Page 96 of The Cellist

Like most things about the New Russia, Gabriel continued, the Russian Presidential Security Service was a remnant of the KGB. Formerly known as the Ninth Chief Directorate, it had served as the praetorian guard of the Communist Party elite. Now it protected only the Russian president, his family, and the prime minister. The officers were drawn mainly from elitespetsnazunits. They were killers in nice suits, and fanatically devoted to the man they served.

“Nevertheless, the French will have primacy as long as the Russian president is on their soil. Courchevel is very isolated, one road in and out, a mountaintop airstrip that’s little more than a helipad. If there’s a problem, I can ask my friends in the French government to lock it down.”

“So there’s no risk?”

“There’s always a risk when Russians are involved. But I believe it can be managed. Otherwise, I wouldn’t consider allowing you to attend.”

“Won’t Arkady be suspicious if I refuse?”

“Not if you have a good excuse.”

“Like what?”

“A severe case of Covid that requires you to be hospitalized in Geneva.”

“The small lie to cover the big lie?”

From upstairs came the sound of a G-minor arpeggio. Rising, Gabriel walked over to the large stone fireplace and arranged a pyre of dried olive wood on the grate, atop a bed of kindling.

“How long did you live here?” asked Isabel.

“Six months and fourteen days. A few months later, while I was working on a painting in Venice, I met the woman I would one day marry.”

“One day?”

“My life was rather complicated.”

“Not as complicated as mine.”

“You have me to thank for that.”

“I was the one who gave those documents to Nina.”

“And now you’ve been invited to spend New Year’s Eve with the president of Russia.”

“Just the way you planned it from the beginning?”

“Hardly.” He touched a lighted match to the kindling and returned to the couch. “The Russian president and I have been locked in a blood feud for many years now. I’ve gotten the better of him lately, but he evened the score when he killed my friend Viktor Orlov. He would love nothing more than to kill me, too. In fact, he’s tried on several occasions. Twice he tried to kill me with a bomb. The last was attached to a child.”

“My God,” Isabel whispered.

“I’m afraid God had nothing to do with what happened thatnight. The Russian president is not a statesman, Isabel. He is the godfather of a nuclear-armed gangster regime. They are not ordinary, run-of-the-mill gangsters. They are Russian gangsters, which means they are among the cruelest, most violent people on earth. That is why we’ve gone to such lengths to protect you. And why I’m reluctant to allow you to go to Courchevel.”

“Why do you suppose he wants to meet me?”

“If I had to guess, he’d like to ask you a question or two before he allows Arkady to hire you. After all, it’s his money. Arkady is only the bagman.”

“And if I pass the test?”

“We would have an asset in the heart of Kremlin Incorporated.” He paused. “We would own him.”

“Mr. Big?”

He nodded.

“And when it’s over?”

“I’m afraid you will have plenty of time to practice the cello.”