When we drove up to the airport, Anya, still spiteful and nervous, seemingly not having recovered from the Moscow reminiscences, hissed:
– Oh, if you’re deceiving me! I’ll smear you across the asphalt!
– Don’t get the wind up. Better get that little million ready.
– I’ll get it ready.
We got out of the car and headed for the left-luggage lockers. On the way I put a last question to Anya:
– How did you track me down?
– We didn’t. There was no need for it. I knew you always stay at the “Majestic”. As soon as they rang from Moscow and reported that Mamon had a fire, I gave the order to expect you any day. You flew in twenty-four hours later.
– You’re a clever woman, – I sighed, going up to locker number two hundred and forty-one. A familiar figure. It had come up somewhere once. I threw a coin into the slot and dialed the code. Then opened the little door. Anechka elbowed me aside from the contents of the locker. There weren’t many contents: a package with the seal and a notebook. In the notebook, on the first page, twelve enigmatic figures had been written in my own cunning hand.
– Will you hand over the million? – I asked.
– Of course not, – Anechka smiled.
– May I tear up the IOU?
– As you like. You can keep it as a memento.
– As a memento… – I repeated thoughtfully. – A farewell kiss would make a good memento. We did have a great time together, after all.
– Perhaps, – with a jerk Anya pressed her lips into mine.
What a regal kiss! Cleopatra! My legs nearly gave way under me. A pity the bliss lasted some two seconds. I didn’t even have time to be properly moved.
When Anechka tore herself away from me, something glinted in the corners of her eyes. A little tear? The glint of a hunter’s excitement?
– One last question, bunny, – I smiled. – The whole story was staged for the sake of eight million. That’s clear. Something else isn’t. Could you have done… well, there, on the island, you know… without the sex?
– Probably I could, – the glint in Anya’s eyes vanished. – But I didn’t want to.
I squeezed her little palm gratefully:
– Thank you.
– Don’t mention it.
– Parting as friends, bunny?
– Of course, Sash. Bye.
– Bye.
During our heartfelt farewell one of Anechka’s henchmen, the narrow-eyed one, was busying himself with the seal, checking it for authenticity.
Don’t you worry, bunnies. The seal is genuine. I couldn’t forge it. There was too little time.
Anechka tossed the package with the seal and the notebook into her handbag and was gone. I followed her with a long sentimental gaze. As soon as she had disappeared inside the “Opel”, I glanced at my watch. It was five to eleven.