A Life Less Ordinary Page 8

  “Kirill…it means conqueror. Whoever chose that name for you couldn’t have hit the nail on the head harder.” She offered her hand and glimpsed tattoos running up under the sleeves of her almost see-thru black shirt. One of them, a brilliant blue tropical flower, was pleasing to his eyes, for some reason. “I’m doing Russian studies at the University, just a little something to kill time when I’m not working.”

  “And…where do you work?” Ivan asked, finding himself transfixed by her unusual eyes. It was a long moment before he realized that she was actually wearing contact lenses to make her eyes that unusual iridescent green.

  “I’m in banking, if you can believe it. This is just how I dress at night…kind of a Superman sort of thing. My employers have no clue…and I’d like to keep it that way.” She added, edgily.

  “I am not planning on telling anyone your secret, you can trust that.” Ivan said, and she eyed him hard before finally nodding as if she had accepted him.

  “We’re off to bed, Will. I’ll see you in the morning.” Daniel said, then bent and kissed him gently on the mouth. Ivan watched for any sign of jealousy in the woman, but found none much to his surprise. “Kirill, I will see you in the morning, too.”

  “Da.” Ivan said, then nodded to them as they departed. “What a weird living situation. Does she not get jealous…do you not?”

  “No, Ivan. He has been through enough in his life without my making it any more difficult. I have had a long talk with the woman, and she understands enough to know that any show of jealousy could cost her the job, and the man, she so loves.” William sighed. “I think I am ready to turn in. I’ll show you to the spare bedroom, has Daniel given you her number?”

  “Da, I think I will call her.”

  “I think you should.”

  Chapter 17

  Dmitri sat up in the snowy alley and coughed until he spit out a mouthful of blood, then settled back down, shivering, sweat freezing on his face in the cold. He didn’t know if it was tuberculosis or just pneumonia, what he did know was that it was killing him. For two weeks he’d been a free man and he hadn’t been able to search up one shred of evidence on where Ivan might be hiding himself. Not that he really had the monetary resources that were supposed to be available to him.

  His bank accounts had been frozen and he hadn’t been able to make contact with any of the family attorneys, none of them seemed particularly interested in meeting with him. Believing him dead, most had turned their backs on what they considered to be an obvious scheme to defraud the sons of a long dead but still well-liked diplomat. So, here he was, homeless on the streets of Moscow, just a short distance from the home that should have been open to him. Now it was locked up tight, all of the servants dismissed or dispersed, and he knew he had Ivan to thank for that. The only place left he might have been welcome. Maybe less than welcome, but it would have still been a roof and a warm hearth.

  He checked the clock on Spasskaya Tower which even after the bombings, still looked over Red Square, which had also survived, amazingly with very little damage. It was coming up on eight in the morning, but the sun would not rise for another two hours. Russia still, after over a century, refused to acknowledge daylight saving time. Personally, he couldn’t care less, the more darkness, in his opinion, the better. It allowed the rest of the world to walk in his shoes, that darkness, because it was all he saw, even on the brightest of sunny summer days.

  Dragging himself up, and enduring another bout of coughing up bloody froth, he staggered towards the financial district, intent on making someone, anyone, listen. Stumbling across the street he was nearly mowed down by a long black limousine bearing the flags of a high-ranking religious figure. The car slammed on brakes so hard on the ice that it actually skidded to a halt. He slid his hand inside his coat, fingers on the pistol concealed there, ready for any eventuality when the back door of the car popped open.

  “Dmitri? Dmitri Sergeivich?” He knew the friendly, concerned face as soon as he saw it and a blissful smile of relief spread across his own face just before he collapsed. He fell hard onto the icy pavement, completely unconscious and was nearly run over by an oncoming car that had to swerve dangerously to miss him.

  A cool washcloth being applied to his forehead woke him with a start. The sudden movement of his body was immediately followed by a vicious bout of coughing. Firm but gentle hands held him down, pressing on his shoulders to prevent him moving any more than necessary. He could not tell by the touch if it was a man or woman, and his nose was so blocked up he could not catch a scent. Not opening his eye just yet, instead he turned his head to spit but he was just too weak. He felt the bloody mess drip from the corner of his mouth before a cloth wiped it away, gently.

  “There, my son. That is right. You were hours from death when I found you, da?” The gentle hands swept the cloth from his brow and he heard whisper soft feet leave the room. Opening his eye he caught a glimpse of a young Orthodox nun glancing back at him before she disappeared into the corridor, closing the door softly behind her. “How did son of Sergei Korzhakov come to be in such bad way, hm?”

  “I…I…Ivan…he…he tricked me…prison…prison in England…now…nothing…” Dmitri managed, but the effort set him coughing again as the Orthodox priest laid a sympathetic hand on his. “Took…everything…”

  “That is not true, my son. I have checked with attorneys…you were raving when you were unconscious...I could not believe you had been left so destitute. Your brother Ivan took no more than was his share. I must say…I am sorry for loss of your younger brother. Yuri was sweet boy with good heart.” The priest sighed, then looked troubled and Dmitri, seeing this, pounced.

  “What? You mention Yuri and then you have look like you are upset. Why does mention of Yuri upset you?” Dmitri looked up as the same nun returned carrying a tray of food, her cheeks reddened as he looked at her and gave her a half-hearted smile that looked more like a sneer, to her eyes, though she did not react.

  “Is nothing, I just cannot help wondering about way they died. It almost seems like was not accident at all. More like was…on purpose, you know?” the priest stood as a bell began to toll somewhere. “I must go. You are always welcome in His house, so long as you follow His rules.”

  “Thank you, father.” Dmitri took the tray from the nun and then watched her on her way, wondering if he could get her to break that damnable vow of celibacy, just for him. He was willing to bet she was a virgin, and claiming her innocence would definitely lift his spirits considerably. She glanced back at the door and he winked with his one eye, making her giggle before she disappeared. Damn. He definitely had a chance, now to figure out how to swing it so the good priest never found out. The fact that he was in an Orthodox monastery wasn’t enough to dissuade his drive, but no, on the contrary, it made it all the more exciting to him.

  Chapter 18

  “I was beginning to think you would never call me…” Rosa said, staring up at Ivan, who was standing at the door looking more than a little shocked. He had only been in America a few days and hadn’t worked up the nerve to call her. “But then, I get this phone call in the wee hours of the morning from…from Daniel saying you returned…or showed up…or…” she didn’t get another word out before Ivan swept her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Oof…Ivan! What are you doing?”

  “Is Kirill now, and I am not wasting any more time.” He said, carrying her straight up to his room, which was sparsely decorated as he’d only been there for less than a week. Already he had plans for its decoration, and the woman on his shoulder was one of the prime fixtures, he hoped. “You are not…”

  “A first timer? No, why…” She glanced down and then back up, her cheeks reddening. “Oh…”

  “I am, how you say…proportionate?” He smirked and that wild streak in her seemed to return, her hand flying to the buttons on his plaid flannel shirt. Daniel had already teased him unmercifully for looking so out of place, insisting that they go shopping as soon as the sn
ow let up some. He stood very still, though he was quivering with excitement, the beast in him wanted to claim this woman, had wanted to since the first time he’d seen her. When she flung open the shirt to admire his perfect, rippling musculature, her fingers found seven different circle-shaped scars.

  “What…were you shot?” She asked, looking up at him in awe. “How…when? That one…” she touched one directly over his heart. “That one…we’re taught in emergency medicine that people just don’t survive a bullet wound there…”

  “Da, and they do not survive them here, either.” He turned and lifted his hair, displaying a particularly nasty scar on the back of his neck. “And yet, I am still here. Most people believed I was genetically engineered super-soldier, but I am just normal man.”

  “Oh,” She looked down at his obvious, interest, and then back up, “I’d say you’re anything but normal.”

  “What makes you say that?” He asked, smiling because he already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it. It really had been too long since he’d had his ego stroked.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, though honestly I haven’t seen many, that frightened me.” She said and he laughed outright at that, though his expression immediately became serious.

  “Never fear me, Rosa. Ever.” He picked her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather, and carried her right to the bed, not even stopping to lock the bedroom door. Who would be stupid enough to walk in on them, first, and second, did he really care if any one did?

  They were in the room for four days before anyone actually laid eyes on either of them, and then it was Ivan, stumbling downstairs to the smell of breakfast and the sounds of conversation. Daniel and William were having breakfast and the older lady who cooked for them looked up at Ivan and gave a startled squawk.

  “Oh, Mrs. Henreich, this is our brother Kirill. We shared a mother; he and Daniel shared a father, I’m sorry, I hadn’t expected him to come stumbling in.”

  “Well, you’ll be wanting breakfast here or in your room?” She asked, pleasantly.

  “I will be needing food for two, I will take it back upstairs.” He said and if this seemed unusual to her, she said nothing, just scurried about her business.

  “She’s still alive after four days? I’m impressed.” Daniel said, between bites of fried egg. “I guess she’s more hard-wearing than she looks. Of course, I haven’t seen her yet so for all I know…”

  “Rosa is fine, thank you.” Ivan snapped, then relaxed. “We are getting married.”

  William nearly spit his own food out at this, and started coughing hard for a moment before getting himself under control. “What?! How the hell did that happen? What did you have to threaten her with, death?”

  “You think you are so funny. As matter of fact, smart ass, she asked me.” Ivan said, then accepted the food the kitchen lady brought him, then watched her until she had disappeared into another room.

  “That’s the truth of it then. You’ve fucked the brains right out of her.” Daniel said and William rolled his eyes.

  “Always so delicate, Danny-boy.” He said, then gave Daniel a pat on the cheek, gently.

  “Don’t call me ‘Danny-boy’ you know I don’t like it.” Daniel said, though his tone was not angry.

  “Then don’t be so rude.” William countered, immediately.

  “I’m taking this up before Rosa eats the pillows. We will be down later.” Ivan departed, carrying the silver service trays easily balanced on one of his muscular arms.

  Chapter 19

  Dmitri cupped his hands together and blew into the space between his palms in an effort to warm up, his eye never leaving the warehouse across the street from the alley in which he had concealed himself. He’d been in America for three weeks now, just watching and waiting for someone he recognized to leave the enormous building, which according to the records had been renovated as a living space. It had come onto his radar screen as soon as he was well and able to travel once more, his fortune restored thanks to the efforts of the priest who had saved him and, later, one of his father’s closest friends, who identified Dmitri. For a price, of course.

  People were always coming and going from the building, most of them appeared to be around Yuri’s age or younger, but never did he actually set eyes on any of the three he sought. Or the woman, and he would have thought she would be with them since she’d gone from Spain shortly before he had found the location of her parents’ summer home. Who could have known that the northern parts of the American Midwest were so much like Russia in winter? A movement to his left just caught his attention and he turned, though only slightly, to see a well-dressed older man approaching him carrying what looked like a cup of something hot.

  “You can’t be sleeping out here in the cold, son. I run a rescue mission just a block down, come down tonight and we’ll have a bed open for you.” The man said, holding out the cup, which Dmitri took, then looked down at it, suspiciously. “My wife saw you sitting out here watching that house there…they’ll end up calling the cops you know, you can’t just sit and stare at someone’s house…”

  “My brothers live there.” Dmitri said, hating how thick his accent was. “I am just trying to make…contact with them.”

  “Then I suggest you go up and knock on the door.” He sighed, heavily, then turned to look at the house himself. “How many people are living there now? It’s become a bit of a fallout shelter these days, people in and out as they see fit. It wasn’t that way before.”

  “What does this mean? Before?” Dmitri asked, not realizing how truly horrible his English was, not that he would have cared if he had.

  “Oh, before the men who renovated it moved away about six weeks ago,” the older man shrugged. “Just…gave us a huge donation and left town. Just like that. No explanations. My wife worked for them, you know. Funny ones they were. The younger two men of the three were lovers, I think she said, though they never made a big deal out of it. The other one…I had to see him for myself, I couldn’t believe anyone could be so tall…it still doesn’t seem possible and I witnessed it. I’m telling you, he must have been over eight feet tall!”

  “Seven feet, eleven inches.” Dmitri spat out, bitterly. “Let me guess, there was Spanish woman living with them, too?”

  “You really do know them,” the man nodded. “There have been a few before who claimed they knew them but none knew that much. The woman only came in about two weeks before they left, last I heard she was marrying that big fellow—kind of feel sorry for her, she’s a tiny thing and any baby she has is likely to be a monster.”

  “He cannot…” Dmitri started, then stopped himself and sighed. “Did they say where they were going? Leave forwarding address maybe?”

  “No, you know, that’s what’s so funny about it. I was in my study one night, wrapping up the books for the month, and my wife comes in and hands me this whopper of a check with the word ‘donation’ in the memo line. I seen she was in tears and asked her what was wrong and she told me those two young men were leaving that very same night, they hadn’t even warned her in advance so she could line up another job. Not that she needs to, they gave her enough money that, well, we’re old farts, and we’ll not have to work another day in our lives. Come to think of it, neither will our kids.” The man motioned to him. “Come back to the shelter, stay there for the night, you’ll not catch a flight out in this weather. Not on any commercial airlines, anyway.”

  “I do not fly commercial, and I have hotel room in upscale district. My driver will take me there now. Thank you, and take this to someone who really needs it. I am Russian man, cold nights like these are nothing to me.” He stood and handed the cup back. “Thank you for your kindness towards myself and my brothers.”

  “Sure, anytime.” The man made sure he was gone, then poured the drink onto the ground and walked away, whistling. Across the street he saw a lighter flicker in the high window, but only for a moment, then scratched his nose with a gloved ha
nd as he continued on. He hoped he’d put the one-eyed man off the trail of these fine, upstanding supporters he was proud to call his friends. Though, he did wonder what in the world the Russian military would have in for three men and a woman who lived such excellent and innocent lives. He would never get the chance to ask, because in the morning when his wife reported to work in their kitchen, all she found were the very same checks he had told the man about the previous night.

  Chapter 20

  The odd group of four traveled for many weeks before deciding to settle, at least for the time being because they couldn’t stay put long anywhere, in a small village in Italy. Aleksei, using his alter-ego, rented out a rather pricey apartment and they soon moved all of their sparse belongings in. It was springtime, now, and Italy was just beautiful as they wandered about, enjoying themselves. If Yuri missed Crystal, his female partner in America, he said nothing of her, rather he clung all the tighter to Aleksei, who did not mind in the least.

  Returning from a short trip to Venice late one evening, Aleksei’s mobile phone rang, which never happened unless it was bad news, and they all looked at each other, then the phone. It lay on the kitchen island around which they’d all been seated.

  “No name, no number.” Aleksei said, his English accent sounding odd even to him after he’d used an American accent for so long. “Should I answer it?”

  Ivan grabbed the phone, frustrated, and answered. “Da?”

  “Ivan?” A familiar voice came across, distorted, but recognizable to Ivan anywhere.

  “Uncle Oleg. Gods. I thought Dmitri might have got number somehow. Where is fucking bastard, anyway?” Ivan asked, well aware the others would have liked him to put it on speaker, but hesitant to do so. Something told him this call was not going to be a pleasant one.