Edward to get me out of Ukraine than it will be from here. Besides, I still have my assignment.
He could see the private plane Carson had set aside for him. Its cabin lights were on. As Edward promised, the crew was waiting for him. As he directed her to walk with him toward the plane, he said, “I want to get this straight. Thirteen is under Yukin’s command alone.”
She nodded. “Yukin and Batchuk’s, yes. But perhaps
Trinadtsat
is not its name at all. What little is known is speculation, anecdotal, often contradictory, but one thing seems clear: Batchuk stands at thepreviously unthinkable nexus between an unknown arm of the federal secret service and the
grupperovka
.”
“It’s as if Yukin is covering all his bases.”
Annika shook her head. “Again, I don’t understand this idiom.”
“I mean he’s marshaling all the forces, even those who have traditionally been enemies.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. He’s presiding over an unholy alliance.”
“But why? What purpose does Thirteen have?”
They’d arrived at their destination. Jack, having failed to agree on a price beforehand, was presented with an outrageously inflated fare. That was before Annika spent the next minute and a half berating the driver with a string of colloquial curses, the meanings of which were too obscure for Jack to fathom. However, the driver understood well enough, because Annika came back with a figure one-tenth of the one the driver had first presented. Jack paid and they climbed out of the huffing
bombila
.
“Who knows what Yukin and Batchuk are planning?” she said. “Something sinister, surely.”
The night had turned mild. Whatever was left of the snow was either melting or being swept away by a moist southerly wind. A diadem of lights had constructed another sky—low, metallic, artificial, without the stitching of stars in the soft sky high above it.
“Now,” she said, looking around, “please tell me why we are here.”
He pointed. “You see that plane ahead of us? It’s going to get us out of here.”
She pulled up short. “Who are you, Mr. McClure?”
“We passed ‘Mr. McClure’ back in the hotel bar.”
Her eyes were full of doubt. “You are someone with his own plane. An American oligarch.”
“No, I’m not a businessman,” Jack said, urging her to continue on toward the jet and its welcoming mobile stairs. He found it curiousthat an FSB agent didn’t know who he was, that he worked for the President of the United States. “And the plane isn’t mine. It belongs to a friend.”
“A very rich and powerful friend. So you are his, what—vice president?”
Jack thought that was funny, though in truth there wasn’t much to laugh about in their situation. “Let’s just say that like Oriel Jovovich Batchuk, I’m a deputy prime minister.”
She eyed him even more suspiciously. “America has no prime ministers.”
“Well, not yet, anyway.”
“Y OU REALLY have no idea who I am or who I work for?” Jack said.
“Should I? If you’re someone from the international pages of the newspaper you’re beyond my field of expertise or even interest.”
Having taken turns in the small restroom cleaning up as best they could, Jack and Annika were seated in the private jet as the cockpit crew went through their final checks. The captain had told Jack that he had his instructions, had submitted the flight plan to the airport personnel, and was otherwise ready to take off.
“I was wondering why you were at that hotel at the same time I was.”
“Perhaps we’re meant to have a passionate affair.”
She said this with such an acid tongue Jack could think of no possible response.
“Yes, that’s it,” she said in the same knife-edged tone of voice. “I’ve followed you all the way from—where in America are you from, Jack McClure?”
“Washington—the city, not the state.”
Annika, having made her point and clearly uninterested in his answer, turned away, stared out the
He could see the private plane Carson had set aside for him. Its cabin lights were on. As Edward promised, the crew was waiting for him. As he directed her to walk with him toward the plane, he said, “I want to get this straight. Thirteen is under Yukin’s command alone.”
She nodded. “Yukin and Batchuk’s, yes. But perhaps
Trinadtsat
is not its name at all. What little is known is speculation, anecdotal, often contradictory, but one thing seems clear: Batchuk stands at thepreviously unthinkable nexus between an unknown arm of the federal secret service and the
grupperovka
.”
“It’s as if Yukin is covering all his bases.”
Annika shook her head. “Again, I don’t understand this idiom.”
“I mean he’s marshaling all the forces, even those who have traditionally been enemies.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. He’s presiding over an unholy alliance.”
“But why? What purpose does Thirteen have?”
They’d arrived at their destination. Jack, having failed to agree on a price beforehand, was presented with an outrageously inflated fare. That was before Annika spent the next minute and a half berating the driver with a string of colloquial curses, the meanings of which were too obscure for Jack to fathom. However, the driver understood well enough, because Annika came back with a figure one-tenth of the one the driver had first presented. Jack paid and they climbed out of the huffing
bombila
.
“Who knows what Yukin and Batchuk are planning?” she said. “Something sinister, surely.”
The night had turned mild. Whatever was left of the snow was either melting or being swept away by a moist southerly wind. A diadem of lights had constructed another sky—low, metallic, artificial, without the stitching of stars in the soft sky high above it.
“Now,” she said, looking around, “please tell me why we are here.”
He pointed. “You see that plane ahead of us? It’s going to get us out of here.”
She pulled up short. “Who are you, Mr. McClure?”
“We passed ‘Mr. McClure’ back in the hotel bar.”
Her eyes were full of doubt. “You are someone with his own plane. An American oligarch.”
“No, I’m not a businessman,” Jack said, urging her to continue on toward the jet and its welcoming mobile stairs. He found it curiousthat an FSB agent didn’t know who he was, that he worked for the President of the United States. “And the plane isn’t mine. It belongs to a friend.”
“A very rich and powerful friend. So you are his, what—vice president?”
Jack thought that was funny, though in truth there wasn’t much to laugh about in their situation. “Let’s just say that like Oriel Jovovich Batchuk, I’m a deputy prime minister.”
She eyed him even more suspiciously. “America has no prime ministers.”
“Well, not yet, anyway.”
“Y OU REALLY have no idea who I am or who I work for?” Jack said.
“Should I? If you’re someone from the international pages of the newspaper you’re beyond my field of expertise or even interest.”
Having taken turns in the small restroom cleaning up as best they could, Jack and Annika were seated in the private jet as the cockpit crew went through their final checks. The captain had told Jack that he had his instructions, had submitted the flight plan to the airport personnel, and was otherwise ready to take off.
“I was wondering why you were at that hotel at the same time I was.”
“Perhaps we’re meant to have a passionate affair.”
She said this with such an acid tongue Jack could think of no possible response.
“Yes, that’s it,” she said in the same knife-edged tone of voice. “I’ve followed you all the way from—where in America are you from, Jack McClure?”
“Washington—the city, not the state.”
Annika, having made her point and clearly uninterested in his answer, turned away, stared out the
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