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heavy or overweight, probably in his late thirties or early forties.
Piet, I would like you to meet Minister Eschbach. Minister Eschbach, this is
Piet Darwaard, the first secretary. And this is the renowned soprano, Miss
Llysette duBoise. Minister Eschbach had either the luck or the talent to
ensure she married him.
Luck, and her grace. I bowed slightly.
Llysette smiled, politely.
I'm honored, Minister. Piet Darwaard bowed, offering an open and warm
smile.
He was old-country Dutch from name to appearance, tall, blond, blue-eyed, and
broad shouldered, with the kind of honest face that made every man want to
slap his back and every woman bring him home to meet her daughter. I
distrusted him instantly, perhaps unfairly, but anyone who had made first
secretary in a major embassy with those physical attributes needed to be
watched.
I am also most honored to meet you, Miss duBoise. The St. Petersburg papers
have made much of your coming concert appearance.
Thank you, Llysette replied. I hope I will not disappoint. It has been a
long journey, and there is much yet to do.
I am certain that if you delighted the Saints, you will delight people here
even more. They love fine music here, more than in any place where I've been.
He offered a warm smile.
So I have heard.
I wanted you both to meet Piet, the ambassador said, because he's the one
who really runs the embassy. He's already set up some things for you, Minister
Eschbach, and he's making sure that Hamilton Tavoian is taking good care of
you, Miss duBoise.
I certainly wouldn't want to talk business so soon after you arrived, the
first secretary said. So I'll just mention that you both have meetings at
nine-thirty tomorrow. I'll be meeting with you, Minister Eschbach, and
Hamilton he's in charge of cultural affairs will be meeting with you, Miss
duBoise. He smiled again and bowed.
A chime began to ring, and the voices in the lounge died away.
I think we're being summoned, the ambassador said. Best we go, or Annette
will be telling me that everything ran late because I kept talking.
I had the feeling that we'd be seated with the ambassador and his wife, and
probably with Drummond Kent, and that we'd talk pleasantries, and that I'd
learn very little new, no matter how hard I tried, because Hagel was a
well-trained politician and could talk forever while only seeming to impart
information and because he knew very little of what was going on and because
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Drummond Kent knew even less.
I was right.
Thankfully, the dinner wasn't too long, and we did stumble back up to our
opulent guest quarters, where it was scarcely difficult to fall asleep. I did
remember to bolt the door and set the alarm. I should have done more, but I
was far too tired to think as clearly as I probably should have.
24
T HE ALARM WENT off far too early, and it took me several moments to discern
where I was, because it was still fairly dark. Then, seven o'clock was before
dawn in December in St. Petersburg.
Johan . . . Llysette mumbled.
I know. It's dark.
Cold . . .
It's St. Petersburg. I managed to beat the alarm into silence, if not
submission, before struggling into a sitting position on the side of the bed.
Finally, I stood and staggered out of the enormous bedchamber and through the
salon and into the minuscule kitchen. There wasn't much there, except teabags
and a kettle. There wasn't even sugar, and that meant I'd have to choke down
bitter tea.
While the electric kettle began to heat, I decided to see how effective
Christian had been in obtaining news. I peered through the spy hole first, but
the corridor was empty. In the wooden box affixed to the wall beside the
left-hand door was a newspaper and a sheaf of standard pages stapled in the
upper left-hand corner. I brought all the papers inside, rebolted the door,
and went back to the kitchen, where the kettle was groaning but not yet
boiling. I didn't try to read the Times of London but began to skim the
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