The Hunted

But the incredible idea that Alex would plunder his own bank and, before racing out the door, take the trouble to legally transfer everything he owned-not to his partners, not to his businesspeople, but to his chief of security, of all people-smelled rotten. What sense did that make? Besides, why would he care who snatched up the crumbs he left behind? And only fifty million from his bank customers? For a man rumored to have billions? Why squander his reputation and name for pocket change? And if he was willing to snatch fifty million, why leave behind billions more?

Even among those skeptics, however, very few pitied Alex. A rich man brought down, big deal. It was funny, actually. Live by the dollar, die by the dollar, seemed to be the general sentiment among a nation of former communists. Besides, nothing satisfies the average Ivan more than the spectacle of a high-and-mighty chopped down to his knees. Alex's downfall was weighed and deliberated around dinner tables with no small measure of delight.

"So what's next?" Elena took a long sip from the flute.

"I honestly don't know. I've tried everything I can think of."

She was now pressed firmly up against him, and between sips and explanations, he was stealing furtive glances at her thread-bare teddy. She lowered her left shoulder and encouraged a strap to slip off. "What's the worst that can happen to us, Alex?"

"This is the worst."

"No it's not. Not by a long shot. We could be back in Budapest, dead."

"True enough. But if we return to Moscow, that could still happen."

"But they can't drag us back to Russia, can they? Without an extradition treaty, they can't touch us. They can add a library of charges but you're here. If they try, we'll just stay here."

"You wouldn't miss Russia?"

"A little, sure. But alive anywhere with you is better than dead there. But one thing's going to change."

He turned and looked at her.

"We're in this together. I wasn't involved in your business back in Moscow, I didn't need to be, and frankly I never cared to be. But our lives are different now. Our marriage changes with it."

"What does that mean?"

"From now on, no matter how depressing, keep me informed of everything. I'm scared, but I'm not some breakable china doll, and I won't be treated like one."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I love you, and I want to help."

He put his arm around her. Elena slid back and dragged him down onto the bed. The champagne flutes tumbled to the floor. Three weeks of pent-up energy and the frustration of three hundred and fifty million in stolen dollars and stocks were compacted into the first long, smoldering kiss.

The expensive little teddy was quickly ripped off-it sailed through the air and landed on the lampshade. Alex paused only long enough to ask, "What time did you tell Homeless Harry to be here?"

13

The black limo idled in an otherwise empty parking lot that overlooked the ice-cold Moskva River. Mid-October. The sky was gray, overcast, and dreary; another winter that threatened to be long and harsh had produced its first cold snap. The driver had been ordered out of the car. He stood some twenty feet away in the bone-aching darkness, smoking, shivering, stamping his feet, and eyeing the heated car with considerable bitterness.

Three people sat in the rear.

They had agreed to meet like this, one or two days each week. They were bound together by the money and the single enduring emotion that thieves hold for one another: poisonous distrust. For obvious reasons, the three could not be seen together in public under any circumstances, so Golitsin took the initiative and arranged the inconspicuous rendezvous.

Tatyana Lukin sat in the middle, her splendid legs skillfully folded, impossible to miss or ignore. The men who were seated on each side of her-Golitsin to her left, Nicky her right-could barely stand the sight of each other. Golitsin hated to have his authority questioned. Nicky detested authority generally, and loathed Golitsin's prickly brand of it particularly.

Both men were arrogant, selfish, pushy, ill-tempered, and crooked to the core. They had so much in common it was scary. One was brains, one brawn, and for this to work they had to remain together. She was a woman; she could handle them. Without her to referee, they would have their hands around each other's throats in seconds flat. Tatyana liked to be needed.

She was saying, "I lost count of how many times he called. More than a hundred, probably. We're running an office pool. The operators in the basement are given a daily tag sheet of who to put the calls through to. Yeltsin still has no idea Konevitch is trying to reach him. He's seen the summaries of the news accounts, and heard-"

"And what was his response?" Golitsin interrupted.

"He called in my boss… the chief of staff," she added for Nicky's edification. "Said this did not sound like Alex. He wanted Konevitch tracked down so he could hear it straight from the horse's mouth. Asked my boss what he thought."