She stood and brushed past him, her breasts pressing against his arm. She stopped for a moment to look up at him through her thick lashes. Then she walked away, her hips swaying hypnotically.

Still, it was neither Marina Nosovitskaya’s beauty nor the strong, lingering aroma of her perfume that had Dmitri Ustinov struggling to find enough air to breathe.

Chapter 10

Mark Stern eased his bright red Porsche Boxster into the parking space that was marked PRIVATE—PARTNERS ONLY! He hopped out of the little sports car, and, despite his age, showed no stiffness at all from the morning tennis game at the club. Ignoring the KEEP OFF THE GRASS signs, he strode across the immaculate green lawn, the straightest line toward the stone and glass two-story building that was set back in a grove of large old California black oaks. From the outside, the structure resembled one of the red-roofed classroom buildings down at Stanford, but those were on the other end of Sand Hill Road. The only external difference was the discreet polished black marble slab that stood near the stone walk. The gold letters on its front read PRIVATE PACIFIC PARTNERS.

That was the only indication that this was the Palo Alto home of one of the country’s most powerful but secretive venture capital investment companies. It was no indication of the heady financial dealings that went on inside its walls.

Stern half nodded to the receptionist, ignored the open elevator doors behind her, and rushed up the stairs, taking two at a time as he headed straight to his private corner office on the second floor. He was a man on a mission this morning. The phone call he had received while en route to the office confirmed an earlier suspicion, and now it was time to do something about it.

Like the building itself, the interior of the big office was designed to impress, even awe, those who might have reason to be there. But this wasn’t the subtle understatement of power of the public spaces; this was more blatant. The huge, ornately carved mahogany desk was centered in front of a picture window that framed a sweeping view of the Silicon Valley below. A matching conference table rested in front of the other glass exterior wall, looking out on an equally stunning view, but this time of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The black calf-leather and chrome chairs gave those fortunate enough to be granted an audience here a comfortably stylish seat while they listened to the great financier pontificate from behind his desk. The two interior walls were tastefully decorated with various pieces of modern art, all originals. The dark maroon deep-pile carpet and textured wall covering added to the rich elegance of the big room. One could smell money and feel its power here.