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here.” He tapped his
middle fingers together at the apex of the circle. “You believe America will
always be up top, krahsniy ? What are you fighting to preserve?”
    “That position!” she answered stoutly. “Whatever the future
brings, we are on top now, and it’s thanks to people like me. People like you
only seek to destroy all the good we do in the world, and ruin your own nation
in the process.”
    “My nation? Is what—some farms, some mountains, some lakes.
One city.” He turned again to the painting. “But beautiful still. So, alone
American agent, you play at being art student. Tell me what you see.”
    The painting wasn’t much to look at, but it had a certain
dark power. A small landscape, framed in gold more elaborate than the simple
scene it depicted, the painting sported a dark, grayish-blue lake surrounded by
mountains, jagged-topped and menacing. The trees that dotted the hills listed
slightly as if windblown. Coco could taste the fresh, bitter wind, smell the
sharp scent of pine and the glorious clean musk of water lapping on stones.
    “A place with beauty,” she admitted, “a rough kind. It looks
like living there would take hard work just to eke out simple joys. But the joys
would be all the more satisfying because of what went into pulling them out of
the land.”
    But I’d rather have a microwave and scented dryer sheets, she finished inwardly.
    They sat in silence for a time. Coco dared not catch his
eye. Somehow she wanted her answer to please him, and a disappointed or angry
look would crumble her.
    “Is all that, yes,” he said finally. “But is another thing,
something you will never have, little red bird whose wings brought you to this
country, free to fly away again. To me, is home.”
    Home ¼ He had to be
crazy, Coco mused as they exited the museum. Only a madman would insist that
home was a place that had birthed and buried your ancestors from time
immemorial. If that was his definition, he was enslaved by an accident of place,
and fealty to that notion drove him to destroy the land he claimed to love in
an effort to free it. His answer sounded gentle enough, even sentimental, but
to Coco it was evidence of a dangerous rigidity. Here was an unbending soul who
saw the world in black and white, and whoever got in the way of his
mission—whether enemies or innocents—was collateral damage. This would be a
hard man to break.
    Which reminded her, she was still expecting those questions
from OSO. She pulled out her phone.
    “Tied by bellybutton to your little device,” he said. “Like
all Westerners.”
    “Don’t you have one?”
    “ Nyet .”
    She scrolled down, vaguely wondering why he was still
hanging around. They were almost back at her hotel.
    “Now you’re lying to me,” she answered distractedly.
    “I am not, but if I had such a device, I would give it to
you to gain your trust. Then take it back after I kill you.”
    “Hm.” Still no text; what was Templeton playing at? She
opened her purse again to drop the phone back inside. Before she could look up,
his hands were around her throat, pressing. She gagged as the edges of her
vision began to darken like an ink stain leaking into her eyes. Air, she needed
air desperately.
    The thought that Alexi’s face, impassive, would be the last
thing she’d ever see sent a tiny rush of adrenaline shooting through her body.
Something hard slammed into her back and she realized that he had shoved her
against the panel of the white van. If I can feel then I’m not dead yet.
Forget about the lungs. What in my body still works? Her fingers touched
the grip of the Walther PPK and feebly tried to locate the trigger. She could
see nothing now but a fire-burst of stars against blackness, feel nothing but
his thumbs pressing on her windpipe. All she wanted was to breathe. All she wanted
was to lie down and let the sleep take her.
    The most important rule of all. Don’t die.
    The shot blew them both backward, Coco’s head