Chenkov grasped her arm more tightly. “They won’t like it when they find I brought you here.” He smiled. “They’ll probably insist you remain within the Kremlin—with me.”
A big, nervous man with flabby jowls and the palest face Laniq had ever seen turned to face them.
“Vladimir,” he said, “you’re late.”
It was Georgi Malenkov.
Chenkov shrugged. “I am here.”
“And your friend?”
“She is that, a friend.”
“You shouldn’t have brought her. What do you think this is, a circus?”
“It’s a private affair. She’s harmless.”
“I’ll summon the guards and have her removed.”
“Yes? To whom do you think the guards owe their first allegiance?”
A white-smocked figure turned to look at the newcomers. “Please, Comrades. Let’s have none of this squabbling. Stalin wants to talk with us.”
“We’ll settle thi
