Ed Kovacs - The Russian Bride

“I’m truly sorry for the loss of your daughters.”

“Thank you. So you see I am something of a father to Yulana,” said Viktor, swiftly shifting the conversation back to business.

“Children are precious, and so is the sanctity of marriage,” said Kit.

“Sorry to inform you, but marriage, even in the best of circumstances, is a business deal. I know you are aware that in the past, more than a few of the embassy marines have gotten thirty or forty thousand dollars for a fake marriage to get a U.S. visa for a Russian woman.”

“I’ve heard rumors to that effect. And I’m sure those marines came under suspicion.”

“But nothing was done to them. They remained in the service.” Before Kit could interrupt, Viktor went on: “Chinese regularly pay fifty thousand dollars to be smuggled into the U.S. illegally. With no legal status once they get there.”

“Illegal immigrants to the USA don’t have much to fear these days, do they?”

“That’s beside the point. You have a much higher status than a marine, Major Bennings. One hundred thousand dollars to you is a fair price.”

Kit looked at Viktor evenly. Popov could tell the man was trying to rein in his temper. “I’m sorry you think so little of me to even consider I might be for sale or for rent, for a hundred thousand or for one hundred million. Please go find a marine for fifty thousand, is my advice. Now you’ll have to excuse me.”

“She’s my niece. Even though it’s a fake marriage, I want it to be with a good man, a person with integrity. With you. I’ll make it two hundred thousand. Cash. Untraceable bills.”

“You think I have integrity? That’s why you’re trying to bribe me? You said you wanted her there legally, but she and I would be committing fraud. We could both go to federal prison.” The irritation in Bennings’s tone had ratcheted up a notch or two.

“If I offered one million dollars—I could have it delivered to you within the hour—would you consider it?”

“I would consider that you were trying to co-opt me, and that it had nothing to do with marrying your niece,” said Bennings.

“And your answer would be the same?”

“Of course.”

“In my experience, Major, everyone has their price. But just to clarify, I’m not offering one million, I’m offering two hundred thousand, which is a lot of money for a U.S. soldier, and only because Yulana is my family.”

Bennings stood. Popov watched him carefully; he’d gotten under the major’s skin, and Bennings seemed to work hard to muster up a pleasant countenance. “General Popov, thank you for all of your valuable time that you have so generously given me in the past. Good-bye, sir.” Bennings didn’t reach to shake Popov’s hand but turned and walked away.

Popov had been 95 percent certain that he wouldn’t take the bribe. But since he liked Bennings, he wanted to give him the opportunity to accept the money and therefore avoid a much darker outcome, a hurt that would be foisted upon Kit and his family as a result of the current deceptions that should make Viktor Popov the wealthiest man in Moscow.

Everyone does have a buying or selling price, but sometimes the payment isn’t rendered with money. You will be the one paying a dear price, not me, my American friend, thought Popov, reaching for his cell phone as he watched Bennings leave the restaurant.

As Bennings sat at his desk in the Embassy of the United States, Moscow, Russia, he considered what to include in his report on the meeting with Viktor Popov. Yes, his cover was an assistant defense attaché, but that meant he was a real defense attaché and had to perform as such. No one in the DAO, the Defense Attaché Office, or in the entire worldwide program, not even General Alexander, commander of the Moscow attaché office, knew Bennings was really in town working undercover to catch American traitors.

If he wrote up the report indicating Popov’s attempt at a bribe—a significant one at that—it could unleash a series of events that would pull in the embassy CIA spooks and go all the way to the ambassador. They might even want him to accept the bribe and use him as some kind of bait in an attempted sting against Popov. Since that kind of attention was unwelcome, Bennings opted to write an incomplete report, omitting any mention of the marriage-for-money offer, and he silently cursed Popov as he wrote it.

After finishing the report, he considered the pros and cons of bugging the embassy communications room so he and Sinclair could spy on Julie Rufo. Planting a surveillance device in such a sensitive area would be terribly problematic and probably counterproductive, so Bennings abandoned the idea. He planned to follow Rufo when she took her lunch, but then he was ordered by General Alexander to go to Sheremetyevo Airport. Not only was Secretary of State Margarite Padilla arriving in Moscow today, but one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, a four-star army general, was traveling with her. Which meant that as a mere assistant defense attaché from the army, Kit Bennings had to go and carry the luggage for the four-star. Ah, the glamour of being an attaché posted to a major foreign capital.

Bennings made it back to the embassy by five and was able to follow the suspected mole, Julie Rufo, from the embassy all the way to her apartment block. He saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, and that irritated the hell out of him. By the time he got back to his own apartment, he was exhausted and failed to make his usual call home to Chino Hills before dropping off to sleep in his clothing.

Gina Bennings finished her third cup of strong Italian coffee in her flower-adorned hilltop kitchen, but she still felt tired. Either the medications she took made her tired or the depression the meds were supposed to treat made her tired—she wasn’t sure which. She had good days—enough time had elapsed since the accident to ensure that—but the bad ones outnumbered the good. This was a bad day.

She’d led something of a charmed life from the moment she’d met Tommy Bennings in Milan almost forty years ago. But for the last four years, since the deaths of her husband and youngest son, Michael, her charmed life had become a dark place.

Yes, she was grateful for her children Staci and Kit, but no parent should have to bury a child. It wasn’t fair. And now, with the development that someone had stolen her life savings and sent her deep into debt, well, she prayed daily to God that he take her to join Tommy and Michael.

The phone ringing startled her out of her self-pitying interior monologue.

“Hello.”

“Hi, this is Paula Duvan from Town and Country Bank. Is this Mrs. Gina Bennings?”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of the problems we’re having with your account?”

The female voice sounded vaguely European to Gina, but she couldn’t place it. Her bank had become so multicultural over the years, she sometimes wondered if there were any American-born employees left. Of course, Gina Bennings wasn’t American-born, either.

“Yes, but my daughter, Staci, is taking care of all those things.”

“Can I speak to Staci then, please?”

“She’s at work. Can you call her at—”

“Mrs. Bennings, since it’s your account, is there any way you could come in to the bank this morning? I don’t think it’s necessary to bother your daughter at work. It’s a mere formality. We need your signature on some documents.”

“Just a signature?”

“Yes. We’re trying to get all of your money put back into your accounts, so if you could come in right now, that would help a lot.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, can you do that?”