by A. E. King
How in the world will I find the right Sergei Mikhailovich? There could be thousands of them. She didn’t even give me a surname. I slide my hand into my pocket, run my thumb over the egg, and notice it has a hinge. I slide it open and feel something small inside. If I’m going to see it, this is probably my best chance, while I’m surrounded by people. One little object can get lost in the flow of a busy salon. I pull the object out of my pocket. It’s a tiny sparrow—a symbol of fighting against all odds.
The woman may not have given me a surname, but I suspect she’s left behind a calling card.
Chapter 28
I check the clock again. Dima is late. Every minute that passes makes my plan more likely to fail. I thought he would be back by 17:00, and the clock is getting closer to 18:00.
I finally hear the door and hurry to the living room to greet him.
“Why aren’t you dressed for dinner?” he asks, looking at my casual cotton dress, cardigan, and walking shoes. Dima has booked our reservations at the most upscale restaurant in town.
“I am, darling.” I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek. “I just changed the plans. The people here are very proud of their hydroelectric plant, and I’ve agreed to a tour. Afterward, we’ll take a stroll by the river. I had the hotel staff pack us a picnic.” Dima looks at his watch.
“We’ll catch a beautiful sunset if we leave quickly,” I chirp. “I’ve already laid out your clothes.”
“Yulia, it was a tough meeting. So if you don’t care about the restaurant, I’d rather just stay in.” He throws his jacket on the sofa and moves to sit down.
I grab his hand, fearing I won’t be able to get him back up again. I need the force of the hydroelectric generators and engines to mask everything I need to tell him. It’s the only plan I have.
“Could we do it tomorrow?” He massages his temples.
“The car is waiting downstairs, and the crew is staying late to give us a private tour. It’s all arranged. The press will even be there.”
“Yulia, it’s an hour away.” He looks at me, exasperated.
I feel frantic. “I know it’s just a big noisy engine, and we’ll hardly be able to hear ourselves think, but it means a lot to the people.” I rub my hands together. We really should improve our sign language now that we’re adults in constant life-threatening danger.
He smiles at me, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re very persuasive.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll go change.”
We eat in the car because we’re both starving. I try to act as relaxed as possible, but my lips burn with information.
When we arrive at the hydroelectric plant, rows of employees wait for us with the haggard-looking press.
“We’d better work extra hard to leave a good impression,” I murmur as the car slows to a stop.
“Good thing that’s your specialty,” Dima mumbles. I can’t tell if he’s serious or mocking.
I put on my best smile and offer my apologies for our lateness. Dimitri is not expected to smile. But he shakes hands with each of the men. When I offer my hand as well, the employees look surprised to be shaking hands with a woman, but in the end, they’re pleased by the attention. We walk along the upper deck, our guide droning on about every feature of the plant.
I stop to look over the railing at the water churning noisily below us.
Dima places his arms around my waist and rests his head against my cheek. “I missed you today.” He kisses my neck, and I see the guides withdraw to give us some space. “Tell me what you need to say,” he whispers, and my heart aches a little. I wish his arms were around me for different reasons.
“I gave Kostya a location and a new date. The fifteenth, between Troisk and Babrovka. We’re scheduled to be in Omsk. We shouldn’t have too much trouble getting there.”
“We won’t be going there. I’ll send men,” he says with finality. “How did you get the information?”
“I made promises I don’t intend to keep,” I tell him. “But there’s more.” I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around him. The sun is setting, and I can see photographers snapping shots from the entrance. I’m sure these will be beautiful photos. “I had a visitor at the salon today.”
He tenses next to me. Is it from the information, or is it because I make him uncomfortable? “The birds will sing for me,” I whisper into his ear and kiss him on the cheek.
“Did they give you your test?” he asks in a hushed tone.
“They want me to find some weapons. There’s a man who might know where they are. Someone that used to be with the last government. But I have no idea how to find him.”
“What was the name?” Dima asks, pulling me tightly against him and rocking back and forth as though we are two lovers sharing sweet nothings rather than two traitors passing deadly secrets.
“Sergei Mikhailovich,” I whisper back, and he groans.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s a scientist. He took the destruction of nuclear power and tamed it into something safe and sustainable. In the last government, he was the head of the energy department. If he made weapons, they would be truly formidable. The Organizatsaya is so involved in the arms business, it’s virtually impossible for the Myatezhniki to get their hands on anything sophisticated. No one wants to risk retribution.”
My hope rises. “So if we can get the weapons, we’ll have the upper hand!” I grasp Dima in quiet celebration, but he does not join me.
“Yulia, he’s lost his mind to dementia. No one has gotten information out of him in years. And believe me, we’ve tried. Why would the Myatezhniki send you to a dead end?”
“Well, I have to try.” I won’t let him dash my hope. I revel in him, enjoying the feel of his cheek against mine.
“I’ll go,” Dima says.
“No,” I tell him. “This is my test.”
“I wish you would quit acting so . . .” He doesn’t finish, but there’s an edge to his voice.
“Like what, Dima? How am I acting? Like I’m capable of doing something? How else would you have me act?”
“Yulia, we train from ages twelve to eighteen to prepare for missions like this. You have no training, and you keep throwing yourself into the most dangerous situations. I thought Kostya was hurting you last night. I thought I would walk in and find you . . .” His eyes are fierce and his face flushed.
“I was fine.” I place my hand on his cheek.
Anger and tension radiate from him.
“Why are you so certain I’m going to fail?” I look up at him, my blue eyes meeting his dark ones.
“I’m afraid you will fail. The thought makes it hard to even breathe. And then I have to look at your body, bruised and cut up. It’s my own personal hell. I’ve got the most experience with interrogation. I’ll find the location. I’ll find the weapons. We just need you to pass this test, and then I can hand you off. And we can be done with this charade,” he says.
“And then what?” I ask. “You earn your spot with the Myatezhniki, and I stay with my father? You must know that won’t work.”
He grits his teeth together, probably frustrated that I’m right.
“Dima.” I smooth the tight muscles of his jaw. “This is not a charade,” I plead with him. “I love you.” I lean in and press my lips against him. It’s not one of those magical moments where soul meets soul. It’s my heart reaching the iron gate of his control.
I pull back and look toward the ground to mask my heartache.
He lifts my chin. “Love isn’t the problem. Having you here is killing me. And knowing you’re leaving is killing me. So if you do love me, stop trying to rub away my hard edges. I need them. Because once you’re gone, I will have to deal with your father.”
Chapter 29
Dima and I sit in the living room of our suite, waiting for the connection to go through. My father’s hologram appears in front of us, and I’m taken aback. He’s in his bed, propped up on pillows, looking exhausted.
“No,” he barks. “I tried to reach you hours ago.”
“My meeting ran long, and Yulia planned a goodwill PR event that went extremely well. You’ll be pleased with the media coverage,” Dima says.
“I’ll be pleased with the location of this drop,” my father snarls.
“Between Triosk and Babrovka on the fifteenth. I told him the thirtieth was compromised, but Dimitri and I still have a very public alibi that day. Kostya will pretend he’s going fishing.”
My father narrows his eyes. “How did you get him to believe you?”
“I told him that when all of you die off, I’ll let him run the Organizatsaya while I run the country.” I force myself not to flinch. I don’t like telling him so much of the truth, but Dima warned me to be transparent in case Kostya decided to betray me to my father. There is always a trap to walk into with Vladimir Bituskaya.
He raises his eyebrow. “And where does Dimitri fit into all of these plans?”
I look toward Dima, not wanting to admit the truth. He nods for me to continue. “I indicated he would be dead once you’re dead.” I try to gauge Dima’s reaction.
My father laughs, and it turns into a cough. He takes a moment to catch his breath, and I find myself wishing he were about to take his last breath.
“There’s one other lead to come out of the party,” Dima adds. “Mariana Evgeny traveled through Kazan with her family before her trip to Moscow. There’s only one reason I can think of for her father to go to Kazan. Did you approve a visit to Yana Grigorovna?”
My father scowls. “No. Kazan’s not exactly on the way, is it?”
“It’s been a few years since Yana has given us any major information, which means . . .” Dima pauses.
My father rubs his hand over his chin, contemplative. “It means she has either sold all her secrets, or she’s getting ready to drop something big. I’d thought of sending someone to see Yana myself.”
“Hmm. But for Secretary Evgeny to go unauthorized?” Dima prods.
“Very suspicious.”My father’s gaze darkens, and I’m afraid for the foreign secretary.
“I think Yulia and I should pay Yana a visit,” Dimitri says, every muscle in his face tense.
“A visit to Yana Grigorovna is generally the type of visit you hide from your zhena. Things must be icy between you if this is how you plan to heat things up.” My father laughs cruelly. His cackles turn into racking, rattling coughs that leave him wheezing to find his breath.
Are you ill, Papa?” I ask him.
“It’s just a cold. I’ll be well in a couple of days. Just get the info, and tell me if I need to shoot my foreign secretary. End communication.”
“What did you just get me into?” I ask.
“Yana is an informant, and a tricky one. If you can get new information from her, it will raise your respect from everyone in the government and the Organizatsaya. Her husband was a top scientist in the old government before he lost his memory and his mind. He had suspected ties to the rebellion. His dementia set in at an early age, and she knows many of his professional secrets. The Organziatsaya has been after both of them ever since.”
“Was her husband executed?” I ask.
“No. It’s rumored he had powerful connections that prevent his discovery, so Sergei Mikhailovich’s ties were never proven.”
So Dimitri has found a way for us to accomplish my test. “Lack of proof has never stopped my father before.”
“True, but he also wants Sergei’s information. Meanwhile, Yana is a shrewd negotiator. She has threatened to take her own life and Sergei’s secrets to the grave if anything happens to her husband.”
My mind races through the mission ahead of us. “What will we need to do?”
“Yana’s cunning. She gives a steady stream of minor secrets, and every few years she drops something valuable. She knows how to stay alive.” Dimitri sighs, and I get the impression that he’s stalling.
“How much will she want in exchange for the information?”
“That depends on how big the secret is. For something major, it will be a year’s living expenses.” He looks at the ground, searching for the right words. “She has other expectations as well.”
“And?” I prompt.
“No one really knows what to expect when you visit Yana. Just that the price is always high, and when you leave you’re always in her pocket.” Everything about Dimitri is hard—his face, his voice, and his gaze on me.
“Have you been to see her before?”
“Yes.” His jaw is tight, and a flash of anger burns hot across his features. I can tell he wants me to drop it, but I can’t go in it blindly.
“What happened?”
He shakes his head and looks toward his feet. The memory is clearly painful. I don’t want to dig into his past hurt, but I do want to soothe it.
“You can tell me,” I say softly.
“Why? So you can have one more thing to hold against me? One more reason that I’m unworthy of you?”
“No.” I’m stung by his accusation. “Because it pains you, and when have I ever turned my back on you while you were hurting?”
I reach out and stroke his hair. He sighs and closes his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. I lean in and kiss him on the temple.
“You look exhausted. Don’t stay up too late.” I give his hand a little squeeze and then head into the washroom to get ready for bed.
By the time I’ve finished, Dima is under the blankets. I slide under the covers. His back is toward me, but I can tell by his breathing that he’s not asleep.
I’m impatient with this distance between us, especially when the clock is ticking down the minutes until we’re separated, potentially forever. Resentment and anger feel like thieves, and I’m tired of surrendering my most precious moments to them.
I slide behind him, wrapping my arm around him. He stiffens in response.
“At least give me the chance not to judge you,” I whisper into the silence.
I wait, but he says nothing. I press my cheek against his lean, strong back and urge him to let me in. Dimitri has a will of iron that I both resent and respect. Maybe this is a hopeless mission.
I peel back my arm and roll onto my side in silent surrender. I can’t force him to forgive me, I can’t slow down time, and I can’t stop our inevitable separation. Are we just too broken to fix? I clench my body tightly, trying to force the sadness of this realization back down into some steely part of my soul, but I’m not hard and metallic. I lack Dimitri’s strength, and tears slide down my cheeks anyway.
Behind me, the sheets rustle, and Dima shifts onto his back.
“I wasn’t even eighteen when they took me to see her.” He’s tense and quiet. “An old Councilman came to the school and said they had a reward for me for my high marks.” He scoffs bitterly.
I quickly wipe the moisture off my cheeks and turn to face him. He keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“He offered me up like a gift. It was confusing and exciting and over before I had a chance to even wrap my head around what was happening. Then she left me in her room while she went to negotiate with the disgusting Councilman, and I broke down in tears.”
His revelation hits me like an arrow piercing my heart, and some unseen hand twists and turns the blade deeper.
“I felt dirty and guilty.” He presses on. “ I didn’t know how I would ever look at you again without you seeing my unfaithfulness written in my eyes. I put my clothes back on and just waited. The vile pair came to collect me, and she said, ‘I understand you have a promising future in the government. Just remember, I’ve got all this recorded should you even need a reason to stick up for me down the road.’ I left terrified that your father would find out and someday refuse to let me marry you. But who knows, maybe it was his idea in the first place.”
I place my hand on his chest, my cheeks wet again, this time for a different reason.
“That wasn’t
unfaithfulness. It was abuse.” I try to soothe him.
He places his hand over mine and looks at me for the first time. “I’m not telling you this to gain your sympathy. I’m telling you so you can be ready. This is the price of power. It always takes more than it gives.” He gives my hand a little squeeze.
“I’m not tired.” He slides to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to wrap up some work.”
“Dima.” He looks back at me, and there is so much I want to say. But none of it is safe. I want to tell him that I admire him, that I respect him for not giving up, and that I will miss him every day once I’m gone. Instead I tell him, “None of that makes me think less of you.”
He nods, leaving me alone in the dark room, worrying about what’s to come. There has to be a better way, because I won’t sell Dima for my personal advantage.
Chapter 30: Kazan, Новая Россия
“Put your hood up,” Dima warns me, sliding his own hood over his head. We’re both dressed in brown tonight, but no one will believe we’re nenoozhny. “People are staring. No one can know you’re here.”
Of course they’re staring. The only cars in the nenoozhny ghettos are older than me. Even this modest car stands out like a sore thumb.
The buildings look like tall, grey blocks stacked next to each other. In the center is what was once a playground for children. Now it’s full of trash and drug paraphernalia.
From behind my tinted windows, I look out at the men and women milling around in the dusk. A mother calls her children and hurries them inside. Some of the older men continue to play their chess game as though nothing has changed. A few of the younger men, who were moments before crouched down, smoking and talking in a circle, stand to better see what’s coming.
“Is your audio on?” Dima asks.
I reach down my shirt and fiddle with the tiny microphone taped to my chest and nod. Yana’s apartment was never connected to the Peredacha, so my father demanded we use older surveillance methods.