Brian interrupted her. “Get out of my face, Trogger. You’ve got to stay thirty inches away,” Then, not so sure of himself, “That’s what the regulations say.”
Her laugh was not reassuring to either of the boys. She knew she was at the exact distance allowed by the Blue Book. She leaned in another inch, challenging him. “That’s twenty-nine inches.” She pulled back. “This is thirty, dirtbag. If you’ve got a tape measure, use it. Otherwise, stifle yourself or you’ll be walkin’ tours.”
“You think I’m gonna march any freak’n tours?” Brian retorted. “Look, I’m gettin’ out of here and there’s nothing you can do to me.” He motioned to the two men standing in the doorway to Lusk Hall. “See them? They’re Secret Service. You touch me and they’ll be all over you like stink on shit.”
Zeth cast a look at the two men. They were standing rock-still, faces impassive, well within earshot. For a moment, she was confused, off-balance. Then she recovered. “You mean like when Pontowski reached out and touched you?”
Brian blinked, worry now written on his face. She pressed her advantage. “I don’t have to touch you, dirtbag. I’ll heap so much shame and ridicule on you that you’ll be on the World Wide Web under ‘www dot Buttjoke dot com.’” She motioned at the agents. “And they won’t do a thing about it. Mr. Pontowski, a knowledge question. What do you get when you cross Brian Turner with an ape?”
“I do not know, ma’am.”
“A retarded ape.” She leaned into Brian. “Hey, dirtbag, I did that one without trying. Wait until I go high-speed on the Internet. You’ll love it. Check your good buddies who are supposed to guard your worthless butt. Are they laughing?”
Brian chanced a glance. One of the agents was smiling and he heard Little Matt laugh.
Zeth was on a roll. “Stifle yourself, Pontowski. Only one thing is gonna save your two worthless butts.”
“What’s that?” Brian asked, defiance still in his voice. But it was all false bravado and Zeth knew it.
“You two becoming the best Rat buddies who ever marched a tour in the Box. You two will be showdogs for the Corps or the butt of every joke for a year. Your choice. Drop and give me fifty.”
Brian sneered. “Right after you, Miss Trogger.” The challenge was obvious.
Zeth dropped to the ground and rapped out fifty fast push-ups, the maximum allowable as punishment. She bounced to her feet. “Now, drop,” she commanded. The two boys fell to the ground and struggled to repeat her performance.
“How many?” Brian asked through gritted teeth.
“Until I get tired,” she shot back. She intended to let them go the full fifty but both were running out of steam. “Save me from wussies,” she moaned.
TWO
“Natasha, I’m Geraldine Blake, Mr. Vashin’s secretary,” the Englishwoman said in perfect Russian as she extended her hand in a businesslike manner. The girl, still in her teens, gently shook the outstretched hand and nodded, her blond hair flowing gracefully around her face. Everything about her shouted youth, grace, education, and breeding, exactly what Vashin wanted. Geraldine Blake spoke to the guard at the elevator door and he, in turn, spoke into his palm radio. A voice answered and the guard jerked his head. The elevator was descending from the penthouse. They waited in silence until the doors opened, revealing two more guards. Geraldine motioned the beautiful prostitute to enter first. The doors closed behind them.
“Please do exactly what you are told, Natasha,” Geraldine said, “and everything will be fine. Whatever you do, don’t lie.” The girl gave a little nod, her eyes filled with fear. “Take off your wrap,” Geraldine said. The girl handed her the expensive silk cloak draped around her arms. She wore a simple, low-cut flimsy black dress that revealed her lovely shoulders. The dress barely reached the girl’s thighs and was a gossamer cloud designed to showcase her beauty. It cost more than a thousand dollars in Milan.
One of the guards frisked her, his hands moving roughly over the delicate fabric of the dress. Then he reached under her short hemline and groped inside her panties. He ran his fingers from front to back, poking and prodding for a hidden weapon. The girl’s face was impassive as she endured the search. “How old are you, Natasha?” Geraldine asked.
“Seventeen,” came the answer. Her voice was soft and sweet.
“You are a very foolish girl,” Geraldine said. “But I’m sure Mr. Vashin will understand because of your age.” The girl was trembling. The doors whisked open and the Englishwoman led the way into the penthouse. Mikhail Vashin was standing in front of the architectural model of his skyscraper complex, Vashin Towers. It had become his favorite spot and he never seemed to tire of it, especially late at night. A man sat on one of the heavily brocaded couches across from Viktor Kraiko, the president of the Russian Federation. Two guards stood in front of the elevator doors.
“Is this the girl?” Vashin said, his voice dull and flat. Geraldine recognized the tone and nodded. She wanted to leave but knew that was impossible. “Well,” Vashin said, turning to the girl, “are you the one they call Little Dove?” The girl’s voice was barely audible when she answered. “You have nothing to fear from me,” Vashin said. He held out a closed hand and opened his fingers. Resting on his palm were a pair of beautiful amber cuff links mounted in silver. The amber droplets glowed with a golden warmth and richness. Encased in each gem was an identical insect, both with extended wings as if ready to fly. But they were of a species extinct over ten million years.
“The silver mountings are nothing,” Vashin explained, “a convenience. But the amber is priceless and has been part of Poland’s history for six hundred years. They were stolen by the Nazis in 1942 and later confiscated by the Soviets. I decided it was time to return them to their rightful owners”—he gestured at the man sitting opposite Viktor Kraiko—“as a token of Russian goodwill. You were to make Mr. Gabrowski comfortable, be his companion, and warm his bed. Surely, you are well paid for your charms. So why did you steal the cuff links?”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Because they are so beautiful and…and…I wanted a special gift for my boyfriend’s name day.” Her head hung low and she whispered, repeating herself. “They are so beautiful.” It was a plea for understanding.
“Indeed they are,” Vashin said. He reached out and lifted her chin. A strand of errant hair fell around her left cheek, making her even more vulnerable. “Undress,” Vashin said. The girl threw Geraldine a quick glance and reached for the straps of her dress. With a quick motion, the dress fell to the floor. She only wore black panties and shoes. Without hesitating, she hooked her thumbs into the panties and stepped out of them. She stood there, tall and radiant in her youth. Vashin handed her the cuff links. “Please return these to Mr. Gabrowski.”
Natasha did as commanded and walked over to the man sitting on the couch. “Put them on his cuffs,” Vashin told her. She knelt in front of Gabrowski as she fastened the cuff links through his shirt cuffs. Her long fingernails made the task difficult. Finally, she was finished and stood. Gabrowski ran his hand down her stomach, lingering for a moment. “Come here,” Vashin ordered. Obediently, Natasha returned to him, all eyes rooted on her. She stood in front of Vashin, her hands dangling at her side. He reached out and fondled her breasts. “So young and firm,” he said. “So beautiful.” He squeezed hard, released, and squeezed harder. Her eyes filled with tears but she didn’t move. “You do not steal from my guests,” he said. “Because of your foolishness, your boyfriend is dead.” He squeezed again, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. She cried out.