Read Online December by James Steel - Free Book Online Page A

‘Alexander Devereux,’ he said formally.
    Grigory gave a friendly smile. ‘Hello.’
    He was in his forties, medium height, slightly tubby, with a few days’ stubble and long curly black hair under a trendy Kangol flat cap worn backwards. He was dressed in a crumpled black Armani suit. A green Russian army surplus satchel sat on the table next to him with a laptop and his BlackBerry sticking out of it. His broad face had a trusting, open look.
    Sergey turned to the next man. ‘And this is Lieutenant-General of the Airforce, Fyodor Mostovskoy.’
    Mostovskoy was also in his late forties but otherwise he and Bezukhov were chalk and cheese. He was thin, pale, like some deep-sea fish that lived away from the light. All colour had been leached out of him, his hair was fine and translucent and his skin had an unhealthy pallor. He was quite tall and stooped, with a thin nose that was crooked to one side. As a military man he had a more formal, reserved manner, and bowed his head slightly as he shook hands. Alex noticed that his hands were fine-boned but the grip was strong. His eyes had a watchful look that spoke of a greater intelligence than he would ever express openly.
    ‘Fyodor is our key man,’ said Sergey, coming around the table behind him and slapping him on the back. ‘He is incharge of Moscow Military District air defences and has organised a lot of support for us in the airforce as well. The only problem is, he doesn’t drink!’ He opened his arms wide in astonishment. ‘I sometimes wonder—is he Russian or a foreign spy?’
    Fyodor’s lips twisted a little in what passed for a smile.
    ‘We are also waiting for one other person, who is helpfully late,’ Sergey said sardonically and looked at his watch. ‘This is as many of the team as I could safely get together in London at one time without arousing suspicion. There are a lot more backers in Moscow on the media side and others who will contribute financially, plus politicians who will declare for us when the time comes. A lot of people don’t like Krymov’s aggressive line against the West. We’re all proud of the Motherland but we don’t want to blow up the whole world in order to prove it!’
    He picked up a small glass of vodka and proposed a toast.
    ‘So, my friends! To the new Dekabristi !’
    Alex dutifully slammed his drink back and winced at the kick. He would have to get used to starting meetings like this. He didn’t, however, know the word in Russian and queried it with Sergey; Sergey hastened to fill in the blank. ‘In English you would say “The Decembrists”, you know, like Shaporin’s opera?’
    Alex was a confident enough character not to mind admitting that he didn’t, and shook his head.
    ‘They were a bunch of idealists back in 1825. They rebelled to try to liberate Russia from tsarist dictatorship. Funnily enough they ended up in the same labour camp as Raskolnikov is now in.’
    Grigory and Fyodor both looked down at the table when he said this, and Sergey suddenly realised that this last point wasn’t actually very funny at all.
    ‘Well, you know,’ he shrugged, ‘let’s be honest about the risks. Life is a fatal condition—no one has survived it yet. Anyway, this time we are trying to get someone out of Krasnokamensk and take them—’
    The double doors burst open and everyone jumped.
    ‘Sergey Stepanovich!’
    The stunning woman from the party last night came sweeping in.
    Alex sat bolt upright—what the hell was going on? Sergey’s security could not be very tight if just anyone could burst in on them.
    ‘I know! I’m late! I’m sorry.’
    Sergey seemed very pleased to see her, though, and opened his arms to embrace her; she kissed him demurely on both cheeks instead.
    ‘Ah! Now we are complete!’ Sergey turned to Alex, puffed out his chest with pride and introduced them formally. ‘Alexander Nikolayevich Devereux this is Lara Mikhailovna Maslova.’
    Alex slowly rose from his seat; he was trying to