19. Raven

19

RAVEN

The Russian chuckled as he walked back into the room and took a seat across from me. "It seems today luck is on your side."

"Really," I deadpanned, looking down at my bindings. "Forgive me if I don't see things the same way as you."

He eyed the bindings then huffed out a laugh. "My apologies. Forgive an old man for forgetting." He stood and walked over to me, flipping open a pocketknife as he approached me from behind.

I tensed as he pressed the blade near my wrists. Old man or not, he didn't forget anything. As the sharp metal cut through the bindings, I was finally free. I rubbed my wrists, watching him warily as he moved to my feet. I was free.

But I knew I wasn't really free.

"What's the catch?"

"Catch?" He shook his head as he walked back to his desk. "There is no catch. My good friend FNG is a friend of yours. Come, come. We drink."

He placed a glass on the opposite side of the table and took out a bottle of vodka, setting it on the table between us as he waited for me to make up my mind. Vodka really wasn't my drink of choice, but who was I to say no to this man? I was free, but only for as long as I was in his good graces.

I stood and walked over to the table, watching as he poured, but I didn't drink. What if he poisoned the glass? He downed his drink and grinned at me, waiting for me to take mine. Still, I didn't move.

"Ah, I see. You do not trust me." He shrugged again. "I can see how this would be problem for you. I would not trust me either." He snatched the glass and drank the whole thing. "See? I am not dead."

Satisfied, when he poured another glass, I took it and swallowed the contents. After the day I had, I needed all the alcohol I could get. But I had to keep my head about me. There was still a chance he would turn on me.

I reached forward and spun the bottle until the label perfectly faced me, then made the glasses parallel with one another. He chuckled but didn't say anything.

I sat back in my seat and eyed him as he poured another. "So, do I continue to call you The Russian, or is there another name you go by?"

His deep, throaty chuckle shook his whole body. "My friends called me Ivan, but when I first started my work, I was called Ivan the Slayer."

He said that with pride, but if he was expecting me to be impressed, he would be sorely mistaken. I had no idea who he was.

"It sounds much more terrifying in Russian."

"I'm sure it does. So, you slay people?"

"Bad people. Very bad people. But I give that up for other more…lucrative work."

"What's more lucrative than killing people?"

"I am KGB. Was. Sadly, my time in Russian government is over. It is very sad thing when the government you know falls. And what is left for man like me?"

"And how is it you know FNG?"

He leaned forward. "The question is, how do you know FNG?"

"Shouldn't you have asked me that before you let me loose and told me who you are?"

"It makes no difference. If you do not mean anything to FNG, I will simply kill you."

"You already untied me," I pointed out.

"I am old, but still carry my knives."

I snorted at that. "You sound like Fox."

"Who is this Fox you speak of?"

"He works with FNG. Kind of crazy looking. Likes to sing show tunes."

"Ah, yes! We met briefly when I last saw FNG. He is very unique."

"You could say that again."

"So," he grinned, leaning forward, "tell me how you know FNG."

There was no point in hiding anything from him. He would either kill me or let me go with FNG. And since I preferred to stay alive a little longer, I would humor him.

"I met Nicholas—one of his teammates—on a job. Then FNG showed up and we're sort of in the same mess together."

"A job. And what job is this?"

I pointed to the eggs sitting in the corner of the room.

"He worked that job?" Ivan seemed almost shocked by that.

"No, he wasn't working the job. I was and Nicholas followed me. FNG followed Nicholas."

"So, he was not involved in stealing these fine treasures."

"No."

"Is good. I would hate to kill such a good friend."

With friends like him, who needed enemies. That was the first time I realized how realistically that phrase could be applied to real life.

"What's so special about those eggs?"

His eyes bugged out as he watched me. "You steal such valuable treasure, yet you do not know their history?"

"I know about them. I just don't understand why they're so special."

"My dear, these eggs were made especially for Tsar Nicholas II, the last Emperor of Russia, and the Tsarina, Empress Alexandra. At just the age of sixteen, Nicholas knew Alexandra was the woman for him. They carved their names in a windowpane. It was…a love match, and a very sad ending to their lives."

"Wasn't it their poor leadership that lead to their downfall?"

I shouldn't have said anything. The scathing glare shut me up fast.

"The eggs were commissioned for Empress Alexandra and the Dowager Empress Maria. It is said that not even the emperor knew what form they would take."

"Aren't they just eggs?"

"Not at all, my dear. They are works of art, each designed for something special. There is even one of the Kremlin. There was only one requirement," Ivan continued secretively, "each was to contain a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" I asked, a little more curious.

He sat back and shrugged. "It is not known. This—" he pointed to the corner, "—is the first I have ever laid eyes on the eggs."

"So…let's pop one open."

"Pop—" He sat up straight, and for a moment, I thought he would pull his knife and slit my throat. "They are not just eggs. It is some of last remaining treasure from the reign of Nicholas and Alexandra. It is not just a symbol of our country, but a reminder that Russia will always be a good and true leader in the world."

Well, we'd agree to disagree on that one, but who was I to judge? I wasn't from Russia and I didn't work for the government, but I could appreciate that these eggs held special meaning to him.

"So, I take it there are no pictures of these eggs?"

"They are out there, but not of all of them. And the missing ones…they should never been in the hands of that filthy Englishman."

"Yeah, I don't like the English either. It's the accents. They always sound so much more sophisticated than we Americans. Stupid foreigners." Realizing my mistake, I laughed it off.

Luckily, he laughed alongside me.

"I like you..."

"Raven," I said helpfully.

"You are a raven. I see it in your eyes. So, this Nicholas, you have fallen for this man."

We already discussed this. I wasn't going down this road anymore. "So, tell me about you."

"Tell me about this Nicholas."

"I don't want to."

"Because you don't want to admit how much you love him."

I couldn't help but snort in amusement. "I barely know him. I mean, he's great in bed."

"Ah," he laughed. "To possess a woman in bed is like…holding your hand to flame. It burns and yet, the need to possess the flame is so strong."

This Russian had a lot of weird sayings that I didn't understand. "Uh…sure."

"This passion—this fire—it is what drives him to stand by you, to protect you."

"Maybe someone should tell him that I can protect myself."

He smiled at me. I knew I was in for it. Another story or life lesson.

"Let me tell you story?—"

Man, I called it.

"When I was young KGB agent, I fell in love with woman so beautiful, I could not resist the temptation to possess her. She was…my Fabergé egg. So beautiful, so delicate and intricate, so…exquisite. But it was not to be."

"Why not?"

"It would have been treason to even look at her. But even so, we were at a ball one night and there she was in this beautiful gown. She sparkled in the candlelight. I will never forget the way she looked when her eyes met mine. It was…electric."

Candlelight? How old was this guy?

"Our love was not to be. For a beautiful moment, I held her in my arms and made love to her."

Ew, gross. I didn't want to think about this man having sex.

"And when we were caught, she pleaded for my life."

"What happened?"

"She stabbed herself in the heart and died instantly," he said without even a hint of remorse.

"Oh…that's terrible."

"It was for best." His shoulders shook with laughter. "She was spy! Her husband was so grateful, he shook my hand."

"Um…" I wasn't sure where to go with this. What was the moral of the story? "That…is terrible?"

"It was good. I was so in love with her, I might have revealed secrets."

"But I thought you loved her."

"We cannot help who we fall in love with. Even for short time, she was mine. And then she was burned, and I was reassigned. Is good."

"And the point of telling me was…"

"You are the spy."

"Huh?"

"My Katerina!"

"You think I'm a spy?" I asked incredulously.

"I know you are not spy. Is metaphor. You are woman with golden dagger."

Now there was a golden dagger? I was getting so confused, and I doubted it had much to do with the liquor. No amount of drinking could help make any of this make more or less sense.

"You will see. In time, you will see."