Page 130 of Stars

“Now! I will come to you!” Oleg sounded frantic, on the edge of himself.

Sergey hesitated. “What’s going on?”

“I will tell you in person. Please, tell me where you are. I’m about to board my chopper.” Oleg lived part time in a dacha outside Moscow, a palatial retreat that rivaled Versailles. He could commute to Moscow in twenty minutes.

“Star City. Roscosmos.”

“I should have guessed,” Oleg said. Over the phone, Sergey heard the whine of a chopper, thewhomp whomp whompof rotors spinning up. “I’ll be there soon. I must speak with you. Meet me, please?”

“Da, da. I will.”

“Thank you.” Oleg hung up.

Sighing, Sergey leaned in to Jack. “I must take care of something. I will be back.”

“Forty minutes until they attempt contact with the station,” Jack said. “Sasha will want to hear your voice when we reach them.”

He smiled. “And I need to hear his. I will not miss it. I will be back.”

Dried leaves blew across the cracked concrete, swirling vortexes and whirlwinds dancing across the decrepit remains of the once-glorious Star City. He strode past the rusted statue of Yuri Gagarin, crossing the overgrown lawns and dead flower beds. Pine and spruce trees ringed the tarmac, the apron of the old training runway. A lead sky hung overhead. His gaze caught on the frame of an old training jet, the L-39, parked on bare wheels. Her rubber tires had long rotted away, and her white, blue, and red paint was chipped and dull, weathered from years of abandonment.It shouldn't be like this.

Oleg must have broken an aviation regulation or three on the way across Moscow. By the time Sergey reached the runway, Oleg’s chopper was already landing on the tarmac of the old flight training center. Sergey squinted as it touched down, the engine screaming as if protesting no longer being able to fly.

Oleg leaped from the front seat and tossed his headset behind him. Always the consummate fashionista, not a hair on his head was out of place, even after a frenzied blitz across Moscow.

Sergey hadn’t shaved in days, and he’d changed his suit only once—when Yuri brought him a new one before Jack had arrived. “You smell, Mr. President,” he’d said. “Rinse off and change.”

Sergey held out his hand and tried to smile. “Oleg. What is so urgent you must come and see me in person?”

Oleg pushed his hand away and grabbed him, squeezing both of his shoulders as he pressed himself against Sergey. Chest to chest, face to face, Sergey finally saw the wildness in Oleg’s eyes, the tremor of his jaw. The hard clench of his teeth. “I’m sorry,” Oleg breathed. “I’m fucking sorry, Seryozha.”

Fear was a living thing, grabbing hold of his guts. Ash, the taste of ashes, the taste of Sasha.I will hold you forever.Did Oleg know more than he did? “What do you mean?”

“I had no choice,” Oleg pleaded. His expression cracked. “I hadnochoice! They took Svetlana!”

“Who?” Sergey grabbed Oleg and pushed him back, holding him at arm's length. “Who took Svetlana? What are you talking about?”

“I think they already knew,” Oleg said. He shook his head and covered his mouth with one gloved hand. “They had photos from inside the Kremlin. I don’t know how. I don’t know from who.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sergey roared.

“You and Sasha, that’s what I’m talking about!” Oleg shouted back. “What you two are hiding! Yourrelationship!”

Sergey staggered, stumbling, and no one was there to catch him. He hit the ground on his ass, the breath knocked from him. His chest caved in, squeezed, wrenched like someone had taken a fist to his heart and crushed it in one clench.

“They made me run the report,” Oleg said. “It was a group of them. They barged into my office. They were all in black. They wore masks. I didn’t get a look at them.” Oleg babbled, a stream of consciousness that barely kept up with his mouth. “They had Svetlana. They’d already taken her from our home. She was held hostage, and the only way to get her back was—”

Sergey closed his eyes.

“I’m fucking sorry,” Oleg said again. He kneeled, the crunch of the broken tarmac too loud on the silent airstrip. “It will air in the morning report. When everyone is watching.” He hesitated. “Do you want to resign before then?”

Fury scorched his soul, igniting in a nuclear firestorm. He pushed to his feet, teeth bared. “Did they send you? Did they send you for my resignation? Are you their puppet, Oleg?”

“No!” Oleg shouted. “I’m trying to help you! I’m trying to save you!”

“By reporting my private life?”

“By warning you, God damn it!” Oleg pulled a leather wallet from his jacket pocket. “I’m leaving Russia forever. They said go if I wanted to live—if I wanted Svetlana to live. So my jet is preparing for takeoff as we speak. Tomorrow I will be living in Malta, and I will never see this fucking country again.”