:31 PM

He has finally understood that you cannot search out happiness at any price. Life has given him all it could, and hes beginning to see just how generous life has always been to him. Now and for the rest of his days, he will devote himself to disinterring the treasures hidden in his suffer- ing and enjoying each second of happiness as if it were his last.

He has overcome Temptation. He is protected by the spirit of the girl who understands his mission perfectly, and who is now beginning to open his eyes to the real reason for his trip to Cannes.

For a few moments in that pizzeria, while he was remembering what hed heard on those tapes, Temptation had accused him of being mentally unbalanced and of believing that anything was permitted in the name of love. His most difficult moment was, thank God, behind him now.

He is a normal person; his work requires discipline, routine, nego- tiating skills, and planning. Many of his friends say that hes become more of a loner; what they dont know is that hes always been a loner. Going to parties, weddings, and christenings, and pretending to enjoy playing golf on Sundays was merely part of his professional strategy. Hes always loathed the social whirl, with all those people concealing behind their smiles the real sadness in their souls. It didnt take him long to see that the Superclass are as dependent on their success as an addict is on his drugs, and nowhere near as happy as those who want nothing more than a house, a garden, a child playing, a plate of food on the table, and a fire in winter. Are the latter aware of their limitations, and do they know that life is short and wonder what point there is in going on?

The Superclass tries to promote its values. Ordinary people com- plain of divine injustice, they envy power, and it pains them to see others having fun. They dont understand that no one is having fun, that everyone is worried and insecure, and that what the jewels, cars, and fat wallets conceal is a huge inferiority complex.

Igor is a man of simple tastes; indeed, Ewa always complained about the way he dressed. But whats the point of buying a ridiculously expensive shirt when no one is going to see the label anyway? Whats the point of frequenting fashionable restaurants if nothing of interest is said there? Ewa used to say that he didnt talk very much at the parties and other work-related events. He tried to change his behavior and be more sociable, but none of it really interested him. He would look at the people around him talking on and on, comparing share prices, boast- ing about their marvelous new yacht, launching into long disquisitions on Expressionist painting (but really just repeating what a tour guide had told them on a visit to a Paris museum), and stating boldly that one writer is infinitely better than another (basing themselves entirely on the reviews theyve read because, naturally, they never have time to read fiction).

They are so very cultivated, so very rich, and so utterly charm- ing. And at the end of each day, they all ask themselves: Is it time I stopped? And they all reply: If I did, there would be no meaning to my life.

As if they actually knew what the meaning of life was.

Temptation has lost the battle. It wanted to make him believe that he was mad: its one thing to plan the sacrifice of certain people, quite another to have the capacity and the courage to carry it out. Temptation said that we all dream of committing crimes, but that only the unbalanced make that macabre idea a reality. Igor is well-balanced and successful. If he wanted, he could hire a professional killer, the best in the world, to carry out his task and send the requisite messages to Ewa. Or he could hire the best public relations agency in the world, and by the end of the year, hed be the talk not only of economics journals, but of magazines interested only in success and glamour. At that point, his ex-wife would weigh up the consequences of her mistaken decision, and he would know just the right moment to send her flowers and ask her to come back, all was forgiven. He has contacts at all levels of society, from businessmen whove reached the top through perseverance and hard work, to crimi- nals whove never had a chance to show their more positive side.

He isnt in Cannes because he takes a morbid pleasure in seeing the look in a persons eyes as he or she confronts the inevitable. Hes decided to place himself in the line of fire, in the dangerous position in which he finds himself now, because hes sure that every step he takes during this seemingly endless day will prove vital if the new Igor who exists within him is to be born again out of the ashes of his tragedy.

Hes always been able to make difficult decisions and to see things through, although no one, not even Ewa, has ever known what went on in the dark corridors of his soul. For many years he endured in si- lence the threats made by various individuals and groups, and he re- acted discreetly when he felt strong enough to rid himself of the people threatening him. He had learned to exercise enormous self-control so as not to be left traumatized by bad experiences. He never took his fears home with him, feeling that Ewa deserved a quiet life and to be kept in ignorance of the terrors that beset any businessman. He chose to save her from that, and yet he received nothing in return, not even understanding.

The girls spirit soothes him with that thought, then adds some- thing that hadnt occurred to him until then: he wasnt there to win back the person who had left him, but to see, at last, that she wasnt worth all those years of pain, all those months of planning, all his enor- mous capacity for forgiveness, generosity, and patience.

He has sent one, two, three messages now, and theres been no re-

action from Ewa. It would be easy enough for her to find out where hes staying, although, admittedly, phoning the five or six top hotels wouldnt help because when he checked in, he gave a different name and profession. Then again, she who seeks, finds.

Hes read the statistics. Cannes has only seventy thousand inhabi- tants, and that number usually triples during the Film Festival, but festi- valgoers all haunt the same places. Where would she be staying? Given that he had seen the two of them the previous night, she was probably staying in the same hotel and visiting the same bar. Even so, Ewa isnt prowling the Boulevard de la Croisette looking for him. She isnt phon- ing mutual friends, trying to find out where he is. At least one of those friends has all the necessary information, for Igor had assumed that the woman he thought was the love of his life would contact that friend as soon as she realized Igor was in Cannes. The friend has instructions to tell her how she can find him, but so far, there has been no news.

He takes off his clothes and gets into the shower. Ewa isnt worth all this fuss. Hes almost certain that hell see her tonight, but this is growing less and less important with each passing moment. Per- haps his mission is about something much more important than simply regaining the love of the woman who betrayed him and who speaks ill of him to other people. The spirit of the girl with the dark eyebrows reminds him of the story told by an old Afghan in a break during a battle.

After many centuries of turmoil and bad government, the population of a city high up on one of the desert mountains of Herat province was in despair. They could not simply abolish the monarchy, and yet neither could they stand many more generations of arrogant, egotistical kings. They sum- moned the Loya Jirga, as the council of wise men is known locally.

The Loya Jirga decided that they should elect a king every four years, and that this king should have absolute power. He could increase taxes, demand total obedience, choose a different woman to take to his bed each night, and eat and drink his fill. He could wear the finest clothes, ride the finest horses. In short, any order he gave, however absurd, would be obeyed, and no one would question whether it was logical or just.

However, at the end of that period of four years, he would be obliged to give up the throne and leave the city, taking with him only his family and the clothes on his back. Everyone knew that this would mean certain death within three or four days because there was nothing to eat or drink in that vast desert, which was freezing in winter and like a furnace in summer.

The wise men of the Loya Jirga assumed that no one would risk standing for the position of king, and that they would then be able to return to the old system of democratic elections. Their decision was made public, and the post of king fell vacant. Initially, several people applied. An old man with cancer took up the challenge and died during the period of his rule with a smile on his face. A madman succeeded him, but left four months later (he had misunderstood the terms) and vanished into the desert. Then rumors started going around that the throne had a curse on it, and no one dared apply for the position. The city was left without a governor, confusion reigned, and the inhabitants realized that they must forget the monarchist tradition altogether and prepare to change their ways. The Loya Jirga felt pleased that its mem- bers had taken such a wise decision. They hadnt forced the people to make a choice, they had simply got rid of those who wanted power at any price. Then a young man, married and with three children, came forward.

I accept the post, he said.

The wise men tried to explain the risks. They reminded him that he had a family and explained that their decision had merely been a way of discouraging adventurers and despots. However, the young man stood firm, and since it was impossible to go back on their decision, the Loya Jirga had no option but to wait another four years before they could put in place the planned return to elections.

The young man and his family proved to be excellent governors. They ruled fairly, redistributed wealth, lowered the price of food, organized popu- lar festivals to celebrate the change of season, and encouraged craftwork and music. Every night, though, a great caravan of horses would leave the city, drawing heavy carts covered with jute cloth so that no one could see what was inside them. These carts never came back.

At first, the wise men of the Loya Jirga thought that the king must be removing treasure from the city, but consoled themselves with the fact that the young man rarely ventured beyond the city walls; if he had and had tried to climb the nearest mountain, he would have realized that the horses would die before they got very far. This was, after all, one of the most inhospitable places on the planet. They determined that, as soon as his reign was over, they would go to the place where the horses had died of exhaustion and the riders of thirst, and they would recover all that treasure.

They stopped worrying and waited patiently.

At the end of the four years, the young man left the throne and the city. The population was in an uproar; after all, it had been a long time since they had enjoyed such a wise and just governor!

However, the Loya Jirgas decision had to be respected. The young man went to his wife and children and asked them to leave with him.

I will, said his wife, but at least let our children stay. They will then survive to tell your story.

Trust me, he said.

The tribal laws were very strict, and the wife had no alternative but to obey her husband. They mounted their horses and rode to the city gate, where they said goodbye to the friends they had made while governing the city. The Loya Jirga were pleased. They might have made many allies, but fate is fate. No one else would risk accepting the post of governor, and the democratic tra- dition would be restored at last. As soon as they could, they would recover the treasure abandoned in the desert, less than three days from there.

The family rode into the valley of death in silence. The wife didnt dare say a word, the children didnt understand what was going on, and the young man was immersed in thought. They climbed one hill, traveled for a whole day across a vast plain, and slept on the top of the next hill.

The woman woke at dawn, wanting to make the most of the final few days of her life to look her last on the mountains she had loved so much. She went up to the very top of the hill and gazed down on what should have been an empty plain, and she was startled by what she saw.

During those four years, the caravans leaving the city each night had not been carrying off jewels or gold coins. They had been carrying bricks, seeds, wood, roof tiles, spices, animals, and traditional tools that could be used to drill into the earth and find water. Before her lay a far more modern, far more beautiful city than the old one, and all in working order.

This is your kingdom, said the young man, who had just woken up and joined her. Ever since I heard the decree, I knew it would be pointless to try and change in four years everything that centuries of corruption and bad governance had destroyed. I was certain of one thing, though, that it was possible to start again.

Igor, too, is starting again as he stands in the shower with the water cascading over his face. He has finally understood why the first person he spoke to in Cannes is by his side now, sending him off along a differ- ent path, helping him make the necessary adjustments, and explaining that her sacrifice was neither a chance event nor unnecessary. On the other hand, she has also made it plain to him that Ewa has always been naturally perverse and only interested in climbing the social ladder, even if doing so meant abandoning her family.

When you go back to Moscow, try and do plenty of sport. That will help free you from your tensions, says the girl.

He can just make out her face in the clouds of steam in the shower. He has never felt as close to anyone as he does now to Olivia, the girl with the dark eyebrows.

Carry on, even if youre not so sure now of what youre doing. God moves in mysterious ways, and sometimes the path only reveals itself once you start walking it.

Thank you, Olivia, he thinks. Perhaps he is here in order to show the world the aberrations of modern life, of which Cannes is the su- preme manifestation.

Hes not sure, but whatever the case, hes here for a reason, and the last two years of tension, planning, fear, and uncertainty are finally justified.

He can imagine what the next Festival will be like: people being issued with swipe cards even to get into the lunch parties on the beach, sharpshooters on every rooftop, hundreds of plainclothes po- licemen mingling with the crowds, metal detectors at the door of every hotel, where those children-of-the-Superclass will have to wait while the police search their bags; women will have to take off their high heels and men be called back because the coins in their pockets have set off the alarm; gray-haired gentlemen will have to hold out their arms and be frisked like common criminals; the women will be led to a kind of canvas tent at the entrancewhich clashes horribly with the former elegance of the placewhere theyll have to wait patiently in line to be searched, until a policewoman discovers what triggered the alarm: the underwiring in a bra.

The city will begin to show its true face. Luxury and glamour will be replaced by tension, insults, wasted time, and the cool, indifferent gaze of the police. People will feel more and more isolated, this time by the system itself, rather than by the eternal arrogance of the chosen few. Army units will be sent to that simple seaside town with the sole objective of protecting people who are trying to have fun, and the pro- hibitive cost of this will, of course, fall on the taxpayers shoulders.

There will be demonstrations by honest workers protesting at what they deem to be an absurdity. The government will issue a statement saying that theyre considering the possibility of shifting the cost to the organizers of the Festival. The sponsorswho could easily afford the expenselose interest when one of their number is humiliated by some insignificant little officer, who tells him to shut up and respect the security regulations.

Cannes will begin to die. Two years on, theyll see that everything they did to maintain law and order really has paid off, with zero levels of crime during the Festival period. The terrorists have failed in their attempt to sow further panic.

Theyll try to turn the clock back, but they wont be able to. Cannes will continue to die. This new Babylon will be destroyed, this modern- day Sodom will be erased from the map.

He steps out of the shower having made a decision. When he goes back to Russia, he will order his employees to find out the girls family name. He will make anonymous donations through neutral banks. He will order some gifted author to write the story of her life and pay for it to be translated into different languages.

The story of a young woman who sold craftwork, was beaten by her boyfriend, exploited by her parents, until the day she surren- dered her soul to a stranger and thus changed one small corner of the planet.

He opens the wardrobe, takes out an immaculate white shirt, his carefully pressed dinner jacket, and his handmade patent-leather shoes. He has no trouble tying his bow tie because he does this at least once a week.

He turns on the TV in time for the local news bulletin. The parade of stars along the red carpet takes up much of the program, but there is also a brief report about a woman found murdered on the beach.

The police have cordoned off the area. The boy who witnessed the murder (Igor studies his face, but feels no desire for revenge) says that he saw the couple sit down to talk, then the man got out a small sti- letto knife and appeared to run it lightly over the womans body. The woman seemed quite happy, which is why he didnt call the police ear- lier because he thought it was some kind of joke.

What did the man look like?

White, about forty, wearing such-and-such clothes, and apparently very polite.

Theres no need to worry. Igor opens his leather briefcase and takes out two envelopes. One contains an invitation to the party that is due to start in an hour (although everyone knows that the start will be de- layed by ninety minutes), where he knows he will meet Ewa. If she wont come to him, too bad; he will go to her. It has taken less than twenty-four hours for him to see the kind of woman he married and that the sufferings of the last two years have been in vain.

The other envelope is silver and hermetically sealed. On it are the two words For you written in an exquisite hand that could be either male or female.

There are CCTV cameras in the corridors, as there are in most hotels nowadays. In some part of the basement is a dark room lined with TV screens before which a group of people sit, watching. They are on the lookout for anything unusual, like the man who kept going up and down stairs and who explained to the officer sent to investigate that he was simply enjoying a little free exercise. Since the man was a guest at the hotel, the officer apologized and left.

They take no interest in guests who go into another guests room and dont leave until the next day, usually after breakfast has been served. Thats normal and none of their business.

The screens are connected to special digital recording systems, and the resulting disks are stored for six months in a safe to which only the manager has the key. No hotel in the world wants to lose a cus- tomer because some rich, jealous husband manages to bribe one of the people watching one particular part of the corridor and then gives (or sells) the material to a tabloid newspaper, having first presented proof of adultery to the courts and thus ensured that his wife will get none of his fortune.

That would be a tragic blow to the prestige of a hotel that prides itself on discretion and confidentiality. The occupation rate would im- mediately plummet; after all, people choose a five-star hotel because they know that the people who work there are trained to see only what theyre supposed to see. For example, if someone asks for room service, when the waiter arrives, he keeps his eyes fixed on the trolley, holds out the bill to be signed by the person who opens the door, but never everlooks over at the bed.

Prostitutesmale and femaledress discreetly, although the men in the screen-lined room know exactly who they are, thanks to a data system provided by the police. This is none of their business either, but in these cases, they always keep one eye on the door of the room they went into until they come out again. In some hotels, the switchboard operator is told to make a fake phone call just to check that the guest is all right. The guest picks up the phone, a female voice asks for some nonexistent person, hears an angry Youve got the wrong room and the sound of the phone being slammed down. Mission accomplished; theres no need to worry.

Drunks who try their key in the lock of the wrong room and, when the door fails to open, start angrily pounding on it, are often surprised to see a solicitous hotel employee appear out of nowherehe just hap- pened to be passing, he saysand who suggests accompanying the drunken guest to the right room (usually on a different floor and with an entirely different number).

Igor knows that his every move is being recorded in the hotel base- ment: the day, hour, minute, and second that he comes into the lobby, gets out of the lift, walks to the door of his suite, and puts the swipe card into the lock. Once inside, he can breathe easy; no one has access to what is happening in the room itself, that would be a step too far in violating someones privacy.

He closes his room door behind him. He had made a point of studying the CCTV cameras as soon as he arrived the night before. Just as all cars have a blind spot when over- taking, regardless of how many rearview mirrors they may have, the cameras show every part of the corridor, except the rooms located in each of the four corners. Obviously, if one of the men in the basement sees someone pass by a particular place but fail to appear on the next screen, hell suspect something untoward has happenedthe person might have faintedand immediately send someone up to check. If he gets there and finds no one, the person has obviously been invited into one of the rooms, and the rest is a private matter between guests.

Igor, however, doesnt intend to stop in the corridor. He walks non- chalantly to the point where the corridor curves away toward the el- evators and slips the silver envelope under the door of the corner room or suite.

It all takes less than a fraction of a second, and if someone down- stairs was observing his movements, they would have noticed nothing. Much later, when they check the disks to try and identify the person responsible for what happened, they will have great difficulty deter- mining the exact moment of death. It may be that the guest wasnt there and only opened the envelope when he or she returned from one of that nights events. It may be that he or she opened the envelope at once, but that the contents took a while to act.

During that time, various people will have passed by the same place and every one of them will be considered suspicious; and if some shabbily dressed person or someone from the less orthodox worlds of massage, prostitution, or drugs had the misfortune to follow the same trajectory, theyll immediately be arrested and questioned. During a film festival, the chances of such an individual appearing on the scene are very high indeed.

He knows, too, that theres a danger he hadnt reckoned with: the person who witnessed the murder of the woman on the beach. After jumping through the usual bureaucratic hoops, the witness will be asked to view the recordings. Igor, however, had checked in using a false passport, and the photo shows a man with glasses and a beard (the hotel reception didnt even take the trouble to check, although if theyd asked, he would simply have said that hed shaved off both beard and mustache and now wore contact lenses).

Assuming that they were much quicker off the mark than most po- licemen and had reached the conclusion that just one person was behind this attempt to derail the normal running of the Festival, they would be awaiting his return and he would be asked to give a statement. Igor, however, knows that this is the last time hell walk down the corridors of the Hotel Martinez.

Theyll go into his room and find an empty suitcase, bearing no fingerprints. Theyll go into the bathroom and think to themselves: Whats a millionaire doing washing his own clothes in the sink! Cant he afford the laundry?

A policeman will reach out to pick up what he considers evidence bearing DNA traces, fingerprints, and strands of hair, and drop it with a yelp, having burned his fingers in the sulfuric acid that is now dissolv- ing everything Igor has left behind. He needs only his false passport, his credit cards, and some cash, and he has all of this in the pockets of his dinner jacket, along with the Beretta, that weapon so despised by the cognoscenti.

He has always found traveling easy; he hates luggage. Even though he had a complicated mission to carry out in Cannes, he chose things that would be easy and light to transport. He cant understand people who take enormous suitcases with them, even when theyre only spend- ing a couple of days away.

He doesnt know who will open the envelope, nor does he care; the choice will fall to the Angel of Death, not to him. A lot of things could happen in the meantime, or indeed nothing.

The guest might phone reception and say that the envelope has been delivered to the wrong person and ask that someone come and collect it. Or they might throw it in the trash, thinking its just another of those charming letters from the management, asking if everything is going well; the guest has other things to read and a party to get ready for. If the guest is a man expecting his wife to arrive at any moment, hell put it in his pocket, convinced that the woman he was flirting with that afternoon is writing to say yes. Or it might be a married couple, and since neither of them knows to whom the you on the envelope refers, theyll agree that this is no time for mutual suspicion and throw the envelope out of the window.

If, despite all these possibilities, the Angel of Death does decide to brush the recipients face with his wings, then he or she will tear open the envelope and see the contents. Those contents had involved a great deal of work and required him to call on the help of the friends and collaborators who had given him their financial backing when he was first setting up his company, the same ones who had been most put out when he repaid that loan early. It had been a real godsend to them being able to invest money of suspect origin in a business that was per- fectly legal and above-board, and they only wanted the money back when it suited them.

Nevertheless, after a period during which the two parties barely spoke, they had become friendly again, and whenever they asked him for a favorgetting a university place for their daughter or tickets for concerts that their clients wanted to attendIgor always did all he could to help them. After all, regardless of their motives, they were the only people who had believed in his dreams. Ewawhenever he thought of her now, Igor felt intensely irritatedused to say that they had played on her husbands innocence to launder money earned from arms trafficking, as if that made any difference. It wasnt as if hed been involved in the actual buying or selling of arms, and besides, in any business deal, both parties need to make a profit.

And everyone has their ups and downs. Some of his former back- ers had spent time in prison, but he had never abandoned them, even though he no longer needed their help. A mans dignity isnt measured by the people he has around him when hes at the peak of his success, but by his ability not to forget those who helped him when his need was greatest. Whether those hands were drenched in blood or sweat was irrelevant: if you were clinging on to the edge of a precipice, you wouldnt care who it was hauling you up to safety.

A sense of gratitude is important; no one gets very far if he forgets those who were with him in his hour of need. Not that you have to be constantly thinking about who helped or was helped. God has his eyes fixed on his sons and daughters and rewards only those who behave in accordance with the blessings that were bestowed on them.

And so when he wanted to buy some curare, he knew where to go, although he had to pay an absurd price for a substance that is relatively commonplace in the jungles of South America.

He reaches the hotel lobby. The party is more than half an hour away by car, and it would be very hard to find a taxi if he just stood out in the street. He long ago learned that the first thing you do when you arrive at a hotel is give a large tip to the concierge without asking anything in exchange; all successful businessmen do this, and they never have any trouble getting reservations at the best restaurants, or tickets for shows, or information about certain areas of the city that dont appear in the guidebooks, and which prefer not to shock the middle classes.

With a smile, he asks for and gets a taxi right there and then, while another guest beside him is complaining about the problems hes having finding transport. Gratitude, necessity, and the right contacts. You can get anything you want with those three things, even a silver envelope with the seductive words For you written in fine calligraphy. He had held off using it until the very end because if Ewa had failed to under- stand the other messages, thisthe most sophisticated of allwould leave no room for doubt.

His old friends had come up trumps. They had offered to let him have it for nothing, but he had preferred to pay. He had enough money and didnt like to be in anyones debt.

He hadnt asked too many questions about how it was made; he only knew that it was a very complicated process and that the person who created the hermetically sealed envelope had to wear gloves and a gas mask. The high price he had paid for the envelope was quite justi- fied since it had to be handled very carefully indeed, even though the product itself wasnt that hard to get hold of: its commonly used in steel tempering and in the production of paper, clothes, and plastic. It has a rather frightening name, hydrogen cyanide, but smells of almonds and looks perfectly harmless.

He stops thinking about who sealed the envelope and begins to imagine the person who will open itholding it quite close to the face, as is normal. On the white card inside is a printed message in French:

Katyusha, je taime.

Katyusha? Whos that? the person will ask, noticing that the card is covered in a kind of dust. Once in contact with the air, the dust will become a gas, and a strong smell of almonds will fill the room.

The person will be surprised and think: Whoever sent it might have chosen a nicer smell. It must be an advertisement for perfume. He or she will remove the card and turn it this way and that, and the gas given off by the dust will start to spread ever more quickly.

It must be some kind of joke.

That will be their last conscious thought. Leaving the card on the table at the door, theyll go into the bathroom to take a shower or to finish applying makeup or to adjust their tie.

Theyll notice then that their heart is racing. They wont imme- diately connect this with the perfume filling the room; after all, they have no enemies, only competitors and adversaries. Before they even reach the bathroom, they will notice that they can no longer stand and theyll sit down on the edge of the bed. The next symptoms will be an unbearable headache and difficulty in breathing, followed by a desire to vomit. However, there will be no time for that; they will rapidly lose consciousness, still without making any connection between their physical state and the contents of the envelope.

In a matter of minuteshe had asked for the product to be as con- centrated a possiblethe lungs will stop working, the body will go into convulsions, the heart will stop pumping blood, and death will follow.

Painless. Merciful. Humane.

Igor gets into the taxi and gives the address: Hotel du Cap, Eden Roc, Cap dAntibes.

Tonights gala supper.