Zuwayy was dangerous, even unstable, Kazakov thought. He was a warmonger, ready to lash out at anyone, for any reason or no reason at all. He hoped Zuwayy would keep it together long enough, until the delicate negotiations with the Central African Petroleum Partners were concluded. Libyan forces were just a subtle threat to Egypt, and vice versa—neither country had any semblance of a real fighting force. But if anyone tried to attack Libya, the rockets were in place and ready to completely wipe out any opposition and guarantee that no outside forces were going to interfere.

In any case, Kazakov was going to get enough of a foothold in the African oil market to force out the other companies and eventually take over. He didn’t have the power he had just a few short months ago—but it was just a matter of time. Once firmly in place in Africa, with the money pouring in, he could move back into the vast untapped oil resources in the Caspian Sea region again.

He was so engrossed in his own heated thoughts that he did not notice Ivan a Vasilyeva standing beside his desk, staring at him. Her full red lips were parted as if she were panting heavily, and her eyes were wide and glassy. He smiled at her.

“You speak to other men, even this king of Libya, as if he were a street sweeper who had just soiled your shoes,” Vasilyeva breathed. Her left hand drifted up to her breast, and her fingers teased a nipple underneath her sweater. “You are an extraordinary man. I am pleased that you have chosen me to be by your side.”

He stood, walked over to her, reached behind her head with his left hand, and yanked her chin upward by pulling her hair. Her left hand did not move from her breast, so he fondled her right breast until her nipple sprang to fife. “I keep you here with me because of your contacts in the Russian government and army,” Kazakov said. He looked into her eyes as they grew wider, as if in fear, but her breathing was becoming heavier, more excited. “I also keep you here because you can kill faster and more efficiently and in more ways than I.”

He pushed her aside roughly, then took his seat once again. “Stop this foolishness and straighten up, Major,” Kazakov ordered her. She stood before him, watching him with half-closed eyes, her expression contrite yet inviting at the same time. “I do not believe for one moment that you get orgasmic just by watching me yell at a strutting simpleton like Zuwayy. He is not one-tenth the soldier or leader you are—if he was, I would send you to Tripoli and have you assassinate him immediately. He is a bug to be squashed as soon as he fulfills his part, which is to force either a settlement or a war between the central African oil cartels and us. Your job is to watch my back and collect information, not to play with yourself in my office. If I need a whore, I’ll call one.”