The door unlocked and opened, and one of Chernov’s Security Service agents, pistol drawn, appeared in the doorway. Christine froze where she was. The man studied her for a moment, then closed and locked the door again. After evaluating her predicament, she realized her options were limited. As in none. At least while her hands were cuffed behind her back.
However, she could fix that. Christine had been an elite gymnast in high school and college and was still both flexible and strong. She lay on her back, and supporting herself with her shoulders and feet, arched her back, curving it until her hands slipped past her hips. After pulling her legs through, she was on her feet again with her hands in front. They were still handcuffed, but at least she could use them now.
She examined the slots along the top of the wall again, and wondered if she could create a larger opening; the boathouse was made of wood. She searched through the crates, hoping to find something she could pry the planks apart with. After finding nothing useful, she decided to try with her bare hands. She stacked three crates against the wall, climbed up, and pulled on a board between two slots. As she pulled with all her strength, her hands slipped off and she lost her balance, the pile of crates tilting to the side as she fell. She twisted instinctively while in the air and landed on her feet. Being a former gymnast had its advantages.
The crates came crashing to the ground behind her, and the door opened a moment later. A single incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling turned on, illuminating the room in weak yellow light. This time, Semyon Gorev and two SVR agents entered, along with Chernov’s Security Service agent.
Gorev eyed Christine’s hands, in front of her instead of behind her, and the crates against the wall. He spoke in Russian and Chernov’s agent stepped forward, unlocking one side of her handcuffs. As Christine wondered if Gorev was going to release her, the agent raised her right arm and locked the handcuff to a pipe above her head. After pulling a second pair of handcuffs from his jacket, he connected Christine’s left hand to the same pipe.
Gorev smiled as he unwrapped a peppermint candy and popped it into his mouth.
“A breath mint?” Christine asked. “Are you hoping for a kiss?”
“Not exactly,” he replied as he pulled a pistol from inside his jacket. He left it down by his side.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she forced her eyes back up toward Gorev’s face, searching for a clue to his intentions.
“You did an admirable job on Chernov,” he said. “I’d like to tell you that you failed and he survived somehow, but unfortunately that is not the case. Unfortunately for you, there are ramifications.”
He stepped closer. “What do you think is fair compensation for the life of Russia’s defense minister?”
When Christine didn’t answer, he said, “Putting a bullet into your head would be too easy and, frankly, boring. Instead, since you are so fond of games, we are going to play one now. It’s called—Seemon says.”
Christine replied, “It’s pronounced Simon says, you moron.”
Gorev stared at her with cold eyes, then cracked the mint between his teeth. “I know that, Christine. My first name is Semyon, but most Americans have trouble pronouncing it correctly, so I make it easy for them. Seemon. So the game we will play is called Seemon says. Understand?”
Christine nodded slowly.
Gorev pointed his pistol at her, pressing the barrel against her stomach. She felt the cool metal through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and a chill raked her flesh.
He slid the barrel slowly up Christine’s stomach, then between her breasts. The pistol continued upward, the barrel caressing her neck, then Gorev tilted the gun up and pressed the barrel hard under her chin.
“It’s a pity I have to kill such a beautiful woman.”
His words filled her with a crippling wave of terror. But instead of pulling the trigger, Gorev smiled again, then rode the barrel over her chin, leveling the pistol when the barrel rested against Christine’s lips.
“Seemon says, Open your mouth.”
Christine clenched her jaw and turned her head away.
Gorev spoke in Russian, and Chernov’s agent grabbed her head and forced it back toward Gorev until the barrel rested against her lips again.
“If you play the game,” Gorev said, “the end will be painless. If not, I promise you the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced.”
Christine kept her teeth clenched together, trying to keep the fear from showing in her eyes.
Gorev clamped a hand around her neck. “Open your mouth.”
When Christine refused again, Gorev nodded to the two SVR agents. One pinched Christine’s nose shut while the other tried to pry her mouth open. Christine kept her jaw clenched, but it wasn’t long before she felt light-headed, and when she could hold her breath no longer, she gasped for air. When her mouth opened, Gorev jammed the pistol barrel into her mouth.
He let the barrel rest in her mouth a moment, and Christine tasted the ferrous tang of metal. Her pulse started racing, and her breathing turned rapid and shallow.
Gorev said, “As I reviewed your file again, I tried to find someone important to you. I would have let you live long enough to see them die. But you have no husband, no children, no siblings, no parents. Your lack of loved ones takes most of the fun out of things. But not all.”
He leaned close, whispering in her ear, “Seemon says, Time to die.”
Christine’s eyes shot to Gorev’s index finger as he slowly squeezed the trigger, and she watched in horrified fascination as the color of his finger gradually changed from pink to white. A low moan began to build in her throat and her legs started to give way. With one last tremendous effort, she pushed the terror down and steadied herself.
The end of Gorev’s finger turned white.
She closed her eyes as tightly as she could.
The pistol hammer fell.
Christine didn’t hear the shot. Only a metal click.
The pistol didn’t fire.
She heard Gorev laugh as he pulled the barrel from her mouth.
Christine opened her eyes as Gorev said, “It looks like I forgot to put the bullets in.”
It took a moment for the terror to subside, to collect her thoughts.
“You sick bastard.”
Gorev smacked her across the face with the back of his hand, and Christine felt a sting as metal sliced into her cheek.
“Now look at what you’ve done,” Gorev said as he wiped the blood away from an ornate gold ring that sparkled under the incandescent light. He lifted the hem of Christine’s nightgown and dabbed away the blood on her cheek. “It’s only a small cut. Do you think we should get stiches?” Gorev smiled.
Christine’s eyes narrowed, doing her best to convey hatred.
Gorev grabbed her throat with one hand again, squeezing hard. “You’re lucky Yuri has taken a fancy to your pretty face, or you would be fish food at the bottom of the Black Sea by now. Instead, you get to entertain me until I discuss the issue with him. He’s busy at the moment, but once I explain what you’ve done, he will leave it to me to dispose of you.”
He released her throat and slid his pistol into the harness under his jacket. “Until then,” he said, “you can hang out here.” His eyes went to Christine’s handcuffs, her body hanging from the pipe. He laughed at his own joke, then left the room, as did the two SVR agents. The last man, Chernov’s security agent, turned off the light, then closed and locked the door.
As the door shut, Christine’s legs gave way. The handcuffs cut into her wrists from the weight, but the pain didn’t register. The tears came first, then the sobs. The emotions that had built up over the last few years — the terror as her ex-husband drove a knife into her neck, the panic as her car plunged into the lagoon off the coast of China, and the guilt as she watched Brackman take his last breath and drift off into the murky water — were amplified by what Gorev had done, and she could no longer keep it all in. Hanging from the handcuffs in the semidarkness, she let it all out.