Elena heard his instructions now, soft but assured, as she took the final banal steps toward betrayal. She bathed in her swimming pool- sized Jacuzzi tub, singing softly to herself, something she normally did not do. She took great care applying her makeup and appeared to struggle finding a hairstyle she deemed suitable. Her wardrobe seemed to be the source of similar vacillation, for she tried on and discarded a half-dozen outfits before settling on a simple cream-colored Dior dress that Ivan had purchased out of guilt during his last trip to Paris. The rejects she flung onto the bed, just as Michael had instructed. Evidence of romantic indecision, he had called it. Visible proof of her desire to look attractive for her lover.
Finally, at one o’clock, Elena informed Sonia and the children that she would be going to town for a few hours. Then she ordered Oleg to prepare a car and security detail. The traffic on the way into Saint-Tropez was deplorable as usual; she occupied her time by telephoning her mother in Moscow. Oleg, who was seated next to her in the backseat, made no attempt to conceal the fact he was eavesdropping, and Elena made no effort to modulate the volume of her voice. When the call was over, she switched off the phone and dropped it into her handbag. As she climbed out of the car on the Avenue du Marechal, she hung the bag over her left shoulder, just as she had been told to do. Right shoulder meant that she’d had a change of heart. Left shoulder meant she was ready to join them.
She entered the Place Carnot at the southeast corner and, with Oleg and Gennady trailing a few paces behind, started into the crowded outdoor market. In the clothing section, she bought matching cashmere sweaters for Ivan and Nikolai and a pair of sandals for Anna to replace the ones she had left behind during their last visit to Pampelonne Beach. She gave the parcels to Oleg to carry, then headed toward the food stalls in the center of the square, where she paused to watch a man with a grizzled face preparing ratatouille in the largest pan she had ever seen. A young woman with dark hair materialized briefly at her side; she murmured a few words in English, then melted once more into the crowds.
Elena purchased a half kilo of the ratatouille and handed the container to Gennady, then continued diagonally across the square, toward the Boulevard Louis Blanc. An Audi convertible, bright red, was parked on the corner. Michael was behind the wheel, face tilted toward the sun, dreadful American music blaring from the stereo. Elena tossed her handbag onto the passenger seat and quickly climbed inside. As the car shot forward, she kept her eyes straight ahead. Had she looked over her shoulder, she would have seen Oleg, red-faced, screaming into his cell phone. And Gennady, the younger of the two, chasing after them on foot, the ratatouille still in his hand.
42 SAINT-TROPEZ, FRANCE
Who are you?”
"Michael Danilov. Sarah’s friend from Washington. Your husband calls me Mikhail. You can call me Mikhail, too.”
"I want to know your real name.”
“It is my real name.”
“Where do you work?”
“You already know where I work. I work with Sarah, at the Dillard Center for Democracy.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere we can be alone.”
“We don’t have much time. You can be sure Ivan is already looking for us.”
“Try not to think about Ivan. For now, there’s no one but us.”
“The bodyguards saw you. They’re going to tell Ivan it was you and Ivan won’t rest until you’re dead.”
“Your husband isn’t going to kill me, Elena.”
“You don’t know my husband. He kills people all the time.”
"I know your husband very well. And he never kills for love. Only money.”
43 THE MASSIF DES MAURES, FRANCE
They headed inland, up a winding road, into the highlands of the Massif des Maures. He drove very fast but without anxiety or visible exertion. His left hand lay lightly atop the steering wheel while his right worked the stick shift with liquid smoothness. He was no computer technician, Elena thought. She had spent enough time in the company of elite soldiers to realize when she was in the presence of a fellow traveler. She took comfort in this. She realized she had simply traded one set of bodyguards for another.
The terrain grew more rugged with each passing mile. To their right lay a dense forest of pine and eucalyptus; to their left, a bottomless green gorge. They flashed through villages with names she did not recognize. And she thought how terrible it was she had never been here until now. And she vowed that one day, when this was over, she would bring the children here without their bodyguards for a picnic.
The children…
It had been a mistake to think of them now. She wanted to phone Sonia and make certain they were safe. She wanted to scream at this strange man called Mikhail to turn the car around. Instead, she focused on the wind in her hair and the warm sunlight on her skin. A married woman who is about to give herself to a another man does not destroy the ache of sexual anticipation by telephoning her children. She thinks only of the moment, and to hell with the consequences.
They entered another village with a single street shaded by plane trees. A Rubenesque girl sat astride a burgundy motor scooter outside a tabac, her face shielded by a helmet and dark visor. She flicked her headlamp twice as they approached and entered the road ahead of them. They followed her for another mile, then turned together into a dirt track lined with twisted Van Gogh olive trees, their silver-green leaves shimmering like coins in the gentle breeze. At the end of the track was an open wooden gate and, beyond the gate, the courtyard of a tiny stucco villa. Mikhail switched off the engine.
“Remember how it looks, Elena. It’s important you’re able to recall small details. Ivan will expect that when he questions you.”
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere in the mountains. You’re not exactly sure. We were attracted to one another from the moment we met at Grand Joseph. Ivan didn’t notice because he was thinking about Yekatarina. You were vulnerable; I could see that. I just had to think of some way to get you alone. I knew a hotel wouldn’t do, so I took the liberty of renting this place from a local estate agent for the week.”
He removed the keys from the ignition.
“You did everything the way we asked? You dialed Yekatarina’s room at the Carlton? You left clothes all over your room for Ivan and the housekeepers to see?”
“I did everything.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. You’ll tell Ivan that you’ve suspected he was being unfaithful for years. You’ll tell him you’ve had suspicions about Yekatarina for a long time and that these suspicions were confirmed by the numbers you found on his mobile phone. You’ll tell him I made a pass at you the afternoon we came to the villa. That you were so angry and hurt that you were unable to resist. You’ll tell him you wanted to punish him and that the only way was to give your body to another man. He’s going to be furious, of course, but he’ll have no reason to doubt the veracity of your story since he knows he is guilty of the sins you accuse him of committing. Sleeping with me was a crime of passion and anger, something Ivan understands all too well. In due time, he’ll forgive you.”
“He might forgive me but not you.”
“I’m none of your concern. In fact, you will soon hate me for the trouble I’ve caused you. As far as you’re concerned, I can look after myself.”
“Can you?”
“Quite well, actually.” He opened the door. “Time to go inside, Elena. There’s someone inside who’s very anxious to meet you.”
It was the antithesis of Villa Soleil, a small, tidy space of whitewashed walls, terra-cotta floors, and rustic Provençal furniture. Seated at a rough-hewn wood table was a man of indeterminate age and nationality, with a long nose that looked as though it had been carved with a chisel and the greenest eyes Elena had ever seen. He rose slowly to his feet as she approached and extended his hand without speaking. Mikhail handled the introductions.