The Destroyer - 26 - The Destroyer 026 - In Enemy Hands by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 2010-03-19T14:53:16+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Lud­mil­la Tch­er­no­va no­ticed a blem­ish. Two inch­es be­low and slight­ly to the left of her left breast bloomed ev­er so slight a kiss of red on the im­mac­ulate, smooth white body. The breasts rose in youth­ful firm­ness, capped by mounds so per­fect­ly round they looked as if they had been de­signed by a drafts­man’s com­pass. The waist nar­rowed in gen­tle taut­ness to creamy hips that bil­lowed just enough to es­tab­lish wom­an­hood, and no more.

The neck was a grace­ful ivory pedestal for the crown­ing gem: the face of Lud­mil­la Tch­er­no­va.

She had the kind of exquisite face that made 92

oth­er wom­en want to go back to veils. When she en­tered a room, wives would kick hus­bands in the shins just to re­mind them they were still on earth. Her smile could get a ra­bid Com­mu­nist to say mass on his knees. She made the av­er­age young Rus­sian wom­an look like a trac­tor trail­er.

She had vi­olet eyes set in the per­fec­tion of a pale sym­me­try com­posed of a grace­ful nose and lips that looked as if they were al­most ar­ti­fi­cial in their del­icate pink­ness. But that they were re­al showed when she smiled. Lud­mil­la Tch­er­no­va had four­teen dif­fer­ent smiles. Her hap­pi­ness and gen­tle ac­qui­es­cence smiles were her best. Her worst was the smile of sud­den joy. She had been work­ing on sud­den joy for a month now, watch­ing chil­dren when she gave them ice cream cones.

“Hel­lo, dear, this is for you,” she would say. And she would watch the child’s lips care­ful­ly. Sud­den joy tend­ed to take two forms. One was a de­layed ac­tion, which was very hard to get just right, and the oth­er was an ex­plo­sion of the lips, very wide. She could do the ex­plo­sion, but, as she had told her un­cle, who was a gen­er­al on the Com­mit­tee for State Se­cu­ri­ty (KGB), it lacked force, and some­times, if one looked close­ly, it could be mis­in­ter­pret­ed as cru­el­ty. She cer­tain­ly did not want to look cru­el when she in­tend­ed to ex­press sud­den joy.

She had a ma­jor of the KGB, fe­male, as­signed to her. Late­ly this ma­jor had been pick­ing up ice cream cones, clean­ing the dirt off them, and hand­ing them back to chil­dren. For as soon as Lud­mil­la had seen the smile she want­ed, she tend­ed to dis­card the cone.

“I’m not here to feed the mass­es,” she had an­swered when the fe­male ma­jor sug­gest­ed that, with a lit­tle more ef­fort, she might con­tin­ue hand­ing the ice cream cone for­ward un­til the child had a firm grasp on it. “I serve the par­ty in a dif­fer­ent way. If I want­ed to feed chil­dren, I would have be­come a nurse. And it would be a waste of a great nat­ural re­source which I have cho­sen to give to the par­ty and to the peo­ple.”

“A lit­tle kind­ness can­not hurt,” said the ma­jor, not es­pe­cial­ly known for a soft heart but who, in Lud­mil­la’s pres­ence, tend­ed to think of her­self as St. Fran­cis of As­sisi.

She was a rel­ative­ly at­trac­tive Vol­ga Ger­man with blond hair and blue eyes, clean fea­tures and an at­trac­tive body.

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