A commotion out on the terminal platform drew his attention, too. A trio of men in long black leather dusters strode purposefully along the length of the train, occasionally stopping porters and showing them what looked to be a photo before moving on again. None of the men offered any credentials.
Faint alarm bells sounded in Tucker’s head. But there were hundreds of people on the train, he told himself, and so far all the porters had merely shrugged or shook their heads when shown the photo.
Clearly frustrated, one of the men pulled out a cell phone and spoke into it. Thirty seconds later, he was joined by his partners, and after a brief discussion, the trio hurried back into the terminal and disappeared from view.
He watched and waited, but none of them reappeared.
He sighed in relief when the train whistle blew and the All Aboard was called. The train lurched forward and slowly pulled away from the station.
Only then did he settle back in his own seat.
But he was hardly settled.
7:38 P.M.
An hour later, too full of nervous energy to remain inside the berth, Tucker found himself seated in the dining car. Around him, the tables were draped with linen; the windows framed by silk curtains; the place settings china and crystal.
But his attention focused on the car’s best feature.
While he had never been the type to ogle the opposite sex, the woman sitting across the aisle and one booth down was challenging his discipline.
She was tall and lithe, her figure accentuated by a form-fitting skirt and a white cashmere turtleneck sweater. She wore her blond hair long and straight, framing high cheekbones and ice-blue eyes. Picking at a salad and occasionally sipping from a glass of wine, she spent most of the meal either reading a dog-eared copy of Anna Karenina or staring out the window as dusk settled over the Siberian landscape. For one chance moment, she looked up, caught Tucker’s eye, and smiled—genuine, pleasant, but clearly reserved.
Still, her body language was easy to read.
Thank you, but I’d prefer to be alone.
A few minutes later, the woman signaled for the check, signed her bill, then swished past Tucker’s table and through the connecting door to the berth cars.
Tucker lingered over his coffee, oddly disappointed, more than he should be, then headed back to his own berth.
As he stepped into the corridor, he found the blond woman kneeling on the floor, the contents of her purse scattered at her feet, some of it rolling farther away with each jostle of the train’s wheels.
Tucker walked over and dropped to a knee beside her. “Let me help.”
She frowned, tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, and offered him a shy smile. “Thank you. Everything seems to be getting away from me lately.”
Her accent was British, refined.
Tucker helped her gather the runaway items, then stood up. He nodded at her copy of Anna Karenina. “The butler did it, by the way.”
She blinked at him, momentarily confused.
Tucker added, “In the library, with a lead pipe.”
She smiled. “Well, goodness. Then there’s not much point in my finishing it, is there?”
“Sorry if I ruined it for you.”
“You’ve read it?”
“In high school,” he said.
“And your verdict?”
“Certainly not beach reading. I liked it—but not enough to wade through it a second time.”
“It’s my third time. I’m a glutton for punishment, I suppose.” She extended her hand. “Well, thank you again . . .”
He took her hand, finding her fingers soft, but firm. “Tucker,” he said.
“I’m Felice. Thank you for your help. I hope you have a pleasant night.”
It had certainly turned out pleasant.
She turned and started down the corridor. Ten feet away, she stopped and spoke without turning. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, you know.”
Tucker didn’t reply, but waited until she turned to face him before asking, “What isn’t?”
“You spoiling the end of a perfectly good Russian novel.”
“I see your point. I take it that an apology isn’t enough?”
“Not even close.”
“Breakfast, then?”
Her lips pursed as Felice considered this a moment. “Is seven too early for you?”
He smiled. “See you in the morning.”
With a slight wave, she turned and headed down the corridor. He watched until she vanished out of sight, enjoying every step she took.
Once alone, he opened the door to his berth and found Kane sitting on the floor staring up at him. The shepherd must have heard his voice out in the passageway. Kane tilted his head in his customary What’s going on? fashion.
He smiled and scratched Kane between the ears. “Sorry, pal, she didn’t have a friend.”
6
March 8, 6:55 A.M.
Trans-Siberian Railway
The next morning, Tucker arrived five minutes early to find Felice already seated at a booth in the rear of the dining car. For the moment, they had the space to themselves. This time of the year, the sun was still not up, just a rosy promise to the east.
Tucker walked over and sat down. “You’re a morning person, I see.”
“Since I was a little girl, I’m afraid. It drove my parents quite mad. By the way, I ordered coffee for two, if you don’t mind. I’m a much better morning person with caffeine in my system.”
“That makes two of us.”
The waiter arrived with a pair of steaming mugs and took their orders. Felice opted for the closest semblance to a standard big English breakfast. He nodded his approval, appreciating a woman with a good appetite. In turn, he chose an omelet with toasted black bread.
“You’re the owner of that large hound, aren’t you?” Felice asked. “The one that looks smarter than most people on this train.”
“Owner isn’t the word I would use, but yes.” He offered up his service dog story, explaining about his epilepsy. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
At least that last part was true.
“Where are you two headed?” she asked.
“I’m booked to Perm, but I’m flexible. Plenty to explore out here. We might get off and sightsee if the mood strikes us. And you?”
She gave him a sly smile. “Is that an invitation?”
He gave her a shrug that was noncommittal with a hint of invitation, which only widened her smile.
She skirted over to tamer topics. “As to me, I’m headed to Moscow, off to meet some friends from my university days.”