Page 74 of Ascendent
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I will see you soon. I promise.”
The line cut.
* * *
“Mr. President?”Yuri gently closed Sergey’s office door behind him.
Sergey stifled a groan as he looked up. He wasn’t ready to face Yuri. Not now, not ever. He’d ridden back to Moscow with Ilya, and Yuri had driven a separate truck back to the Kremlin. He didn’t want to face his bodyguard who knew too much, who had too many secrets. He was raw in front of Yuri, exposed. Yuri had the power to crush him. Politically. Personally.
Vulnerability made his stomach slither, made him want to send Yuri away. Or keep him close. He didn’t know what he wanted.
“Mr. President, I couldn’t help but overhear,” Yuri rumbled. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Mr. Andreyev has been found?”
“Yes. He’s on his way back to Moscow.” Sergey slid his phone up his desk. Straightened his tablet. Picked up a pen. “Was there something else?”
“Mr. Andreyev is hitchhiking? On a train?”
Yuri just wouldn’t let it go. “He encountered some difficulties getting back. He was… waylaid. Had to make other arrangements.”
“He was attacked. By the missing pilot, Grisha Utkin.”
“Did you hear the entire conversation?” Sergey snapped. “If you know everything, then why are you asking me?”
Yuri was silent. “Mr. President, I would like to request your permission to go to Novosibirsk and pick up Mr. Andreyev. We can bring him home directly. The FSB can fly out and be there to pick him up. We can be back tonight.”
He swallowed slowly through his clenched throat. Fucking hell.Why, Yuri, why are you doing this?Was this a trap? Was this a ploy?
That wasn’t entirely fair. Yuri had done everything to protect Sergey, in Andreapol and at the Kremlin, ever since he was assigned to Sergey by Ilya.
Ilya trusted Yuri.
Do I trust Ilya with Sasha’s life?
“Mr. President?”
“Yes. Go. Bring him home.” Sergey couldn’t look at Yuri as he spoke. “Be careful.”
Yuri nodded once and slipped out.
Sergey buried his face in his palms. His chest was concave, was going to collapse. His breaths were too shallow. His tie was too tight. Dammit, it was choking him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take this.
He needed to trust his security team. He needed the outbreak to be contained, for the virus to have died in Andreapol. He needed his country to get back on its feet, he needed money in his bankrupt treasury. He needed to plan for riots, for food shortages.
He ripped his tie free and flung it at the wall, undid the top buttons of his shirt. Collapsing, he rested his forehead on the edge of his desk and tried to stop the world from spinning. Tried to hang on to reality.
He needed Sasha home.
When he could breathe again, he grabbed his phone. Dialed.
Ilya picked up on the third ring. “What?”
“Tell me right now. What the fuck is going on with my security team?”
“What?” Ilya squawked. “What do you mean what’s going on with them? What are they doing?”
