Black Rose

CHAPTER 41

The fresh green of approaching spring dusted the manicured garden beds of the Bois de Boulogne. Valentina Antipov loved the park, though she thought that calling the Bois de Boulogne a park was like calling the Mona Lisa a pretty picture. She ran here early in the morning every day, unless prevented by her assignment to Gutenberg. The spacious grounds in the west of Paris were a reminder that life was about more than the unpleasant necessities of her job.

Valentina only vaguely remembered a time before she'd begun training to be a spy. It had started when she was five years old, when her mother took her to a gray building on the outskirts of Moscow and left her in the care of a man wearing the uniform of a captain in the KGB. Captain Vysotsky became the substitute for a father she had never known. A stern father, a demanding father, but a father who was stern and demanding was better than none at all. She saw her mother infrequently, sometimes not for a months. When Valentina asked about her, Vysotsky would say that her mother was a hero and was serving the needs of the Motherland.

"You can see how important it is, can't you, Valentina? Your mother works to keep us all safe and protect us from our enemies. That's why she can't be here as much as you'd like."

"It's good that she's a hero," Valentina had said, "but I wish she could spend more time with me."

Valentina had been nine at the time. The memory was burned into her mind. A day later (or was it two or three, she couldn't quite remember), Captain Vysotsky told her that her mother was dead, killed in the line of duty by the treacherous agents of the West.

Years later Valentina found out that the truth was somewhat different. Sofia Antipov had gotten drunk and lost control of her car on an icy mountain road in the Swiss Alps. The car had smashed through the guard rail and plunged over a thousand feet until it shattered on the unforgiving boulders far below.

Valentina's intelligence and motor skills were well above average, a fact that did not escape her teachers' attention. When she reached the age of fourteen she was singled out for specialized training in the art of killing. By the time she was twenty-two, she was expert in all the tools of her trade. Along with martial arts, knowledge of poisons and use of the garrotte, Valentina was gifted with skill in weapons from the present and the past. She could use a Zulu spear or a samurai katana as easily as a Makarov pistol.

A little more than twenty years after her mother's death, Vysotsky had risen to the rank of general and Valentina had been molded into a perfect killing machine.

Morning sun lit the magnificent pavillion of Napoleon III as she ran past. The last French Emperor would have been shocked to see that his pavilion had been converted to a hotel and restaurant. She kept running until she came to the end of the Grand Cascade at the Lac Inferieur, the largest lake in the park. Water ran everywhere in the Bois, flowing through artful channels into lakes and ponds and fountains. Valentina slowed her pace to a jog and then to a walk. She found an empty bench facing the lake and sat, letting her body cool. She thought about what the day would bring. She had to meet with her handler later, at a bistro in Montmarte.

Lucien is getting pushy, she thought.

She watched a pair of joggers go by on the path.

Why has he called for another meeting? It's bad tradecraft. I don't like the way he undresses me with his eyes. Lots of men do that and I don't mind, but with him it's different.

For a moment she entertained the thought of placing something unpleasant in Lucien's espresso and watching him die. But of course she couldn't do that unless it became necessary. Lucien was getting careless. She decided to let Alexei know about it.

Alexei Vysotsky was the closest thing to a father that Valentina had ever known. She wasn't sure how to describe her feelings for him. It was probably love, although Valentina wasn't certain what love actually was. Whatever it was, her feeling for Vysotsky was mixed with deep resentment and grudging admiration for the unrelenting discipline he had imposed upon her over the years.

Valentina was proud of her skills. She knew she was one of the stars in Vysotsky's elite group of high level agents. It was unusual for her to be asked to seduce someone and maintain a relationship with them. There were plenty of agents available for that, men and women both, depending on the sexual preference of the target. Her primary role was as an assassin. The fact that Vysotsky had assigned her to Gutenberg told her that sooner or later she'd be ordered to eliminate him.

She hoped it was sooner. Gutenberg was becoming tiresome. Besides, he was a lousy lover. Lucien, on the other hand, was probably quite adept in bed, but Valentina would sooner sleep with a snake than with him.

She rose and started back for her apartment at an easy walk. There was time to go home, shower and change before her meeting. As she walked she was aware of everything in her environment, her paranoia high. That man with an umbrella could as easily be her counterpart from an enemy agency. The woman with a baby carriage might have a gun under those blankets.

Even though Valentina knew that the man with the umbrella was probably anticipating a spring shower or that the baby carriage contained nothing more menacing than a sleeping infant, she remained alert. She was still alive because she never dropped her vigilance.

It was a condition of her occupation.

She passed a couple strolling with their two children. The woman was laughing. She looked happy. The man said something and smiled.

I wonder what it would be like to have a family.