Putin was himself laboring; it was catching up to him too: the image of this unattainable Venus, head back, throat offered to him, eyes white in their sockets, was having its effect, not to mention the quite remarkable sensation of her pubococcygeus muscle actually milking his organ with the result that he felt the telltale gathering in his groin, the insidious thickening of his member, and finally the leaden palsy that sweeps over the limbs at the moment of spuskat, of ejaculation. He said nothing, blinked once—his expression did not change—and disengaged the moment he was done, wiping his face, sliding off the bed, and collecting his tracksuit pants off the floor. The tsar was not one for kissy endearments, or stroking of hair, or tender embraces in the soft après-sex twilight. It was sufficient that he had deposited on his bedewed Director of Foreign Intelligence, an SVR general, the imperial spoor that marked one of the boundaries of his predatory range.
She was outwardly languid, but breathing hard and sweaty between the breasts. Dominika’s thoughts raced madly in the postcoital asylum that was her brain. She had to get rid of the president. Agnes in the closet probably had to pee. Would the freshening land breeze prevent Benford’s USV—due in fifty minutes—from landing on the beach below? Ugh, her thighs were sticky. As a trained Sparrow, Dominika knew that a healthy man ejaculates approximately 5 milliliters (a teaspoon) of semen, which contains approximately one hundred million sperm. That meant one hundred million melon-headed Putin spermatozoa with whippy tails were all on the move inside her, intent on annexing her cervix like the Crimean peninsula. (Thank God for the Agency-issued IUD, a copper coil PARAGARD device developed [purely by coincidence] by Lockheed in 1962 during the design phase of the SR-71 Blackbird supersonic reconnaissance aircraft.) The president was saying something, and Dominika stilled the cascade of her disjointed thoughts.
“I would like you to have this,” said Putin, sliding a long velvet box onto the end table. “Wear it tomorrow at the concert.” Tomorrow’s entertainment was to be a live performance by a hugely famous American music artist, also well-known as a vocal and committed progressive activist who, despite the absence of demonstrable human rights in Russia, found he could accept $5 million from the Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation to appear at Cape Idokopas to entertain the siloviki. Dominika opened the case. Nestled inside was a priceless strand of multicolored South Sea and Tahitian pearls, each one 114 millimeters, as big as marbles, sea green, gold, ivory, and mocha, a sublime strand.
“Mr. President, these pearls are magnificent. I couldn’t possibly . . .”
Putin put up his hand to quiet her, took the strand from the box, and fastened it around her neck, where a separate pearl nestled heavily in the hollow of her neck. Personal gifts exchanged between governmental colleagues—Dominika’s pizda in exchange for the pearls—did not pose the slightest conflict of interest in this tsar’s Russia. “I would like you to accept them,” he said.
Dominika fingered the pearls. “Thank you, Mr. President,” she said. “And thank you for a wonderful evening.” His blue halo glowed.
CIA star asset DIVA saw Vladimir Vladimirovich to the door. She did not kiss him good night, with all the shining raccoon eyes of the security detail fixed on her in her silk kimono from the darkness. They shook hands instead, the feel of the president’s calluses scratching her palm.
* * *
* * *
The electric whine of the golf carts speeding uphill faded. It was dead quiet inside, but the pines outside stirred noisily in the breeze. No audio bugs working tonight in the dacha, right? Dominika retrieved Agnes from the closet and they walked downstairs in silence. Dominika opened another bottle of champagne and poured two glasses, leaning on the marble island with her elbows, her head in her hands, exhausted. Forty minutes to the arrival of the USV.
Agnes ran her fingers through her white forelock. “Half a cup of white vinegar with a teaspoon of baking powder,” she said, also leaning on the marble top. They were like two cowpokes at a bar.
“What?” said Dominika, looking at her glass.
Agnes shook her head. “Not to drink; it’s a homemade douche solution. I assume you’d rather not carry the president around with you all night.” Dominika laughed. She liked this Polish Cold Warrior. Thank God she could carry Dominika’s message to Benford personally. And thank God Dominika would be able to get her out of Russia in one piece. But she didn’t have vinegar and there was no time.
“How often does this happen?” asked Agnes.
“This is the first time,” said Dominika, trying not to sound defensive. She noted Agnes’s nonjudgmental expression. “But I expect his attention will grow more acute now that I am a member of his inner circle.”
“It’s important not to blame yourself. No self-recrimination, not ever.”
“I don’t dwell on anything but doing what I have to,” said Dominika.
Agnes nodded. “In Poland, it was the same for me. I slept with half the politburo for their secrets, and with three Soviet colonels on the military advisory staff in Warsaw.”
“I trust you sleep well at night? No nightmares?” said Dominika, impressed.
Agnes averted her eyes. “And what does Nathaniel think about this?”
Dominika stiffened. Here it was. “What Nate and I have together is apart from all this. What we have together is despite all this,” said Dominika, with an edge in her voice. Agnes looked down at the floor.
“Tell me,” said Dominika, standing straight to look at Agnes squarely. “What is it exactly that you and Nate have together, if I may ask?”
“You can rest easy, General Egorova,” said Agnes softly. “We worked together, and I love the boy, but his heart belongs to you. You have nothing to fear from me.” The two women knew the unspoken parts, which needed no further discussion.
Agnes looked at her watch. “When does that damn boat arrive?”
“Exactly at midnight about thirty minutes from now,” said Dominika. “You must carry back the thumb drive that explains the whole situation, MAGNIT’s identity, and Nate’s status. It’s absolutely critical that you talk to Benford or Forsyth. Even if you have to call them from a phone booth in Varna, just tell them CHALICE.”
“Do you have something that is waterproof that I can carry the thumb drive in?” asked Agnes “I don’t want to risk getting seawater on it.” Dominika ran upstairs, dug out the thumb drive, and stuffed it into the now unwrapped Hussar condom from the bedside table drawer and tied a tight knot in the rubber. Back downstairs, she flipped it to Agnes.
“Are you serious?” she said, holding the rubber between thumb and forefinger.
“Don’t worry,” said Dominika. “One owner, never been driven, low mileage.”
“Okay, now it’s waterproof. But if I don’t get the message to Benford in time, you are in grave danger, isn’t that so?” asked Agnes.
Dominika nodded. “If you consider that the execution chamber in Butyrka Prison constitutes grave danger, then you are correct.”
“So if something befalls you, something catastrophic, and Nate eventually is released, it leaves the field open for me, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely,” said Dominika, staring at her. “He would be all yours.” This was one cat hissing at another, establishing the relationship. Agnes’s crimson halo was steady and bright. She would not betray the cause any more than Dominika would, and they both knew it. Agnes looked again at her watch.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s get down to the beach.”
* * *
* * *
Dominika left Agnes downstairs briefly while she dressed in tights, black stretch top, and rubber-soled shoes to walk on beach rocks. She stood stock-still when she heard voices downstairs. The man’s voice was unmistakably that of Gorelikov. The words were indistinguishable but the tone was pure Anton: courtly, polite, and modulated. Agnes’s voice was also calm, but Dominika couldn’t make out her words either. Bogu moy, my God, what possible cover story could explain Agnes’s presence in the personal dacha of the Director of SVR? Old school chums? A shared interest in the decorative arts? Saving water by taking showers together? Dominika set her jaw, and walked downstairs, to confront disaster.