Read Online One Last Scent of Jasmine (Boone's File Book 3) by Dale Amidei - Free Book Online
Authors: Dale Amidei
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consecutive-term-limited offices of the President and Prime Minister merely exchanged occupants now, after which the status would revert again in another meaningless transfer of titles. Lyubov consciously avoided speculation as often as possible. He focused on reality and on the present. The President will be the power in this place for the foreseeable future. What tomorrow brings I will address in its own time. I am an intelligence professional … not one of the GRU’s damned psychics.
What he confronted today was having been summoned to an unscheduled meeting with them both: the President and the Prime Minister, who could as well have been a marionette. Nothing on the regional horizon beckoned. It must be the unexpected reelection of the American President. They seek counsel and strategy for the time to come. Lyubov’s mind found enough solace in the thought to ease the tension always accompanying his visits to this place. Evil was resident here, a reality amplified by powerful men who disregarded the validity of the concept.
Recognized in the President’s outer office, Lyubov was waved into the inner sanctum without a word or announcement. Only a nod and a gesture came from the secretary, who also took his overcoat. The doors to the President's domain were not yet closed. It would be Lyubov’s task as always; his meetings with these men had never yet been conducted within earshot of others. Russia has not changed so much as to make this appointment different in that regard.
“Ah, Dmitry. You arrive just on time as usual.” The man stood up from the seat behind his massive desk, and the already-present Prime Minister rose with him. Lifting his hand, the President pointed his finger toward the open side of the massive double panels. “Get the door, if you would, please? We are all here now.”
“Of course, Mister President.” Well, Dmitry, perhaps you are a psychic after all. Lyubov secured the door and thereby the privacy of the office, with its electronic countermeasures which would make the room difficult for even his own people to surveil. The three men might as well now be speaking on another planet.
The head of state strode forward when his Director in charge of internal security turned and approached the desk. A hearty handshake and a reassuring pat on the shoulder followed. The head of FSB was even granted a smile affecting some warmth from the Prime Minister. They are in an unusually gregarious mood this day, Lyubov noticed. His guard, however, did not drop; the anomaly merely aroused his curiosity. What development has so elated them?
“Sit down, Dmitry. We have a lengthy agenda. Some tea?” the man offered his guest.
“Thank you, I shall,” Lyubov responded, still chilled from his exposure to the winter-like Russian weather.
The Prime Minister poured as the most powerful man in Russia began, “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Dmitry. We have so much to discuss.”
“Concerning?” the head of FSB inquired.
“Very recent developments, my old friend. Opportunities from abroad have arisen, of which we will take full advantage,” the Prime Minister explained. He glanced at his master, once more behind the huge desk. “Much as we thought they would. Significant enough we shall have challenges in accommodating the windfall.” The first in the line of Russian succession handed the newly arrived Director his tea in a tall glass supported by an ornate, silver holder.
“This seems good news for a change,” Lyubov observed, taking the beverage. “What can I do?”
“We will soon have a new technology initiative to accommodate. Sites must be identified and prepared, but prior to it all they must be secured. The Federal Security Service will be most involved,” the President said with a cold smile, the extent of emotion one was likely to see displayed on his face.
“This will be done, of course.” Lyubov took a welcome sip of the hot tea. “In what category of technology,
What he confronted today was having been summoned to an unscheduled meeting with them both: the President and the Prime Minister, who could as well have been a marionette. Nothing on the regional horizon beckoned. It must be the unexpected reelection of the American President. They seek counsel and strategy for the time to come. Lyubov’s mind found enough solace in the thought to ease the tension always accompanying his visits to this place. Evil was resident here, a reality amplified by powerful men who disregarded the validity of the concept.
Recognized in the President’s outer office, Lyubov was waved into the inner sanctum without a word or announcement. Only a nod and a gesture came from the secretary, who also took his overcoat. The doors to the President's domain were not yet closed. It would be Lyubov’s task as always; his meetings with these men had never yet been conducted within earshot of others. Russia has not changed so much as to make this appointment different in that regard.
“Ah, Dmitry. You arrive just on time as usual.” The man stood up from the seat behind his massive desk, and the already-present Prime Minister rose with him. Lifting his hand, the President pointed his finger toward the open side of the massive double panels. “Get the door, if you would, please? We are all here now.”
“Of course, Mister President.” Well, Dmitry, perhaps you are a psychic after all. Lyubov secured the door and thereby the privacy of the office, with its electronic countermeasures which would make the room difficult for even his own people to surveil. The three men might as well now be speaking on another planet.
The head of state strode forward when his Director in charge of internal security turned and approached the desk. A hearty handshake and a reassuring pat on the shoulder followed. The head of FSB was even granted a smile affecting some warmth from the Prime Minister. They are in an unusually gregarious mood this day, Lyubov noticed. His guard, however, did not drop; the anomaly merely aroused his curiosity. What development has so elated them?
“Sit down, Dmitry. We have a lengthy agenda. Some tea?” the man offered his guest.
“Thank you, I shall,” Lyubov responded, still chilled from his exposure to the winter-like Russian weather.
The Prime Minister poured as the most powerful man in Russia began, “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Dmitry. We have so much to discuss.”
“Concerning?” the head of FSB inquired.
“Very recent developments, my old friend. Opportunities from abroad have arisen, of which we will take full advantage,” the Prime Minister explained. He glanced at his master, once more behind the huge desk. “Much as we thought they would. Significant enough we shall have challenges in accommodating the windfall.” The first in the line of Russian succession handed the newly arrived Director his tea in a tall glass supported by an ornate, silver holder.
“This seems good news for a change,” Lyubov observed, taking the beverage. “What can I do?”
“We will soon have a new technology initiative to accommodate. Sites must be identified and prepared, but prior to it all they must be secured. The Federal Security Service will be most involved,” the President said with a cold smile, the extent of emotion one was likely to see displayed on his face.
“This will be done, of course.” Lyubov took a welcome sip of the hot tea. “In what category of technology,
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