He showed up in a yellow taxi that brought him from Denver International, lumbering out in a three-piece, tailored Brooks Brothers suit, looking like a Wall Street banker-or more like four or five bankers squished into the same suit. He lifted Elena off the ground with one arm and gave her a huge kiss. After months in a cell with Alex, he knew all about her. He hugged Alex and started to kiss him also, but that's where Alex drew the line.
Over a long dinner, Bitchy happily informed them he was now in talks with the Bears, while his lawyers haggled with the football commissioner about having him reinstated in time for spring camp. Bitchy was optimistic. The commish was playing hard to get, but the inside word was that it was all show. Bitchy was a two-year All-Pro, after all, and an ex-con to boot. That combination always did wonders for attendance and TV ratings. He was also confident the Bears would kick in another million on top of his old three million contract. His reputation alone was worth at least that-what team wouldn't think long and hard before taking on a team with Beatty on the roster?
Elena invited Bitchy to join them on the slopes that day, but he demurred and was resting in his hotel room. The truth was, Bitchy wouldn't go near a ski lift. He was terrified of heights.
So Alex and Elena were alone, at the top of the big mountain, staring down at the valley. The sun was out. The snow sparkled and glistened. Hundreds of skiers below them were doing all the silly things people do when balanced on two thin boards-collapsing, racing, struggling to stay upright, occasionally producing bone-crunching collisions.
Alex was in no hurry to get down the hill. He sat down and watched the sun move lethargically through the sky. Elena sat beside him. They held hands. Both knew the time had come for The Talk. It had been put off for weeks while they slept, nearly killed each other with sex, drank too much wine and champagne, ignored work, and remembered why they loved each other so much. But they sensed the differences. More than two years of being chased and hounded, terrorized and threatened, and then the long enforced separation, had changed them. The marriage needed time to adjust.
The year alone had created a more self-reliant, more independent and stubborn Elena. She had lived by herself, started a thriving business, and outsmarted the people who wanted to kill her. It was impossible to shrink back to her former self; nor did she care to.
As for Alex, the vestiges of brutal torture and fourteen months in prison were hard to shake off. Elena wasn't certain he ever would. The smiles came slowly, the eyes never stayed still. He watched strangers with distrust, eyeing their hands first; Elena was sure he was looking for a shank.
"Do you want to stay here?" Alex finally asked.
"You mean America?" Elena replied.
"There are other countries. We could take a chance on Russia again."
"My family's still there. All our friends, too."
"Those are important considerations."
"It wouldn't be good for you, though, would it?"
"I think not. Russia's changing, Elena. The crooks and KGB are taking over again. Yeltsin's a failure, a placeholder until they're ready to make their move."
"And we might have to go through the same thing again?"
"We'll be smarter next time."
"But so will they."
"Yes, they will. You pick. I just need someplace where I can make money."
"That's your problem, Konevitch."
"I didn't know I had a problem."
"You're looking at this backward. Think of it as someplace we can spend money."
"We're not rich yet, dear. Only two and a half million in the bank. It's not enough to live on forever."
"The lawsuit might net another five to ten million."
"The government will fight it to the bitter end. It could take a decade. We might lose."
"MP thinks a book and movie deal might bring in up to ten million."
"A book deal will take at least two years and might amount to very little. Movie deals aren't worth the paper they're written on."
"You're a pessimist."
"I'm a realist."
After a moment, Elena pointed at the small village below. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Very beautiful. Like a small French or German village shipped over and planted in heaven."
"How about a house here?"
"A cramped two-bedroom apartment would cost at least a million. After fourteen months in a cell, I demand space."
She surveyed the town below. She pointed at a cluster of large chalets that climbed up the slopes on the west side. The homes were immense, spaced far apart, pine trees towering over the high roofs, no more than a ten-minute walk to the bottom slope. "How about that neighborhood?"
"At least ten million."
They fell back in the snow, held hands, and stared straight up at the sky. "Alex?" Elena said.
"What?" Alex said.
"I forgot to tell you something."
He squeezed her hand.
"Mikhail had a talk with Golitsin the day before he died."
"I know. Those were his instructions. Give Golitsin a good scare. Fool him into believing Nicky was behind it."
"Well, I told him to talk to Golitsin about something else, too. So Mikhail brought along a few of his friends, and they… well, they encouraged Golitsin to chat a little about our money." She paused to admire the sky. "You know how persuasive Mikhail can be."
Alex slowly sat up. "How persuasive was he?"
"Oh… enough. Golitsin gave him 225 million reasons to go away and leave him alone."
Alex turned and stared hard at his wife. "Mikhail found our money?"
"I let him keep five million. He more than earned it, you know."
"Where is it now?"
"Switzerland. I don't trust Bermudan banks anymore. Do you?"
Alex stood and spent several minutes staring down on the valley. Elena eventually stood and joined him.
They waited quietly until Alex asked, "Exactly which chalet on that hillside did you buy?"
"The big one almost exactly halfway up the slope." She tried to point it out. "The one with the four big stone chimneys."
"Is it big inside?"
"The neighbors call it the coliseum. The current owners use walkie-talkies so they don't have to scream at each other all day."
"Is it nice?"
"Crystal chandeliers, six or seven enormous fireplaces, a huge wine cellar, and a twenty-seat movie theater downstairs. If you like that sort of thing, yes, I guess it's nice."
"How many bedrooms?"
"I'm not sure. Six, seven, eight. They're sort of spread all over the place. Hard to count."
"Do they come with children?"
"No. The owner insisted we have to make our own."
"She pushed a hard bargain."
"She was quite tough on that point."
"When do we get one?"
"They're not exactly an impulse buy, dear. They have long delivery dates. Up to nine months, I hear."
After a moment Alex said, "I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Race you to the bottom?"
"You'll eat my dust, Konevitch."
"Snow, dear. You'll eat my snow."
"Oh, shut up, and try to catch me."