The Russian's Greed by Cap Daniels (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

thousands ofdollars. “Perhaps one or two more, but I can’t be certain yet.”

He impatiently drummedhis fingers on the table. “When you are certain you’ve found themall, come find me. I will be in the vault or in my office, which isdirectly opposite your office. I have something special for you towork on.”

Without another word,Anya moved her light back into place and returned to her task ofmatching stones.

Another half hour ofpeering through her magnifying loupe yielded three more matches. Withthe unmatched stones back in their velvet bags, she stretched, turnedoff her light, and rubbed her eyes.

The electric kettle hadthe distilled water hovering just below two hundred degrees when shespooned in the honey and dipped the teabag. As she turned to go insearch of Volkov, she paused, turned back to the kettle, and pouredanother mug.

Viktor Volkov’soffice was exactly where he’d said, but it most certainly was not amirror image of Anya’s workspace. His desk looked like the deck ofan aircraft carrier, and glass cases with some of the world’srarest stones lined the walls.

He motioned for her tohave a seat as he finished a phone call in German, then he laid thehandset back into its cradle. “How many more did you find?”

She placed the secondmug of tea on his desk. “Three, but there are other near matchesthat may be close enough for earrings that will never be seen closetogether.”

Volkov ignored the mugand turned away, apparently studying a Russian religious icon hangingwhere a window would’ve been if his office were atop one ofManhattan’s ubiquitous skyscrapers instead of nestled in the cornerof a vacant warehouse on the Upper East Side. He stood and ran hisfinger along the edge of the clear glass case housing the metal frameof the icon. “Have you ever heard of Andrei Rublev?”

Anya scoured hermemory. “I have not.”

“I’m not surprised.His name is known only to historians of Russian art and the mostpious of Russian Orthodox scholars. Rublev was born in thirteensixty. The exact date of his death is unknown, but most scholarsbelieve he died between fourteen twenty-seven and fourteen thirty. Heis the most important painter of Russian icons who ever lived. Everyother icon ever painted would be compared to his work, and all wouldpale in comparison. Do you know why I’m telling you this story?”

She took a drink tohopefully buy enough time to think of a reasonable answer. After along swallow, she said, “I do not.”

Volkov held the pads ofhis fingers against his lips, kissed them, and then pressed them tothe icon’s airtight enclosure. “Because no matter how manythousands of icon painters came after Rublev, none could match theperfection of his work. He was finally glorified in nineteeneighty-eight. Do you know what this means?”

“No, I am sorry. I donot.”

Volkov spent a longmoment of silence staring at the priceless religious artifact. “Itmeans the Moscow Patriarchate officially recognized him as a saint.”He turned from the painting and settled back into his luxuriouschair. “Thank you for the tea.” Volkov touched the mug to hislips and let the smell of the aromatic tea fill his nostrils. Withouttasting the steaming liquid, he said, “There is no such thing.”

A pained expressionovertook Anya’s face. “There is no such thing as what, a saint?”

Finally, he let thewarm liquid flow across his tongue and down his throat. “No, myangel, saints are quite real, and anyone who believes otherwise is afool. What doesn’t exist is the concept of ‘close enough.’ Yousee, thousands, perhaps even millions, of icons have been paintedsince the fourteenth century, but none have been close enough to thework of Rublev to gain their creator’s glorification.”

Anya leaned back in herchair, studying Volkov’s cryptic words. “Is the same true ofdiamonds?”

Volkov raised his mugand smiled broadly. “You were paying attention. Forget about ‘closeenough.’ Either stones match, or they do not.”

He slid a key into ametallic mechanism behind his desk and produced three diamonds, eachsignificantly larger than any Anya had matched in the previous twodays. He clamped each of the stones into locking tweezers and slidthem across the desk. Without being told to do so, Anya lifted eachprecious stone to her eye and examined them closely. When she’dnearly committed each one to memory, she slid the loupe into herother hand and examined the three stones with her left eye.

Volkov watched,intrigued. “Why did you change eyes?”

Anya stood, pocketedthe loupe, and replaced the clamped diamond to the desk. “Stand anddance with me.”

“What do you mean,dance with you?”

She stepped away fromthe desk and held up her arms in the perfect ballroom dancer’sframe. “Come, come. Dance with me.”

Hesitantly, Volkovstood, stepped into her frame, and felt her right hand fold over hisleft. She softly hummed the Viennese Waltz and made the opening step.“You are wonderful dance partner, Viktor.”

“As are you, but Ifail to see—”

“Shh. Just dance. Andnow, close right eye.”

He did as sheinstructed, and as soon as she was confident his eye was trulyclosed, she moved her left hand to his cheek and laid the blade ofthe knife she’d been palming against the skin of his face. “Now,open both eyes, but do not stop dancing.”

He reopened his eye andcaught the glisten from the tip of the razor-sharp blade. In aninstant, he recoiled and retreated several steps. “What is wrongwith you?”

She smiled and sheathedthe small blade. “Nothing is wrong with me, but when we choose tosee the world with only one eye, we often overlook many of itsdangers.”

The look on his facemade it clear he never expected his ‘angel’ to bear a sword ofany length. “Why do you have a knife?”

“Because I ambeautiful girl in dangerous city . . . Or perhaps I am dangerous girlin beautiful city.”

Volkov returned to hisseat, never taking his eyes from Anya. He motioned toward the stoneson the desk. “Have you memorized these diamonds?”

“I have.”

“Good. Come with me,but keep that knife out of your hands.”

She followed him fromthe office and into the vault, where he pulled a ring of keys fromhis pocket. He opened a small door in the back wall of the vault andwithdrew a velvet pouch from inside. Anya took the pouch from hishand and poured its contents onto the table. As