Vaskov was an intelligent man according to all reports. However pride and intelligence do not always go hand in hand at times, and that day he was showing little of his intelligent side. He fingered the thick cream envelope - he had always attended this event, and a few threats on his life and concern for his safety did not warrant staying away from such a public event. In fact it had been a miracle he had agreed to any security measures at all. He was an important man, at least he liked to think he was, and it would do his reputation no harm if he had to be seen with a few bodyguards. After all, most of the high ranking politicians had them.
He mused this thought and others involving his plans for government for a few moments. It was a matter of principle, he decided, to go to this event. He would not let it be said in the media that Vaskov was a coward. Of course, they wouldn't, he amended, there was no knowledge within the press of the increased security around the Russian Minister. They were not aware of biological weapons, and other such threats, it was mere speculation to them. He puffed his chest out at the thought in his involvement in such a sensitive situation, they would know that Vaskov was no mere junior minister to be trifled with and threatened. He would not play such silly games.
Of course, it would be better if he could be seen with a few of those large oafs that paraded around in sunglasses, muttering into radios and denying people access to their precious ward. However low key was the idea according to his security advisor, who had nearly had heart attack when informed that Vaskov still intended to attend the ballet that evening. Low key, and British. A sneer came onto the Minister's rather weak upper lip. British Secret Service. Ha. What did the British know about security, they were as bad as those blasted Americans, with their involvement in the Cold War and silly passwords and secret agents. No, he thought, the KGB had been a far more organised operation. He sighed, damn political diplomacy. Damn the British, damn their secret agents, he would not be ordered around by some silly stiff upper lipped, tea drinking, ex public school boy Englishman. Even if he was accompanied by Vasili Dmitrov. This was at least agreeable to the Minister, Dmitrov was a well known and hard working agent, he could be trusted to keep the English in line and in deference to Vaskov and his power.
Vaskov leaned back in his expensive leather chair and cracked his knuckles. He was rather looking forward to tonight. He had always fancied his chances with Lucinda Elliot as well, perhaps tonight his luck would be in.
The Cold War might have finished a decade earlier, but it still waged between Bond and Ashleigh. Suspending hostilities for the evening at least, Bond, suave and dark in a beautifully cut dinner jacket, took her arm as she stepped from the car and onto the steps below the Mariinsky. Looking up at the pretty pastel building, and feeling the night air surround her, Ashleigh gave a small shiver of anticipation. James felt it, and glanced down at his goddaughter, seeing her burn with an inner glow he had never seen before. Pale coffee coloured satin slid from one shoulder to fall to the ground, skimming over her curves, her other shoulder, left bare was suddenly dotted with goosebumps that were not down to the cold. She pulled her sheer gold wrap tighter around her, not noticing the admiring glances from the men nearby. Breathing in James could smell a rich warm scent unlike the cool perfume she usually wore, and the heat of her skin intensified it until it surrounded him, her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes glittered. Quickly, making sure she was safely footed on the slippery steps, James dropped her arm as if it would burn him, he had never seen Ashleigh like this before, languorous and intoxicating, her sensuality on display for every man to see. It was a far cry from the child he had known and he could not meet her hazy eyes. Disturbed he stepped back away from her, letting Dmitrov and Ashleigh enter the building first.
The plan was to separate. Dmitrov and Bond would sit in a private box, observing everything and watching for Deronda. Ashleigh, posing as the Russian Minister's escort, would sit with him in the Grand Circle where they could be seen, but would be safer than the exposed boxes or stalls.
