| this woman Stahn was genuine?” Renke asked icily. Kessler was bewildered. “What else could she be?” “You are a fool, Ulrich,” the other man said flatly. “Did you even bother to confirm her story before you came running to me in fear?” “What difference does it make?” Kessler asked. “Whoever she may be, she knows too much. I am not safe here.” He felt a flicker of resentment ripple through him. “You owe me this, Herr Professor.” “I owe you nothing,” Renke said coldly. “You have already been amply rewarded for your services. The fact that others have learned of your transgres-sions is unfortunate, but it gives you no special claim on me.” “Then you will do nothing for me?” Kessler asked, appalled. “That was not what I said,” Renke retorted. “As it happens, I will honor your request for my own purposes. Now, listen carefully and follow my instructions to the letter. Stay where you are. Do not make any more calls—for any reason. When the arrangements for your escape are complete, I will telephone you with further instructions. Is that clear?” Kessler nodded his head rapidly. “Yes, yes, that’s clear.” “Good. Are you alone?” “For now,” Kessler glanced at the clock on his desk. “But my handyman and cook will be here in an hour or so.” “Send them away,” Renke told him. “Tell them you are ill. There must be no witnesses to your disappearance.” “I will make sure of that,” Kessler said quickly. “I am |
on his companions’ heels bringing their drinks: a bottle of slightly fizzy Moskovskaya vodka and another containing sweetened apple juice. “To save time, we ordered before you arrived,” Dr. Vedenskaya told Fiona. The gray-haired woman raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I hope this was all right?” “Quite all right,” Fiona replied with an answering smile. “I don’t know about anyone else, but personally I’m absolutely famished.” Delicious aromas wafted up from the array of dishes laid before them. Suddenly ferociously hungry, the three of them took turns serving themselves, choosing from a wide assortment of Azeri specialties. Some plates held steaming slivers of satsivi, chicken breasts marinated in a creamy garlic sauce. Others were piled with sweet peppers stuffed with a mixture of minced lamb, mint, fennel, and cinnamon. There were also small bowls of dovgra, a thick, hot soup made with yogurt, rice, and spinach. While they were finishing these starters, more dishes arrived, mostly various shasliks, skewers of lamb, veal, and chicken soaked in onion, vinegar, and pomegranate juice, grilled over glowing embers, and served with thin sheets of lavash, a form of unleavened bread. With the edge taken off their appetites, Elena Vedenskaya held up a glass of vodka. “Za vashe zdarov’e! Your health!” she said and downed the clear, cold liquor in one large gulp, following it immediately with a chaser of apple juice. Smith ami Fiona followed her example, savoring a combination oi sharply contrasting flavors that perfectly complemented the highly spiced food they were eating |
