Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [70]
Now the Texan was speaking. She seamlessly switched into Russian, glancing at her watch. It would soon be five. She couldn’t see this meeting lasting much longer. Velichkovsky would want to start the eating and drinking soon enough. Only after everyone had been lubricated with bottles of vodka would the real haggling and deal making take place. This was, as Velichkovsky had once told her with a lecherous grin, just so much foreplay.
This had also been the same time he’d suggested a significant promotion would be hers if she’d just join him on a foreign trip and see to his every need. His last traveling mistress had done well for herself, he’d pointed out. Ivana had been firm in her rejection and expected to be punished, but he’d just laughed, patted her good-naturedly on the back, and called her his his “good girl.”
The years of marriage to Vladimir had been demanding, far more demanding than her young heart had ever imagined. In many ways her father had been right in his advice, and she’d come to understand he’d spoken out of love for her rather than a dislike of Vladimir. She’d labored at one menial job after another, usually two or three at a time, to support them. Finally, she’d taken a job cleaning the offices of Interport, Inc., one of the new American companies that had set up business in Moscow.
The company, concerned with security, had supervised all the cleaning and maintenance staff with one of their own, a good-natured third-generation Russian Jew from New York, named Annie. “Actually it’s Anastasya,” she’d said when they first met, “but only my grandmother calls me that.”
Over the following months, the two women had grown quite close. Annie came to respect Ivana and her self-sacrifice enormously. “You can’t keep cleaning rooms,” she told her. “You’ll turn into one of those stooping old women.” When she’d learned that Ivana spoke fluent Italian and Spanish and had studied English in school, she’d immediately switched to English and, when talking to her, drilled Ivana repeatedly whenever she mispronounced a word. Within six months she announced, “You’re good enough to interpret if you want. I could recommend you.”
“Oh, no. I make too many mistakes.” The thought of the better pay as an interpreter excited her, but she was self-conscious of her remaining errors when speaking English.
“Don’t be silly. You should hear the cow they’re using now.”
The new job had lasted less than a year before the American company closed its doors, deciding the cost of doing business in Russia was more than it wanted to pay. By then, Ivana’s English was nearly colloquial, and she’d been recommended for the job at Yukos.
Ivana considered herself lucky. Her petite, firm body still reflected the years of ballet training she’d put in before giving it up for Vladimir. If her smile was reluctant, it could be dazzling in effect. Though a pessimist by nature, she viewed herself as a realist. Russians had never had a break. It was their fate. To expect anything different was stupidity. The best they could hope for was a small niche of comfort and a measure of uncertain security.
Though the cramped apartment and the often noisy building was beginning to wear on her, Vladimir gave her the most concern. She marveled at how he’d managed to crawl out of his hole of despair and find a new life for himself with computers. These past months he’d started making significant money, and she was sure they’d be moving as soon as she could find a suitable apartment.
But the more success Vladimir enjoyed, the greater his ego had grown. At times she considered it to be out of control. He could be unbearable in his arrogance. Then there were his employers. She knew he’d worked for a time with the Russian Mafia, but she was certain he’d stopped. Yet when he’d been offered a job by more than one legitimate company, he’d refused them all. When she’d suggested her speaking to Boris Velichkovsky on his behalf, he’d become enraged and accused her of sleeping with her boss. She’d