“The settlement has the same name?” she asked.

“Well, the people are the spirit of the village, so why not?” he asked. He paused. “I’m thinking, assuming you can get free of your other work, maybe you could make a trip down there in the early spring. Or even February before it gets too hot.”

“I might be able to do that,” she said. “All else being equal.”

“God willing,” he said.

She agreed.

“I should mention,” she said, “one reason I’m in New York is to interview for a job here.”

“You’re leaving Treasury?” he asked with surprise.

“No, not at all,” Alex said. “FinCEN is initiating a new operation that will work out of New York. They offered me a potential promotion that would include a transfer here. I interview tomorrow.”

“I’m sure they’ll invite you to work with them here,” he said.

“And I’m sure they have fifty qualified candidates for every job that might be open,” Alex answered.

Collins snorted slightly. “Of course. You and the forty-nine runners up.”

“You’re too kind,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said, “and now I’ll be too kind again. My son asked me to continue to administer his apartment while he’s out of the country,” he said. “Chris will be gone for another four months, barring unseen circumstances. So if you’d be comfortable there in his apartment on 21^st Street or need a place on short notice, the key is yours. Just say the word, even if it’s on an hour’s notice. Lady Dora will let you in and give you the key. Hotels are so darned impersonal, aren’t they? I believe you were comfortable down on 21^st Street.”

“Very much so and thank you,” Alex said. “And I was right, you are much too kind.”

That evening Alex seated herself in Peacock Alley in the WaldorfAstoria. She selected a table for two that gave her a good view of the elegant lobby in front of her as well as the plush bar and restaurant that was to her back.

She glanced to the entrance, looking for Federov. Behind her, the bar was busy with wealthy New Yorkers and tourists, largely foreign, meeting for a drink after business, as a prelude to the theater or dinner. A waiter called on her immediately, but she declined to order until the arrival of the gentleman-she used the term loosely-who was to join her. The waiter smiled, disappeared, and returned with a small dish of nuts and pretzels. Alex scanned the lobby again. No Federov. She brought out her cell phone and riffled through the day’s calls. She returned two, finished them, glanced at her watch, and saw that it was 6:32. She looked to the lobby again.

She spotted Yuri Federov before he spotted her.

Her first impression was that something had happened to him. His face looked haggard. He seemed years older than when she had seen him last. He walked without the same self-assurance that she had previously seen in Ukraine, Switzerland, Italy, and France. As he crossed the lobby, she saw that he still had a thuggish wise-guy charm about him, if there was such a thing. But he did look, she decided, worn and troubled.

Then he spotted her. His expression changed and somewhere within him the sun seemed to emerge from clouds.

He walked directly to her, smiling broadly. “Ah,” he said. “The most beautiful woman in the world.” He extended a hand and took hers. They exchanged a clasp.

“Hello, Yuri,” she said.

He drew her close to him and wrapped her in a quick hug, then released. She went with it.

“What a pleasure this is,” he said affably, sliding his massive frame into the seat next to hers. For some reason, the image flashed before her of them together the previous February at the nightclub in Kiev, Yuri on his home turf in all his overly macho glory, she in a micro-mini dress prying him for information and getting increasingly soused as the evening went along. Well, all in an evening’s work.

Federov turned and signaled to the waiter.

“You have to try their specialty drink, ‘The Peacock,’ ” Federov said to Alex.

“Named after the Shah of Iran?” she asked, making light of it. “He would have liked this place. He used to stay here, in fact, if I remember.”

Federov laughed. “The place still stinks with Iranians,” he said. “They’re disgusting people.”

“What’s the drink?” she asked. “The Peacock. What’s in it?”

“It’s a vodka drink,” he said. “Cranberry-infused vodka and apricot brandy with a sour made from scratch. The vodka is Russian.”

“Sounds lethal,” she said.

“It is. Russians are lethal. You know that. That’s why I order it. I had three last night.”

“Well, you’re still alive,” she said.

“Ha! Just, hey.”

The waiter arrived.

“I’ll take your recommendation,” Alex said. “But I’m sure one will suffice for me,” she said.

“Two Peacocks,” Federov said to the waiter. “Make mine a double.”

The waiter nodded approvingly and departed.

Federov turned to her and smiled. Now Alex got a good look, up close and personal, and he was indeed thinner than she remembered. She couldn’t yet tell whether it was a sign of good health, vigor, and exercise or something more ominous. She dug through the repository of facts on Federov that she kept in her head and tried to recall his age. Given a moment’s thought, she reckoned he was about forty-eight or forty-nine. Not a bad age for a man, depending.

There was an awkward moment of silence between them. “So,” she said, quickly moving to fill it, “I thought I’d start with a basic question. Are you here in the United States legally?”

He laughed.

“Of course, I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to break any laws now that I have a clean slate.”

“The tax thing,” she said. “That got cleared up, I hear. Completely?”

Federov nodded. “Cleared up perfectly,” he said.

“Try to keep current in the future,” she said.

He made a dismissive gesture. “The future. What’s that?” he said. “I’m retired, enjoying the time I have left and the money I’ve stashed. I don’t make money anymore. I try only to keep track of what few millions I have. And you know I’m here legally. You’re the government and have all the computers and the records. You know I came in on a visa, and you even know where I’m staying without me telling you.”

“Touché,” she said.

“I hoped you’d get in contact but didn’t know if you would.”

“Now you know,” she said.

“Now I know, but I suspect this is business more than pleasure. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“There doesn’t seem to be surveillance on me. I appreciate that.”

“There isn’t, and it wasn’t my decision,” she said. “I’m not that powerful.”

“You are very powerful,” he said, “like opium.”

She tried to be angry but couldn’t help laughing. “I wouldn’t know about that,” she said.

“Opium is not good stuff, huh?” he said. “It eats the brain and destroys it. I’ve tried it but don’t recommend.”

“What do you recommend?” she asked, playing along.

“Vodka,” he said. And as if on cue the waiter arrived with two drinks, served in the bar’s signature glasses, which were sculpted in the shape of a beautiful woman. The waiter set the single before Alex and the double before Federov. Federov produced a fifty-dollar bill as quickly as some men can snap their fingers. He handed it to the waiter and declined change.

The waiter bowed most appreciatively.

Federov lifted his glass to Alex and switched into Russian. “Za tvajó zdaróvye,” he said. To your health.

“And to yours, Yuri,” she said, lifting her glass, clicking it to his, and reciprocating. “Za tvajó zdaróvye.”

She sipped. Federov knocked back half of his drink in one long draw. Then he set down his glass, and his gaze landed hard on her. He grinned.

“So,” he said, launching one of the lightning non sequiturs that she had come to expect from him. “Why don’t you marry me?”