my room. He joined me later to ask for an explanation. I was about to go and pay the restaurant. He said he would do it for me. I was so tired after the long day and our argument.”
She described how two reporters photographed them as they came out of her room and how Sergei got incensed and ran after them forgetting about the restaurant and the money.
“A big fight took place in the lobby. Five guards attacked the Major General at the same time. He is an incredible hero,” she affirmed with as much pride as a true Belarusian-born. “He knocked them all down. But Roussov called for the police and more reinforcements. He kept on goading Sergei. Could you believe Colonel Roussov had the guts to thank me for helping him put Sergei away?” She slapped her hand on her thigh.
The Minister of Defense sprang up from his chair. His colleague from the environment chuckled then cleared his throat. The Vice-President remained unmoved but his eyebrows shot up.
Cecile shrugged. “Sergei punched him. I’m sure you would you have done the same, gentlemen.”
She clenched her fingers and waited. She’d finished her tale, the whole truth and—almost—nothing but the truth. Now she needed to conclude and influence their decision. “Gentlemen, the pictures taken last night could be detrimental for everybody. Please, stop the press before these pictures get published. Clear the Major General who is innocent of all this mess.”
She turned her head toward the Vice-President but could read no expression on the harsh lines that surrounded his mouth and underlined his eyes. He considered her for a moment. “Fedorin couldn’t hire a better lawyer.”
She started to smile.
“Too bad you did not apply this good reasoning before you destroyed the Major Generalle.”
“Sir, please…”
“Miss Lornier, I will ask Minister Letovin to see you out. The Mister of Defense and I need to discuss the situation.” His tone brooked no argument.
The Minister of Environment stood and held her arm. “Dr. Lornier allow me to accompany you to our Vice-President’s limousine.”
“Miss Lornier.” The Vice-President’s voice rang ominous in the silence. She pivoted toward him, a question in her eyes. “Justice will be done…at all levels.”
The Minister of Environment led her out of the mansion and bowed over her hand. “I hope things will not be as bad as we expect them to be,” he said with kindness.
She shuddered at the strange encouragement and slid into the backseat of the limousine. The driver started the engine. “Hotel Nievol?”
“Niet, circa. The red church.”
He turned his head toward the backseat. “Circa?” he asked as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
“Da, da. Circa. Now. Go,” she insisted.
Looking ill-at-ease, the man nodded and drove. While riding with Tania, Cecile had often admired the four round towers delineating the corners of the medieval cathedral. Sergei had described it as the jewel of Minsk. Now was a good time to visit it. The tranquil serenity of the empty church would still the churning of her heart and restore peace to her tormented mind.
The limousine stopped at the curb. Cecile hopped out and rushed toward the church. She pulled open the heavy sculpted door. Remembering her French grandma’s pertinent advice to make a wish when visiting a church for the first time, she halted before crossing the threshold. Her eyes tightly shut, she murmured her most wistful desire through gritted teeth and resolutely stepped inside.
Inside the huge church shrouded in dimness, the scent of burnt candlewicks and melted wax wafted toward her. Cecile turned her head to the right. Against a blue lapis column, a large painting of the Virgin and Child, illuminated by a multitude of candles peeking from a metallic box, beckoned for her attention. Cecile deciphered the Russian letters and name, Our Lady of Kazakhstan, as she fumbled in her purse for some money. She dropped her donation into the slit of a small wooden box and lit a candle, whispering, “For his safety…and our happiness.” She wiped the tears welling in her eyes. “If it’s still possible.”
A couple of chandeliers, dangling from bronze chains, projected hazy rays. As she strolled along the central aisle, her heels clicked on the marble floor. The echo reverberated in the silent cathedral, matching the pounding of her heartbeats. Raising her head, she surveyed the cupola hovering behind the altar, and the dome that disappeared high above in the darkness.
She sniffled. The darkness in her heart was pitch-black, with no rays of hope to lighten her despair. Her gaze lingered over the colorful side walls. Against the hot-pink background, a symphony of glittering gold, sparkling silver and turquoise-blue mosaics depicted scenes from the Bible. But Cecile’s amazement at the splendor surrounding her couldn’t distract her from her emotional distress. She’d lost her hero.
Reaching the front of the church, she slid in a pew and knelt. Unable to remember the pious formulae of her childhood, she begged, “Please, help him and help me.” With renewed confidence, she vowed to continue her struggle. She would fight to the limit of her strength and try to salvage their future. A surge of hope shot through her heart as she rose and strolled back to the door.
She scurried toward the limousine and climbed in the backseat. “Hotel Nievol. Fast,” she ordered.
In her room, she found a message from Colonel Nicouvitch.
* * * * *
An unusual silence greeted Sergei at Nicolai’s apartment. “Where are the children?”
“Gone to Babushka. Grandma wanted to see them. Besides, we need some quiet here. Yelena is war
ming up the food. Make yourself comfortable, my Generalle.”
Sergei removed his jacket and tie and dropped down onto the sofa. Nicolai poured the vodka in the shot glasses and handed one to Sergei. “Na zdorovie. Everything will be fine.”
They chugged their drinks bottoms up. Sergei clanked his glass on the table. “Tomorrow, I’m meeting with our Vice-President. I need to prepare my defense carefully. There should be a way to prove Roussov’s abuse of his position as Director of National Security.” He narrowed his eyes, beginning to plot.
Nicolai refilled the glasses. “Don’t worry, my Generalle. A few glasses of vodka will clear your mind. The solution will just pop up in front of you.”
The bell rang. Nicolai went to answer the door. Lost in his thoughts, Sergei savored the burning taste of the alcohol and the quiet of the room.
“Sergei.” The soft voice cut through his reverie.
He bolted from his place. “What the hell are you doing here?” A muscle jerked along his jaw. He could feel darts of fire shooting out of his blazing eyes.
“Sergei, please,” Cecile repeated in an inaudible voice.
“Nicolai, you scheming traitor. Come here.”
She stood, pale and slim, frozen in front of him, not daring to utter another word, like a defendant waiting for a sentence. The scent of her jasmine perfume enveloped him. He had to brace himself against the giddy sensation.
Forcing an icy look, he scanned her with contempt. As he noticed her light brown hair floating on her shoulders, he swallowed hard. His hand itched to reach out and wrap the silky curls around his fingers. Sunken in deep shadows, her huge hazel-green eyes attested to her stress and lack of sleep.
His gaze focused on the pursed lips and he took a step forward. He breathed heavily, trying to control his feelings, to curb the urge that propelled him toward her. How could he still love her?
With a superhuman effort, he turned away from her and wiped beads of perspiration from his brow. He heard her sigh.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to seduce you,” she said, derision underscoring her words.
Sergei faced her, keeping a stony mask. She raised her hand and dropped it in a defeated gesture. “Don’t blame Nicolai. He only asked me to come for a business discussion.”
The colonel stepped forward. “Sergei, please. Try to be rational. We need to discuss what Cecile has found out during her meetings with the ministers.”
“What meetings?” The words left his mouth before he could suppress them. Dumbfounded, he glared at her. Would she never cease to amaze him?
Nicolai seemed completely at ease. “Why don’t you both sit down? I’ll help Yelena bring the food. Cecile can brief us on the result of her lobbying.”
“I don’t think my visits to the ministers brought positive results.” Cecile handed Sergei a small package. “I taped this. Before you eat, I’d like you to hear it.”
Sergei removed the wrapping. “A mini-recorder?”
“Yes and a tape. I hope it will be useful.”
He switched the player on and heard Roussov’s voice.
His own former father-in-law, the man in charge of Belarus National Security, was requesting a bribe from Cecile.
* * * * *
Nestled in the corner of the sofa, Cecile clasped her hands to prevent them from shaking. She averted her gaze from her companions. The tape forced her to relive one of the most stressful moments of her life. In spite of John’s stern injunction not to divulge the contents of the tape, she’d brought it to Sergei. Hearing Roussov’s voice nauseated her. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to quench the burning pain of her activated ulcer.
On the tape, the discussion faded out. The two officers remained quiet and looked at each other. Cecile ignored them, pleased that the voice grating on her nerves had been silenced.
“Cecile, why didn’t you give us this tape right away?” Nicolai asked. “The day after your dinner with Roussov?”
With a pleading frown, she groaned. “John didn’t want to create a scandal that would reflect on the American delegation and cause us trouble.”
“You told John about the tape but you didn’t trust me with it?” The pain in Sergei’s voice ripped through her heart. He was right. She hadn’t trusted him enough. In fact, since she’d broken her engagement to Rob, she’d never trusted any man.
She suppressed a quiver and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent tears from pooling at this inappropriate moment. “By the way, John told me today our Department of Defense has approved the new contract.” The news should please him. She glanced at him. He didn’t answer. It was too late. Too late for any good news. She straightened up. “The tape is yours. Good night.”
Sergei called, “Cecile.”
She spun around and looked at him, begging him silently to hold her, to love her, to keep her.
“Thank you for the tape.” Their gazes locked and he bowed stiffly.
She nodded and left. He hadn’t asked her to stay. He’d let her go, alone and miserable.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Cecile didn’t wait for the elevator. Her vision blurred, she grasped the banister and proceeded down the stairs like a zombie. She’d done all she could to redeem herself but it wasn’t enough. Sergei resented her. Sergei didn’t want her around. She wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand and sniffed.
The tape, her only hope, could save his career but would it bring back his love?
Chapter Twenty-five
Waiting in the antechamber of the Vice-President’s office, Sergei heard a shuffling of steps and cacophony of voices a few minutes before the door opened.
“Come in, Fedorin, we need you.” Sergei recognized the nasal pitch of his boss. What was the Minister of Defense doing here?
As he strode inside the room, Sergei suppressed a gasp. The whole government, or the most powerful part of it, had probably been ordered to join his meeting with the Vice-President. The Minister of Defense, the Minister of Environment, Colonel Roussov and even Colonel Nicouvitch were gathered in a circle. The private meeting he’d requested had brought a full audience. Were they all expected to contribute an opinion?
Sergei surveyed the group with a guarded expression. “Dobroye outroh. Good morning, gentlemen.”
The Vice-President sat behind his large cherry wood desk and asked Sergei to take the chair at his right. “This is a disgrace for the Ministry of Defense and our entire government.” He spread a bunch of pictures in front of him. “Can you explain, Colonel Roussov?”
The Director of National Security related Sergei’s fight with the photographers and the guards and the discovery of the dollars in Sergei’s jacket. Expecting every accusation gushing out of his former father-in-law’s mouth, Sergei didn’t flinch. He noticed that the others listened quietly, none of them showing any emotion, as if it was old, rehashed news.
“Fedorin, I want to hear your story now.” The VP reclined against the back of his leather seat and folded his arms.
“It is similar to Roussov’s,” he answered with supreme indifference. Without specifying the reason, he explained that some photographers acted with obnoxious indiscretion and he hit them. The foreign currency was in his jacket because he was on his way to pay the restaurant on behalf of the American delegation. He carefully kept Cecile’s name out of the discussion.
“You are not making a good case for yourself, Major Generalle,” the VP declared. Sergei averted his curious look.
“I am an officer not a lawyer.”
The Minister of Defense interfered. “Look at these pictures, Fedorin. They are damning. For the people of Belarus, you were an honored icon, standing high on a pedestal. If the same people see them now, they will wonder about the hidden sins of their Major Generalle.”
Roussov glanced at him with contempt. “The statue with clay feet has been knocked down.”
Sergei returned the look without betraying an ounce of emotion. He was done being needled and goaded.
The Vice-
President slammed his fist on the table. “Damn it, Fedorin. Defend yourself.”
Sergei arched his eyebrows. “Vice-President, I thought I was in trouble precisely because I fought to defend my privacy. Would anything I tell you now make a difference, or have you already made up your mind?”
“Let’s hear you, Fedorin,” the VP insisted.
“My achievements speak for themselves.” He looked the VP squarely in the eye, determined to stick to facts without bragging. “I am a war veteran. Vice-President, you have awarded me the Vallianskaya Medaal for services given to the mother country. Two days ago, gentlemen, you all attended the inauguration of the lab dedicated to the testing of our environment, the culmination of the first phase of my project. The effort to rid Belarus of pollution and carcinogens is rolling on. A second contract will soon be in place for the actual cleanup.”
“What second contract? I was not consulted,” Roussov barked.
His boss raised a hand, silencing him. “It’s not signed yet but it’s a dream come true for our country.”
The Vice-President sighed. “Back to the subject at hand. Fedorin, no one questions your past achievements. We have all recognized them. I just wonder about the impact of your recent actions on your career and on the future of our government. Explain these pictures and your involvement with foreign currency.”
Sergei shrugged. “Our citizens have not seen the pictures or heard any story of foreign money. They don’t have to.”
The Minister of Defense inched forward. “Nowadays, you can’t keep a secret and you can’t ask the press to keep one. Because of your short temper, we will all be in the mud pretty soon. We cannot allow this to happen.”
Sergei narrowed his eyes on the selfish dourak but the Vice-President cleared his throat. “Fedorin, you still have not explained the motives leading to the events of yesterday,” he said in a conciliatory tone.
