Ivan Rusikov called room service and ordered a magnum of vintage Taittingers champagne and two ounces each of Osetra and Beluga caviar.
“Just a snack to carry us over to dinner.”
“Come back to bed, I only want you for a snack.” Madeleine was lying naked on top of the covers. It had been easy for the sometimes charming Ivan to convince her to postpone her homecoming in exchange for a few nights of serious partying at the Hotel George V. The greater challenge proved to be persuading Ilya to leave them alone.
"But we've been doing this for hours. I need to catch my breath.” The girl was a sexual athlete and Ivan needed a respite.
“Perhaps you’re right. I want to shower before room service arrives.”
Maddie, as she liked to be called, got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom, comfortably indifferent to her nakedness. In passing she bent to kiss him allowing her full and natural breasts to brush his cheeks. Ivan, astonished by his own reaction, stood to pull her close to him. Her perfect body felt wonderful against his.
“So, should I wait to take my shower? Or, would you like to join me?”
“No. If I deny myself now I'll be even more passionate later.”
“Whatever.”
The beautiful girl smiled and disappeared into the bathroom. Ivan pulled his hotel robe around him and went to the bar to pour a glass of water. For a moment he wondered about Ilya, but Madeleine crept back into his mind and thoughts of his boring brother's activities quickly dissolved.
Two blocks away Ilya was holding court at a popular bar on the Champs Elysees. The clientele included a variety of people ranging from well off locals to world class players getting started on a night on the town. Ilya quickly picked up an entourage of friends as he bought bottle after bottle of good wine and platefuls of savory hors d’oeurves. One new acquaintance, a dark, hawkish man named Ali Mohammed al Zaribi appraised Ilya with sinister eyes. Of uncertain nationality and known as “The Sheik”, Zaribi enjoyed his self-manufactured reputation as a member of the Saudi royal family. In truth, he was a disreputable arms dealer. The Sheik never missed an opportunity to cut a fat deal for himself and even hardened Jihadists considered him a “last resort”. Two beautiful women accompanied the Sheik, one a blond haired French girl named Clara and the other a Turkish beauty he called Sevgili or “lover” in her native language. Clara sat quite close to Ilya and hung attentively on his every word.
“So, you are a computer engineer?” The man asked with insincere charm as he sipped his drink and puffed on a Davidoff cigarette.
“Yes, and you could also say I'm the best hacker in the world.” Ilya gave a sophomoric grin and emptied his wine glass. Clara smiled as she leaned against him and allowed his hand to rest halfway up her soft, tanned thigh.
“Please tell me what that means. Forgive me, but I am ignorant of computers and the programs that run them.”
“I can make any computer on the planet do whatever I want.” The well lubricated Russian surprised himself with the boldness and abruptness of his own response. He started on another glass of wine and poured more for his pretty admirer.
“Most impressive. I imagine your talent is extremely valuable.” The man exhaled a lung full of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling and wondered if this fellow was all he claimed or simply another drunk with a few euros to burn.
“I am well paid.”
“Are you working on a project now, my friend?”
“No. I just finished one and I’m on vacation. My brother and I are visiting Paris to celebrate our victory.”
“What victory, Ilya?” The sheik drank more of his scotch and gave his new acquaintance a reptilian smile.
“May 6th.”
“What about May 6th?”
“I made it happen.”
“Excellent. I salute you.” The crafty Sheik beamed in false admiration. He was thoroughly confused until a member of his entourage whispered into his ear. A broad and dangerous smile overtook Ali’s face as he leaned across the table to shake Ilya Rusikov's hand.
“Congratulations again, my friend. May I buy you a special bottle of wine to celebrate?”
“Yes, please.” Emboldened, Ilya’s hand slid higher on Clara’s thigh. His fingers approached her private territory and she did not object.
Under Ali’s clever manipulation the bonds of friendship grew quickly. If Ilya was all he claimed to be then he was a very valuable commodity. If not, he would eventually wake up in his own bed with a hangover and little recollection of the night before.
While Ilya slid ever deeper into his new friend’s web, Ivan licked a hundred dollars worth of champagne and caviar from Madeleine’s well-toned belly as she writhed seductively. The girl was a human aphrodisiac and Ivan had to remind himself not to become addicted.
17.