Sands of Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

kidnapped?
    “I can’t catch it, Genye. What are they staying?”
    Genye pulled the van into the right lane, put it into fifth gear. Sarai had to admit, having Genye at the helm pumped calm into her veins. The fifty-something former-soldier, former-pilot, now-pastor had courage, as well as savvy behind his gentle brown eyes, and more than once he’d stepped between her and trouble from the locals. Not that trouble brewed thick in their tiny village. Smolsk had a total population of three thousand, including the outlying hunters and farmers. Still, the gangs had their own toehold, and like to play their version of mafia extortion. The cute, freckled American with an optimistic smile seemed to be their favorite target.
    Too bad for them that, long ago, she’d made friends with the local militia, mostly by treating their chief for a long-time gastric disorder. Something that netted her a standing smile and unquestioned protection. And one shouldn’t put too much trust in freckles. Behind those sun kisses was a woman who might be tiny, but who paid attention when David tried to teach her tae kwon do, as evidenced by her on-her-feet thinking outside the Bednov’s apartment.
    And Genye was always there backing her up, and watching her “six,” as David would say.
    Not that she especially needed a hero, however. Sarai had learned over the past three years how to maneuver through Russia on her own. She even had a Russian driver’s license. She learned long ago that any sort of help she might need came with strings…and concerns attached.
    Probably why she avoided heroes—real ones, with hazel-green eyes and sandy brown hair and enough muscles stacked in his arms to make a girl want to hang on forever.
    Oops. There she went again, dreaming of Roman Novik. She should have thought of those arms before she slammed the door on Roman’s beautiful smile and gone chasing after her noble ambitions. Or had she been simply running from her darkest fears?
    Whatever.
    The Irkutsk skyline flickered with flames against the encroaching night. The air smelled of burning oil, and she could still hear the occasional pop of gunfire.
    Genye reached over, turned down the chatter on the radio. “Governor Kazlov is dead. Or at least, that’s whatthey’re saying. He’s disappeared. In the meantime, Governor-elect Bednov has taken control.”
    “It’s a coup!” Sarai sat back in the seat, feeling a tremor work its way through her. “I can’t believe it.” It was Moscow, August 1991 all over again. The rumble of tanks into Red Square. She felt the old panic rise from the hidden places and claw at her calm.
    “The Underground Pravda has rumored that Bednov’s been assembling his own army for some time. I can’t believe they elected him,” Genye continued.
    Anya spoke, her voice tight. “I can’t believe you’ve been reading that rag, again.”
    “It’s the only truly free press, even in today’s Russia.” Genye swerved around an open manhole.
    Anya yelped. “Evgeny Pomochnov! Slow down.”
    Genye glanced at his wife, but Sarai saw no movement to heed her command. A small smile touched Sarai’s lips. These two might be her right and left hands, but the power struggle between them made for lively discussions around a perog and a carafe of hot chai, and she often wondered who, exactly, was in charge.
    “Besides, Bednov is a good man,” Anya continued after a moment. Sarai heard the clenched jaw stance in Anya’s words. “It’s the conservatives with the armies—old hard-liners who think we’d be better off turning around and heading back into the age of Stalin. They’re behind this.”
    “No. Listen to me, Anya. Bednov is a former Communist. Don’t believe a word he says. The UP says he’s going to tighten borders, kick out the foreign investors, clamp downon smuggling and black market crime, and destroy the mafia.”
    “There’s no black market anymore, Genye. We live in a free economy. But as for mafia, well it