“Morning, Mr. Markham,” said Simon.
“Good morning, Mr. Wester,” said Markham, lounging in a chair with a pastry and a cup of coffee. Simon could not recall ever seeing him do actual work. “In a bit late today. Everything okay?”
Simon smiled. “I had to drop my mother off at O’Hare. She’s going down to Florida to visit my aunts, and traffic was bad on the way back.”
“Excuse me,” said a rough voice.
Simon turned. A dock worker in a grimy coverall stood behind him, pushing a handcart laden with boxes.
“Sorry.” Simon stepped aside, and the worker grunted and pushed the cart into the office hallway. “Do you know what’s up? They’ve got a dozen guys cleaning out the front lot. I’ve been here a year, and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that happen.”
Markham laughed. “You’re out of touch.”
Simon shrugged and thought of Katrina. “I have a good excuse, at least.”
Markham smiled. “Senator Wycliffe’s meeting with some of his business partners here this week. His Russian partners are flying in from Moscow…”
Simon frowned. “You mean Demeko-Kurkov?”
“Yes, but Mr. Demeko died in an accident two years ago. Now Mr. Kurkov runs the firm, though it still keeps the old name. Mr. Kurkov and his associates are arriving today. The Senator went to meet them at the airport. The main event’s coming soon, though. The Senator’s biggest partner is arriving.”
Simon scratched his chin. “I thought Demeko-Kurkov was Senator Wycliffe’s biggest partner.”
“No. The Senator does a lot of business with an Eastern European billionaire.”
Simon blinked. “Eastern European billionaire? That’s fairly vague, isn’t it?”
Markham shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you more. He’s not fairly well known, even within the company. I don’t even know if he’s Albanian, Romanian, or what. Rumor is that he made his fortune in commodities exchanges, as did the Senator. It’s the first time he’s come to America for almost ten years. So the Senator wants everything perfect for his visit.”
Simon put his hands in his pockets. “Well, he does like everything perfect, doesn’t he?”
“Quite true.” Markham glanced at his cell phone. “Oh, and Mr. Wester?”
Simon turned, one foot in the hallway. “Yeah?”
Markham grinned. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
“What? Oh, yes. Thanks.” Simon grinned back and started down the hallway to his office. He and Katrina had only made up their minds two days ago, the day before his dissertation had gone before the committee. He still hadn’t told his mother. He would have quite a surprise for her once she got back from Florida. Though somehow everyone in Wycliffe’s office knew already.
In the space of two days, his dissertation had been accepted and he had gotten engaged.
It had been quite a week.
He heard voices coming from inside the lounge. A tall, pale man in black jeans and a leather jacket stepped into the hallway. Sunken gray eyes glittered in his pale face, and beard stubble shaded his chin. He looked at Simon with a narrow-eyed glance.
“Warehouse 13A was once my apartment building, you know,” said a familiar voice. Senator Wycliffe walked into the hall, followed by a short little bald man in an ugly brown suit. “After I started Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping to provide my customers with some of their, ah, larger orders, I bought the building and all the real estate for several blocks around. I had the apartments torn down and these buildings put up…” He stopped and followed the pale man’s gaze. “Ah, Mr. Wester. Good to see you!”
“Senator,” said Simon. He felt uncomfortable under the tall stranger’s steely eyes.
Wycliffe grinned. “Why am I always the last to hear?”
Simon blinked. “Hear what?”
Wycliffe snorted. “About the engagement, Mr. Wester. Congratulations are in order, I must say.”
Simon laughed. “Thank you, sir.”
“You are a spy?” said the pale man. He had a heavy Russian accent. “You were listening to us?”
Simon frowned. “No. I was just going to my office.”
“Vasily.” Wycliffe laid a hand on the pale man’s shoulder. “This is my speechwriter.” He smiled. “Simon Wester, might I introduce Vasily Kurkov, my good friend and business partner?”
Kurkov extended his hand and smiled, but his gray eyes remained icy cold. “A pleasure, Mr. Wester.”
“Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping has done quite a bit of business with Demeko-Kurkov over the years,” said Wycliffe. “The Russian economy has been consistently bad since the collapse of the Soviet Union, but Demeko-Kurkov remains one of the bright spots.”
Kurkov’s lips twitched. “You are very generous, Thomas. Demeko-Kurkov does well because of your contracts. Very lucrative”
“Well, I do try,” said Wycliffe.
The little bald man cleared his throat.
“Oh, excuse me,” said Wycliffe. “This is Dr. Krastiny, head of security for Demeko-Kurkov.”
Kurkov snorted. “And a ruthless mother hen. He thinks I cannot travel anywhere without him to hold my hand.” Krastiny smiled and shook Simon’s hand. “You see, we were in the army together. I was a lieutenant, and Dr. Krastiny was a captain. So now that he works for me, he still thinks he can order me around.”
Krastiny chuckled. “Someone has to keep your head on straight, Vasily.” His gravelly voice had only a trace of a Russian accent. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wester.”
Wycliffe snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. Our Mr. Wester, in addition to getting engaged, is soon to become Dr. Wester.”
“Really?” said Krastiny. “And what was your doctorate in, might I ask?”
“Greco-Roman history,” said Simon. Kurkov snorted.
Krastiny gave his boss a glance. “Good, good. Not enough people are interested in the past these days. Mathematics and physics were the kings of the twentieth century, and they’ve brought us nothing more than an astonishing variety of horrendously destructive weapons. Hopefully, in the twenty-first, we’ll have a more enlightened sensibility.”
Kurkov snorted. “You will babble like this for hours if I didn’t give you work.”
Wycliffe laughed. “Dr. Krastiny and I have the most delightful discussions.”
“You’re a historian?” said Simon.
“First I was an army surgeon,” said Krastiny. “After I got out of the army, I went to the University of Moscow. My dissertation was on Catherine the Great.” He laughed. “Of course, this was the seventies, and Brezhnev was in charge. I had to write about Catherine as the bourgeoisie oppressor of the suffering proletariat masses and Pugachev as a hero of the people. Utter bull. Of course, the department head bought into it hook, line, and sinker, as you say in this country.” He smiled. “It is much easier in America, especially for liberals. Had your academics lived in the Soviet Union, the KGB would have encouraged them to take up permanent residence in Siberia.”
Wycliffe cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse us, Dr. Krastiny, we need to continue our tour. Quite a few preparations have to be made yet.”
Kurkov laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Dr. Krastiny will prattle like this for hours if you let him.”
Dr. Krastiny rolled his eyes. “Someone needs to educate the ignorant. Carry on, Senator.” He smiled and shook Simon’s hand again. “A pleasure meeting you. Congratulations on your degree, and your engagement, of course.”
“Thank you,” said Simon.
“Again, congratulations, Wester.” Wycliffe continued on his way. Kurkov brushed past Simon without a glance. Dr. Krastiny chuckled and followed them.
Simon watched the three men leave. They were all so genial, so polite, except perhaps for Kurkov. Yet he remembered Conmager’s story. Did they know about the winged creatures? Conmager claimed that Wycliffe sold guns. Did he buy them from Kurkov’s company?
No matter. Once Simon began teaching at Constantina, he could leave this job, and
never think about Wycliffe or the winged creature again.
His coffee had gotten cold. Simon unlocked his office door and let himself inside.
Katrina stood over his desk, eyes on his computer monitor, her hands flying over the keyboard.
“Good morning,” said Simon, setting the lukewarm coffee on his desk.
Katrina smiled. “And good morning to you as well, college boy. Or do I have to call you Dr. Simon goddamn Wester now, hmm?”
“Just Simon will do, thanks.” He settled into his chair, his arm brushing her hip on the way down. “Waiting for me?”
Katrina snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. College Boy. Your computer’s database client needed an upgrade.”
Simon put his hand on the small of her back. “Isn’t that the sort of thing you can farm out to your staff?”
“Well, yes. But sometimes it’s best to do these things manually. And if I ran into you, well, I suppose I could live with that.”
Simon kneaded the muscles of her back with his fingers. “I suppose. How long will this take?”
“About fifteen minutes, I think,” said Katrina.
Simon groaned. “I have work I need to do on this thing.”
“Well.” Katrina smirked at him, and his heart beat faster. “You have some time to kill, don’t you?” She settled on his lap and hooked her arms around his neck.
“Um…I’d say so, yes…” Katrina cut him off with a long kiss. The way she felt, a strange mixture of soft skin and taut muscle, always enticed him. Katrina pulled away from the kiss, an odd little smile on her lips.
“Is our first time going to be in this office chair?”
“You wish, college boy,” said Katrina. She slid off his chair and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “But since I think we’d both prefer not to get fired, I’ll see you at lunch.”
“In the lounge,” said Simon.
Katrina frowned. “Let’s go out.”
Simon grunted. “How come?”
“It’s a madhouse around here. The boss and his partners are marching back and forth.” She scowled. “Have you seen that one Russian guy, black leather jacket, looks like Eurotrash with a bad haircut?”
Simon chuckled. “Vasily Kurkov. He’s a millionaire, you know.”
“I don’t give a shit,” said Katrina. “Guy looks like he’s a serial killer. And Wycliffe’s big partner is coming in tonight or tomorrow, this Romanian billionaire that no one knows about.”
“I heard he was Albanian,” said Simon.
“So what?” said Katrina. “Those slouching security guys are everywhere.” Katrina shook her head. “Goddamn. Between them and Kurkov, it looks like a psychopath convention around here.”
Simon shook his head. “I didn’t notice. But I’ve been so busy. So has everyone else, from the look of things. The trucks are going night and day now.”
She crossed her arms and paced back and forth. “It’s a good thing you’re getting that university job. This is becoming less and less a good place to work.”
Simon blinked in astonishment. “You’re thinking about quitting?” Katrina had been ferocious about keeping her job. He suspected it represented her independence. “What will you do then? Raise the kids?”
Katrina gave him a look. “Don’t be stupid.” She had been just as adamant about her lack of desire to have children. Simon found that he agreed with her. He didn’t think he would do make a very good father. “Maybe I should go back to school. Have you for a teacher?” She grinned. “Just think of how jealous the other teachers will be. You could be having sex one of your female students and getting away with it.”
“Um,” said Simon, “but why do you want to quit?”
“I don’t really know,” said Katrina. “Not to sit at home and watch soap operas, if that’s what you think.”
“It isn’t,” Simon hastened to say.
“It’s…I don’t know, I just like it here less and less,” said Katrina. “All those top secret warehouses that are guarded all the time. 13A, for example. What’s he got in there? What needs to be so secret?”
Simon thought of Conmager’s stories of gun-running and said nothing.
“And all those rumors about Senator Wycliffe,” said Katrina. Simon opened his mouth. “Yes, yes, you’ve given me the damn speech about politicians before. But what if some of those rumors are true? Something had to start them. That’s what I think. I may not be Dr. Simon goddamn Wester, but that’s what I think.”
“Okay,” said Simon. “I can’t tell you what to do, or what to think.”
Katrina smirked. “Just keep that in mind.”
Simon spread his hands. “But if that’s what you want to do, then I’ll support you.”
Katrina smiled. “I’ll see you at lunch, then. I’m buying.” She turned and walked out of his office, a marked sway in her hips.
Simon stared at the door for several minutes after she left.
###