Authors: Brian Haig
“Where is it now?”
“Switzerland. I don’t trust Bermudan banks anymore. Do you?”
Alex stood and spent several minutes staring down on the valley. Elena eventually stood and joined him.
They waited quietly until Alex asked, “Exactly which chalet on that hillside did you buy?”
“The big one almost exactly halfway up the slope.” She tried to point it out. “The one with the four big stone chimneys.”
“Is it big inside?”
“The neighbors call it the coliseum. The current owners use walkie-talkies so they don’t have to scream at each other all
day.”
“Is it nice?”
“Crystal chandeliers, six or seven enormous fireplaces, a huge wine cellar, and a twenty-seat movie theater downstairs. If
you like that sort of thing, yes, I guess it’s nice.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“I’m not sure. Six, seven, eight. They’re sort of spread all over the place. Hard to count.”
“Do they come with children?”
“No. The owner insisted we have to make our own.”
“She pushed a hard bargain.”
“She was quite tough on that point.”
“When do we get one?”
“They’re not exactly an impulse buy, dear. They have long delivery dates. Up to nine months, I hear.”
After a moment Alex said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Race you to the bottom?”
“You’ll eat my dust, Konevitch.”
“Snow, dear. You’ll eat my snow.”
“Oh, shut up, and try to catch me.”
A
few years ago, I received an interesting proposal on my Web site from a Russian expat who generously suggested that his adventure
might inspire a captivating book. After recently reading my third novel,
Kingmaker
, he thought I had gotten a few things right about modern Russia, and wondered if I might be the right person to attempt a
tale about him.
I soon met Alex and his wife, Elena, and quickly became curious, intrigued, and impressed. Not to mention deeply enchanted
and enamored. So I dug in more.
The real Alex and Elena Konanykhin became the inspiration for this book and they are its animating force. In real life, they
experienced fifteen years I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy—and I pray my worst enemy wouldn’t wish upon me. A lovely couple;
he, tall and darkly handsome; she, tiny, funny, and vividly, blondely beautiful. Both were strikingly intelligent, deeply
in love, and stunned at what they had been forced to endure. Alex in fact wrote a superb nonfictional memoir of his long,
amazing trial—a book called
Defiance
—a sad, joyful, engrossing, inspiring, terrifically written account. It’s definitely worth reading if you enjoyed this book.
My book, after all, is fiction, as are all its characters, except Alex, Elena, and a few historical figures.
Tragically, a year ago, Elena, who had weathered so many dark and bright days with Alex and who battled for his freedom, supported
his brilliance, argued his innocence, risked her life, did jail time, and withstood fears and privations most of us could
not imagine, died. Two weeks afterward, Alex e-mailed me.
“I am in agony,” was all he could say.
As noted on the first page, this book is dedicated to Elena. I am so disappointed in myself that I failed to finish it before
she left us.
But also to Alex, whom I am quite pleased to call an American, and a friend.