The Hunted by Brian Haig Read Free Book Online

rags.’”
    Alex suddenly went speechless. Had he heard that right? Yes! Gorbachev’s home! Sure, his own mansion was grand, perhaps larger
     and more loaded with extravagances than the general secretary’s residence—money, after all, was the great leveler. But some
     things money can’t buy. Yeltsin was offering him the most storied home in Russia.
    The thought of living in that home—How may bedrooms did Yeltsin mention? Who cared?—the thought of him and Elena basking in
     the general secretary’s hot tub, making love in that bedroom, taking long, leisurely strolls around a property where legions
     of presidents and world leaders had stepped and stumbled, was simply exhilarating. Flushing the toilets would be a thrill.
    It wouldn’t hurt business, either. Alex could picture the amazed expressions of the Western investors he invited over for
     a light business dinner. Please don’t chip the general secretary’s china, he would tell them and watch their faces.
    And so what if it was forty-five minutes from the office? The big Mercedes 600 was equipped with an office in the rear, a
     pull-down desk made of mahogany, a satellite carphone, enough gadgets that not one of the forty-five minutes would be idle
     or wasted. It might even be better, he thought: forty-five minutes of solitude, each way. Organize his thoughts on the way
     in; unwind from the daily turmoil on the way out.
    And it was safe. Plus, it was in the country; Elena would love it.
    Mistaking Alex’s prolonged silence for indecision, Yeltsin prattled on. Like the politician he was, he couldn’t stop selling.
     “Let me tell you, my boy, hell, I’d dearly love to live in it myself. Sometimes, at night, Naina and I wander around that
     house and dream of moving in. The chandeliers alone cost more than I make in a year. Of course, word would inevitably leak
     out to all these poor folk scraping by on a hundred rubles a month. There’d be another revolution. You know what, though?
     I don’t think I’d enjoy this one as much as the last.”
    “My moving van will be there first thing in the morning,” Alex blurted. He was too stunned to say “thanks.”
    Matching his speed, Yeltsin snapped, “Good, glad that’s settled.”
    “It’s definitely settled. Don’t you dare make this offer to anyone else before nine o’clock tomorrow. By then, Elena and I
     will be seated on the front porch with shotguns to drive off the interlopers.”
    “Oh, one other thing. From now on, I want you along when I travel overseas. Russia needs as much money and foreign investors
     as we can get. I’m miserable at making that happen. You don’t seem to have any problems in that department.”
    “Sure, whatever,” Alex mumbled, dreaming of who to invite over first. Would they need furniture? Where would they get groceries?
     In his mind he was already moved in.
    The instant they signed off, he rushed upstairs, awoke Elena, and broke the news about their incredible new home.
    “Oh, isn’t that wonderful,” she replied, even managing to make the pretense of making her surprise look sincere.
    At one o’clock, Bernie Lutcher crunched hard on his third NoDoz tablet and quickly washed it down with the bottled water he
     had carried onto the plane.
    After twenty-five years as a successful cop in the NYPD intelligence bureau, retiring as a highly regarded lieutenant, he
     was now five years into his second life, five years that were nearly everything he hoped they would be.
    The English security firm that employed him, Malcolm Street Associates, paid him one hundred grand a year, plus housing, plus
     car,
and
the chance for a twenty thousand annual bonus. Four for four in the bonus department, thus far. And the way this year was
     going, next year’s was already in the bag and mentally spent. Supplemented by his NYPD pension, he was finally and faithfully
     putting away a little nest egg.
    But not
exactly
as he always dreamed it would be. Cancer had struck five