The next morning, Anton arrived from London.
Jane heard the helicopter before she saw it — a distant thumping growing louder, then the chop of rotors directly above, and she watched from the library window as a sleek black helicopter descended onto a cleared area behind the east wing. Two figures climbed out, one of whom she recognised from the study as the compact, sharp-featured man who appeared to be Dimitri's right hand.
The second figure was a woman.
Tall, red-haired, somewhere in her late thirties, and dressed in the kind of suit that said 'I don't need your approval but I've taken it anyway.' She walked with the focused authority of someone who had somewhere to be and would cut through walls to get there.
"Irina," Jane said, as the housekeeper passed through the library with a tray. "Who is the woman who just arrived?"
Irina set down the tray. "Natasha Volkov," she said, in a tone that conveyed a significant amount of information without conveying any of it explicitly. "Mr. Volkov's cousin."
"His cousin," Jane repeated. "She's involved in... all of this?"
Irina looked at her with the calm of a woman who had worked in this house for twenty years. "Natasha," she said carefully, "has her own interests. They do not always align with Dimitri's." She picked up the tray. "It would be best, I think, for you to stay in the library today."
Jane absorbed this recommendation. Then she went to the library, settled into her chair, and turned to chapter three of her book.
Twenty minutes later, the library door opened and Natasha Volkov stood in it, regarding Jane with the focused attention of a woman taking inventory.
"You," Natasha said, "are the girl."
Jane looked up from her book. "I am a girl," she agreed. "Whether I'm the girl depends on the context."
Something moved in Natasha's expression that might, under different circumstances, have been appreciation. She crossed the room with long, deliberate strides and sat down in the chair opposite Jane without invitation.
"I'm going to be direct with you," Natasha said.
"Please."
"My cousin has never—" She stopped, reassembled her sentence. "Dimitri has operated for fifteen years without a personal vulnerability. He has been effective precisely because nothing and no one could be used against him." She looked at Jane with those sharp, assessing eyes. "You represent a liability."
"I'm aware," Jane said. "He kidnapped me because of it. The logic is flawed but I follow it."
"I'm not here to discuss Dimitri's methods." Natasha leaned forward. "I am here to understand what you intend."
Jane set down her book. "What I intend."
"Do you plan to stay? Leave? Report him to authorities? Pursue — other options?"
"I haven't been given the choice of staying or leaving," Jane said. "As for reporting him — not yet. As for other options—" She looked at Natasha steadily. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not asking because you're concerned about my wellbeing?"
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then: "My cousin has weaknesses he hasn't identified yet. I find it useful to understand the nature of those weaknesses."
Jane looked at her. "You're testing whether I'm a weakness," she said slowly. "Or whether I could be something else entirely."
Natasha looked at her with an expression that was difficult to read.
"You're smarter than you look," she said finally.
"That," Jane said, picking up her book, "is a very low bar. And I suspect you're more dangerous than you're letting on." She paused. "I think we should both be honest with each other. What exactly do you want from this situation?"
Natasha Volkov looked at her for a long time.
Then she smiled, and it was, Jane thought, quite possibly the most alarming smile she had ever seen.
"I want," Natasha said softly, "exactly what I've always wanted. I want the Organisation. And I believe — until now — that no one and nothing could stop me from eventually having it." She tilted her head. "You may have just changed that calculus, Miss Williams."
The fire crackled. Outside, the snow fell.
Jane thought about chess, and sacrificial pieces, and what it meant to be in the middle of a game you hadn't been told you were playing.