Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

She nodded.

“Kiril and Anatoly,” she replied, “are—let me see—second cousins, once removed. Aleksandr is Kiril’s godfather.”

“And that would make Kiril’s baby what?” Castillo said. “A third cousin twice removed? Or just a second cousin twice removed?”

Sweaty considered the question seriously for perhaps thirty seconds before realizing she was being teased.

“You will pay for that, my love,” she said.

“Which means they’re Oprichniks in good standing?” he pursued.

“I’m getting sorry I ever told you about the Oprichnina,” Sweaty said.

“Yes or no?”

“Of course,” Sweaty said. “They couldn’t have become Spetsnaz officers otherwise.”

“Every Spetsnaz officer is an Oprichnik?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sweaty said.

“Yes, you did,” Castillo said.

He sensed Aleksandr Pevsner’s eyes on him.

“Very impressive, Alek,” Castillo said, indicating the men with the Kalashnikovs. “But where’s the band?”

“The band?”

“I sort of expected a brass band to welcome us. Or at least somebody playing ‘The Volga Boatmen’ on a balalaika.”

Pevsner shook his head resignedly.

“Let’s go down to the house and have dinner,” he said. “Afterward, we have a lot to talk about.”

“Would you like to freshen up?” the Laird of Karinhall, the perfect host, asked, “or after a drink?”

“Give me ten minutes,” Sweaty said.

There was nothing in her reply, or tone of voice, that suggests she has anything more romantic—or carnal—on her mind than freshening up.

Damn!

Oh, I know. It’s because I mocked the family. And the Oprichnina.

“I’ll have a little of the emergency liquid, please,” Castillo said, smiling at Kiril Koshkov and indicating a bottle of vodka encased in a block of ice.

“Oh, that’s right, you heard about that, didn’t you?” Koshkov said with a smile.

“Kiril’s been telling me how undisciplined you Spetsnaz are,” Castillo replied.

Pevsner was also smiling broadly as he generously poured the literally ice-cold vodka into a chilled glass.

What the hell are you smiling about, Alek? You never were Spetsnaz, and I don’t think you even know what we’re talking about.

Epiphany time!

You’re smiling because you know that even one drink will make me one drink stupider when we have our little chat. With a little luck, I will be two—or more—drinks stupider when we have the chat.