“Wonderful,” Kalinin said. Checking his watch, he added, “We should return to the party before any unseemly rumors begin.”
While Christine contemplated whether Kalinin was concerned about her reputation or his, there was a knock on the open door. Semyon Gorev and Boris Chernov were in the doorway.
“See,” Kalinin said. “They are already getting suspicious.”
Gorev cast a glance at Christine before saying, “Boris has a matter he needs to discuss with you in private. It won’t take long. I’ll escort Miss O’Connor back to the ballroom.”
“Please do,” Kalinin said. Turning to Christine, he said, “It was a pleasure dancing with you, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Moscow.”
The door closed, and as Gorev escorted Christine down the hallway, he asked, “What did you and President Kalinin discuss?”
Christine’s first thought was to tell Gorev it was none of his business. She bit her tongue instead, then answered, “Yuri explained why I’ve been getting such strange looks. He showed me a picture of Natasha.”
Gorev replied, “On a first-name basis with President Kalinin after one dance? You move quickly.”
Christine stopped, irritated by the accusation. “For your information, I have no romantic interest in President Kalinin.”
“I overheard the end of your conversation. You said you’d consider his proposal to spend time together. That doesn’t sound like a lack of interest.”
Christine’s anger smoldered as she met Gorev’s accusatory stare. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She started moving down the hallway again.
Gorev planted his hand against the wall, barring her path. She stopped abruptly, almost running into his arm. He said, “I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but let me make one thing clear. You are not interested in President Kalinin.”
Christine bit down on her anger. “I didn’t realize that as director of the SVR, your duties included matchmaker.”
“I have many responsibilities, Miss O’Connor. I do the…” Gorev paused, his eyes narrowing as he searched for better words. “I do what is best for Russia and for Yuri. He doesn’t always appreciate what I do, but I assure you, my actions are in his and our country’s best interest.
“As far as your best interest goes,” Gorev said, “I suggest you maintain your relationship with Yuri completely professional. Your likeness to Natasha is a distraction, one he does not need.”
Christine said, “I’ll take your recommendation under consideration.”
“It is not a request.”
There was something about Gorev that reminded Christine of Kevin Hardison: a domineering man who tried to force his will on others. But like Hardison, Gorev had no authority over her. As she stood in the hallway in front of the two-hundred-pound man barring her path, she could have walked around him; the hallway was wide enough. However, she would not be intimidated, not even by the head of the SVR.
She placed a hand on Gorev’s shoulder. “You’re in incredible shape,” she said as she felt the muscles beneath his suit jacket. “You must work out.” Gorev stared at her as she continued. “I was a gymnast for seventeen years. A national champion on the beam.”
“And your point?” Gorev asked.
“My point,” Christine said as she ran her hand slowly down his arm, “is that elite gymnasts require three essential elements. Most people think flexibility is key, and it is, but strength is just as important. There are some moves many gymnasts can’t do because they aren’t strong enough. The third element is alignment,” Christine said as she stopped with her hand resting on Gorev’s wrist.
“If you begin a move even a degree or two out of alignment, it can spell disaster, especially when performing on a four-inch-wide beam. Alignment is also key for strength. If your muscles aren’t properly aligned, you won’t have the strength to power yourself through some of the moves.”
Christine clamped her hand around Gorev’s wrist.
“For example, if I were to rotate your hand ninety degrees”—she twisted firmly, rotating Gorev’s hand inward—“a small woman like myself could overpower a strong man.”
A grin creased Gorev’s face. “Care to try?”
“If I succeed,” Christine asked, “will you keep your nose out of my business?”
“If you succeed,” Gorev replied, “you’ll have the satisfaction of winning this little game of yours. Nothing more.”
“Fair enough,” Christine said.
She pushed down on Gorev’s wrist and he resisted. She pushed even harder, and his hand inched down the wall. He strained against her, halting the downward movement.
Gorev’s grin widened. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Christine pushed down suddenly with all her strength and Gorev reacted, countering her move with an upward thrust. Christine released his wrist and Gorev’s arm swung upward. Twisting to the side, she slipped past him before he could recover and bar her path again.
She turned around, facing him. “I was wrong. You’re too strong for me.”
The muscles in Gorev’s jaw flexed as Christine walked backward down the hallway, still facing him. Gorev replied, “We shall play another game soon, yes?”
“Perhaps,” Christine said in a much chillier tone than she’d used with Kalinin. “In the meantime”—she blew Gorev a kiss—“give my love to Yuri.”
Gorev gritted his teeth.
Christine turned and headed down the hallway, passing the two Security Service agents as she entered the ballroom. Gorev followed closely behind, then monitored her from the ballroom’s perimeter as she mingled among the crowd. It wasn’t long before President Kalinin returned from his meeting with Chernov. Undeterred by Gorev’s surveillance, Christine approached Kalinin as the band prepared to play another waltz.
“Care to dance?” she asked.
“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, then escorted her onto the dance floor.
With Gorev glaring in her direction, Christine embraced Kalinin in a closed instead of semi-closed position, pulling him close so he could feel the curves of her body during the changes and turns. The music began, and during a spin turn, she caught fury on Gorev’s face.
Christine smiled and pulled Kalinin even closer.
24
USS MICHIGAN
Lieutenant Chris Shroyer kept his eye pressed to the periscope as Israel’s coast slid by to starboard, searching for surface ships on the horizon or for approaching air contacts. Shroyer, as well as Murray Wilson, who was seated in the Captain’s chair on the Conn, listened intently to the speaker connected to the sensor atop the periscope as it emitted a constant buzz of activity, the beeps and chirps reporting a plethora of radar transmissions. Fortunately, none had threat parameters; all were navigation radars from merchant ships transiting the Eastern Mediterranean Sea.
Yesterday afternoon, Michigan completed an uneventful journey through the Suez Canal and headed toward the northeast corner of the Mediterranean, submerging as soon as the water was deep enough. Before submerging, the last intelligence message they’d received reported that several Russian surface combatants and diesel submarines had pulled into Latakia, Syria, to replenish food and fuel, while the battle cruiser Pyotr Velikiy and the Northern Fleet’s nuclear-powered submarines remained at sea with their aircraft carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov. The Russian carrier and battle cruiser were to the west of Michigan’s assigned waterspace, although there was no telling where the Russian submarines were.
A satellite navigation position for Michigan’s inertial navigators had already been received, and the radioman’s report indicated their objectives at periscope depth had been achieved.