The Lion of Justice (The Bodyguard series Book 2), page 22
“Syrjänen—or rather—Yuri’s friend should call me Usko.” Syrjänen’s amicability had been well rehearsed and was almost genuine. “How’s the art making going?”
Instead of responding, Yuri blushed and said a few words in Russian to Julia. She shrugged and said, “Ne hotsit,” not feeling like it, which made Trankov blush even more.
“It’s great to have Yuri here as my interpreter. You see, I was never good with languages, and I dropped out of school at fourteen. But hey, I’ve done pretty well for myself, right? Are you a professional model?” Syrjänen asked me.
“No. I work at a restaurant.”
I’m sure the ministers had told their buddy and financer Usko Syrjänen about the reasons why his boat had been blown up, but I suspected I was just a minor character for Syrjänen, not the lover of the man who destroyed his boat.
“Good, good. You know, we sometimes have these big parties, and we could use some additional staff. Give Hanna your phone number.” Syrjänen was acting like a good guy.
Julia paused the DVD, freezing the cowboys and women clad in corsets as they rode away from the Indians.
“Let’s go eat,” I told Trankov as I slipped my arm around his waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I felt like he was expecting me to behave this way. Syrjänen said something under his breath about us meeting again later, but the movie was in full swing again before we’d left the room.
Hanna had set the table with salad, bread, and wineglasses. The cheese smelled stronger now, mixing with the fragrance of the white wine. I was pretty sure I was drooling by the time Trankov pulled out a chair for me and began to uncork the bottle of wine. The bread looked homemade, and besides the usual fixings the salad had avocado, mushrooms, and roasted cashews in it. I decided to trust that the oil and vinegar bottles weren’t spiked with something while I piled my plate high. Hanna appeared in front of us like a homely hostess straight out of the old black-and-white movies I used to watch with our neighbor, Maija Hakkarainen. These were exactly the types of people I had to keep an eye on. My classmate Edgardo had gotten himself into big trouble when his client, an oil millionaire from Miami, hired a friendly looking gray-haired lady to help around the house. She had worked for his ex-wife and turned out to be the best blackmailer around. Edgardo had been so upset that he wanted to share this information with all of us, and of course Mike Virtue told him off for breaching confidentiality.
The wine was chilled and tasted like currants. The mushrooms were freshly picked, and the avocados were just ripe enough.
“I hope you’re better company than that man in Sans Nom last Friday,” I told Trankov as I finished my plate. “We were so booked that Helinä had to seat you two together.”
“What man?” Trankov looked confused. “Oh, that man. No, I didn’t mind him.”
“Helinä said he was being rude.”
“I don’t know. We didn’t really talk.”
I remembered seeing a heated exchange of words on the security cameras, but I didn’t say anything. All I needed to know was that Trankov wouldn’t tell me everything.
“It looks like you enjoy working for Syrjänen,” I said. “At least the perks are great,” I continued as Hanna brought over the pot of fondue and cubed pieces of bread.
“Usko genuinely appreciates me and trusts my skills,” Trankov said.
“So what are you two working on now?” I asked while I stabbed a piece of bread with my fork and spun it in the bubbling cheese. I’d once tried making fondue, but I had burned it so badly I had to throw away the pot.
“Sorry, my dear. It’s a secret. But it’ll be huge and something you’ve never seen before. We’re marching straight into the future, the 2100s. I get to use my imagination to the fullest in the designs.”
“Is it in Finland?”
“Yes. And not too far from where we’re sitting,” Trankov said.
I wondered how much I had to tease and seduce him to find out more. How stupid could I pretend to be, and how thick could I lay it on before Trankov realized something was up? Back in the bar Ateljée at Hotel Torni, he had been boasting about designing zoning plans and artwork he’d paint directly on the walls.
The fondue filled me up quickly, and I had to start pacing myself after a couple of forkfuls. Trankov had finished his glass of wine and poured me some, too, although I had managed to take only a few sips. I raised my glass and smiled at him. I didn’t know who this act was more for: myself or Trankov. Pretty boys like him had never been my favorites. David had never been a nice-looking man, and he didn’t take good care of his skin, but he was still damned sexy. I told myself to stop making these comparisons. Trankov was easy to spend time with and was just a source for information and occasional fun.
“Why do you like lynx?” he asked.
I’d only told my closest friends and lovers about Frida. That information was just too intimate to share.
“I just do. Native Americans believe in totem animals. Maybe the lynx is mine.”
Trankov extended his hand to touch mine, still gripping the stem of the wineglass.
“They’re fine animals. I saw them a couple of times near Vorkuta,” he said.
“Is that right? They usually stay out of sight.”
“I used to ski late on winter evenings and would go deep into the forest to watch the stars. I’d sit silently as long as I could. I saw all kinds of things. When you’re cold enough, you can even see angels. I only caught a glimpse of ears and a tail when one sniffed me out and turned away. The other one I saw was standing near a cliff before it went after its prey. That’s the one in the painting with you.”
I was just about to launch into Frida’s story when Hanna walked in to check on the fondue and make sure the contents hadn’t burned. Once she was gone, Trankov asked about my training. I told him the kind of details about the academy in Queens that wouldn’t have made Mike Virtue pull his hair out.
“I’ve never been to New York. Will you go there with me and show me around?” Trankov asked.
I was about to answer when I heard steps approaching the kitchen. Usko Syrjänen appeared in the dining room, rolling his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re still having dinner. I’ll join you for a glass of wine. Julia won’t want any—she says it makes her fat.” Syrjänen poured himself a glass and sat next to me at the table. Trankov blushed again, and I couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or pleased.
Syrjänen started talking about the weather, pondering whether there’d be a lot of snow this winter or if he could take the boat out all year. I wanted to ask him about I Believe 2, but I remained quiet. I was at Trankov’s mercy here; if he’d told his host I was somehow connected with the man who had blown up his boat, I would’ve been in trouble. Maybe Trankov enjoyed having his own little secrets.
“Is your boat out somewhere?” I asked Syrjänen.
“It’s in Helsinki. I’ll bring it over when I have some time, or Yuri can do it. Do you like boating?”
“I only row, and I’m more of a camping person.” I sipped my wine and calculated my risks. “Speaking of which, there are surprisingly nice spots for hiking and mushroom hunting here near Helsinki. Nuuksio and Porkkalanniemi are fairly populated, but when I get to Kopparnäs, I’m hardly bothered by other people,” I said.
Syrjänen wrinkled his brow at the mention of Kopparnäs, but I couldn’t draw any conclusions from that.
“I used to have a cabin near Kopparnäs, and I went there often. I got to know many of the mushroom-hunting grounds,” I kept on babbling. “Are you familiar with that area? I know there were plans to build a nuclear power plant there about forty years ago. Quite a safety issue so close to the capital.”
Trankov looked embarrassed. Syrjänen, on the other hand, smiled at me.
“Kopparnäs. I’ve been there a couple of times. Nice place. So you know it well, you’re saying? Hey, Yuri, what do you say we bring Hilja along when we’re out there enjoying the view? We could use an experienced guide who knows where the best mushrooms are hiding. Those mushrooms might turn out to be a key player,” Syrjänen said.
“A key player for what?” I asked. “Are you planning on starting a business for nature lovers?”
“We’ll see about that.” Syrjänen’s smile was even wider than before. “A rolling rock gathers no moss. No venture, no gain. You need to have ballsy ideas that others think are impossible. Those are the ideas that bring innovation into this stale world. And when you have good connections, you can do anything. Right, Yuri? Do you think this young lady has local knowledge we could use?”
Trankov was practically squirming in his seat and quickly changed the topic to his painting, asking if Syrjänen wanted to see it. He obviously didn’t want me to talk with Syrjänen about Kopparnäs. Once we were finished with the fondue, we all went to the studio.
“Did you draw those sketches we talked about?” Syrjänen asked Trankov as he opened the door.
“Yes, I did. Let’s look at them some other time. I don’t want to bore Hilja with business,” Trankov said and turned on the lights. In the glow the painting looked hyperrealistic and cheap, nothing like what I had seen. But Syrjänen seemed pleased.
“Perfect. Just think about it. What an amazing idea these unique, customized wall paintings are. We can negotiate with customers about them while we are building for them. Can we use this painting as an example of what we are capable of?” Syrjänen asked.
“As an example of what?” I asked, but Trankov interrupted me.
“This painting belongs to Hilja. I already promised it to her. I’ll paint you another example.”
I couldn’t quite read Syrjänen’s face. He walked around the studio lifting sheets and looking at tubes of paint. Trankov put his arm around me. His embrace felt like shackles. The idea of staying in the studio for the night with Trankov didn’t seem nearly as appealing as before. Had I had too much wine to hop behind the wheel and drive away?
“Do Russians like this sort of figurative art?” Syrjänen had pulled out a framed canvas that featured a man wearing a fur hat, driving a horse and buggy.
“Russians like all sorts of art. Don’t worry. I can handle all styles, even iconic painting. We just have to have them blessed in a church.”
An expert in painting and an architect. Pretty good for a twenty-six-year-old, especially as Trankov had worked some of his life under his father, Paskevich. I felt his arms and wished Syrjänen would go away. The wind picked up outside, and the skylights reflected the swaying strands of light inside.
“Hilja is not just a model and a restaurateur,” Trankov suddenly said. “She’s also graduated from a security academy in New York as a bodyguard. You told me once you didn’t want Julia to walk alone in public. She’d have a good bodyguard in Hilja.”
I shoved Trankov away, and he grunted.
“That was years ago. These days I’m exclusively working for the restaurant,” I said.
Syrjänen looked curious.
“My, you’re a multitalented woman,” Syrjänen said. “And you know what? I have been thinking about Julia’s safety. She still has some unfinished business back in St. Petersburg, and it’s not that far from Finland. Should we talk about this a bit further? We could really use you in my company, Uskon Asia. I can offer a competitive salary. Maybe we could work out a contract?”
20
I was about to say something when Syrjänen’s cell phone rang. He had Queen’s “We Are the Champions” as a ringtone.
“That’s right. I’ll be right there,” Syrjänen said in English, hung up, and then cursed in Finnish. “That Julia is so goddamned jealous, but you might get along if you get to know her. I have to go now. Maybe we’ll go on a trip together later, perhaps in Kopparnäs. We could take I Believe 2.”
I Believe 2 was about three feet longer than the boat David had destroyed. I didn’t even know where a long boat like that could moor in Kopparnäs. He must’ve dragged along a motorboat that allowed him to reach shallow shores.
“I’ll get in touch with you, Hilja,” Syrjänen said and walked away.
I waited for a minute before I yelled at Trankov. “What the hell was that about? You blabbing to him about my past? Those days are over!”
“But are they, Hilja? I don’t think you’re satisfied working as an errand girl for a restaurant. Just think about all the fun we could have working together—and outside of work.” Trankov tried to hug me again, but I shook him off and went to the restroom.
Behind the locked door I thought of how many glasses of wine I had finished and realized I shouldn’t drive. Trankov had kept filling my glass at dinner.
Trankov had put on music, and I didn’t recognize the melancholy instrumental waltz. It sounded very Russian. He’d dimmed the lights and sat on the couch with his head hanging off the back, eyes closed. I sat next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. We didn’t speak. The waltz changed into another, and then to a melody with an accordion. Trankov quietly hummed the melody into my ear.
“Are you sad?” he asked when the accordion changed into a cello.
“Why would I be?”
“Because of Stahl.”
“Why do you keep talking about him? Forget about him already,” I snapped and kissed Yuri. Since the grand opening at Sans Nom, I had felt this desire for revenge ooze out of him. Maybe this was his way of getting back at me for my beating him up in Bromarf—seduce me and forever twist the knife in the wound David had opened.
Our kiss ended when Yuri moved positions on the couch and rested his head on my lap. I waited for his next move, but nothing happened. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind of everything but the music. The minor notes comforted me. Yuri’s head felt warm against my thighs, and sitting like this, silently, felt more intimate than having sex.
“Have you ever been in prison?” Yuri’s question surprised me. He’d turned onto his back and petted my cheek.
“No. I don’t think I’d like it.”
“I’ve been told that prisons here in Finland are a piece of cake. You get your personal television set and everything. I was worried I’d be jailed for that kidnapping, and that’s why we left with Fath—Paskevich so quickly. Then we realized we could’ve just as easily sued you.”
“And that’s why you were allowed to enter the country again? Were you talking with lawyers?”
“Valentin called one day and said the militia reported we were safe to travel to Finland again.”
He was right. My intrusion to the villa in Bromarf could’ve earned me a charge or two, although my endgame had been to release Helena Lehmusvuo, but that case was already closed. According to Laitio, Paskevich had not crossed the border between Finland and Russia since then, and the Bromarf villa had been sold.
“How about you? Do you have any experience with prisons?”
“It was just a misunderstanding. And I learned from it.” Trankov’s face was grave, although he was the one who’d brought up the subject. “There was this demonstration, and I was accidentally a part of it. I was so naïve I didn’t think it was dangerous. The next thing I knew, the militia was clubbing me and dragging me away in handcuffs.” He shuddered.
“What was the demonstration about?” I asked.
“Against Putin. It was during his first term as president. We were kept in prison for almost two weeks. I was allowed one phone call. Valentin refused to help me. He admires Putin. He thought it served me right to pay a heavy price for my own stupidity. I was eventually released, with a fine of a thousand rubles. I didn’t even ask Valentin for the money. I sold my phone and painted a couple of quick paintings that I sold at the subway stations. If I hadn’t paid the fine, I would’ve been thrown in jail.”
Trankov sounded bitter. Laitio had told me about Trankov’s childhood in a Russian orphanage, and from what I had heard, they were pretty close to prisons, too. I had to be careful. I didn’t want to know everything about Yuri.
“I never want to live in Russia again. They broke two of my ribs in jail. The police claimed I had stumbled when they arrested me. Syrjänen promised to help me with a resident permit, and when I’ve been in Finland long enough, I’ll apply for citizenship. I’m pretty sure I’ll get it, seeing how much work I have to do here,” Trankov said.
“Do you still keep in touch with your father?” I asked.
“No. He never acknowledged me as his son, never gave me his name.”
When I let out a laugh, Yuri looked hurt. “I assume nobody told you what your father’s name means in Finnish?” I translated it into English—“shit joke”—and explained what sort of association any Finn who heard the name would have.
Yuri smiled. I couldn’t help but lean over and kiss him. Then I began to undress him, turning him on, pulling him into my lips, inside me, underneath me, above me. We fell off the couch, and the floor felt warm. Yuri let out that strange weeping sound again, and I bit him on his chest and wouldn’t let go until I came. Then I let myself relax completely. I would’ve fallen asleep on the couch if it hadn’t been so hard. Yuri folded out the couch and found us a sheet, blankets, and pillows. We fell asleep next to each other, my back against his belly, arms wrapped around each other, his lips against my neck. I don’t remember dreaming.
When I woke up in the morning, Yuri was already awake. He stood naked next to the bed and pointed a gun at me. My gun.
“Why did you bring this with you? Don’t you trust me?” His eyes looked like they did at the grand opening, brimming with hatred.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, although it wouldn’t have protected me from bullets.
“I don’t trust anyone,” I said.
“But you’ll sleep with someone you don’t trust?”
“Don’t give me lectures about morals! Are you telling me you don’t have a gun or two in this studio and a few more in the main building? I doubt Syrjänen’s business partners are innocent and pure, so I’m sure you must be prepared for them. No?”
