by A. E. King
“What do you mean?”
She brushes past me and opens a drawer in her dresser. She fumbles through the bottles and jars until she finds a clear one.
“Give him this. Make him drink the entire bottle. Usually, it puts him to sleep, but with this dosage, he’ll never wake back up.”
“I can’t do that; he’s my family.” I cry out.
“He’s my family.” She glares at me, her eyes as hard as metal. “You will do it. Because if you don’t, your father will have him tortured, and he has nothing left but confused ramblings. He never told me the locations. And now he rambles in code. Maybe you can make sense of it. I never could.”
She looks toward the monitor, “Quickly, he’s coming.” She slides the vial into my pocket.
Dima walks down the hall, determination furrowing his brow.
“Can you handle Dimitri?” Her eyes are wide with fear.
I nod and open the door, placing myself between Dima and Yana.
“What’s this?” he says gruffly surveying the suitcase on the bed.
“Yana has decided to run,” I tell him. “Give her all the rubles you brought.”
“She can’t leave until we have the locations.” He fills the doorway like a sentry, unwilling to let her pass.
“Ask Sergei yourself, but his answers won’t make any sense,” she spits at Dima. “I have to get away before the rest of them get here.”
“As soon as you tell us, you can go. I imagine we’ve got maybe thirty minutes until an interrogator shows up.”
Yana blanches. “Don’t let them touch him, Yulia. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“She can’t promise anything of the sort,” Dimitri butts in. “You have the information. You’ve spent a lifetime with him. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“He was a good man. He deserves a good end,” she begs, panicking.
“Yana,” Dimitri implores her. “We’re the kindest faces you’ll see tonight.” There isn’t an ounce of compassion written into the hard lines of his jaw.
“Pozhaluysta,” she pleads with me, her eyes rimmed red. I nod.
“Dima, let’s go in together. The three of us, to see what we can get. Please?”
“Five minutes,” he growls. “But if she gets nothing, I’ll have to start following procedures.”
I swallow, not wanting to know what that sentence means. Yana blanches, I suspect she already knows.
“It won’t take long,” she yells in frustration. “Why do you think I’ve slept with every disgusting pig you’ve sent here? I haven’t let anyone near him because he rambles about things he shouldn’t.”
She guides me toward the doors to the lonely room that is about to become even bleaker and closes the door.
“Sergei?” Her voice is soft and loving. He turns away from the window, his eyes distant and his consciousness cloudy. She turns his chair away from the window and gently strokes his shoulder.
“Darling, I’m going to step out.” He looks confused, “You have a visitor to keep you company.” She motions to me, and Sergei looks in my direction.
“Yelena,” he mumbles.
Yana leans down to kiss him on the forehead, and her tears drip down her cheeks. What must she feel at this moment?
Dima waits by the door with her suitcases. She retreats to the corner, biting her nails. Worry and grief are written across her beautiful features.
I turn, take a deep breath, and walk toward Sergei with a sickness in my stomach at what I’m about to do.
“Hello, Uncle,” I say gently.
“Yelena.” He gives me a gap-toothed smile. “I thought you were dead.”
“So does my husband. I’m sorry I had to fool you, too, but it had to look real for the plan to work. It’s time for you to tell me where the bombs are. My husband is weak. He’s surrounded by enemies. My army is ready. We need the weapons to strike while he’s vulnerable.”
Sergei looks at me, trying to focus. “The Red Mountain.” He scrunches up his eyes, forcing his consciousness to bring together memories scattered in forgotten folders in his mind. “The island by the city. And . . . under the Easter water.” His confusion sets back in.
“Your children,” he says. “They’ve suffered without you.”
“I know, but they’re strong. We’ll all be so happy once this is over. We’ll finally be together.” I kiss him on the head and give him a hug as a tear runs down my cheek.
“The Red Mountain. The island by the city. Under the Easter Water. What about the other locations?” I press him to focus. It is difficult, and he seems exhausted from the effort.
I rub his hand encouragingly, feeling like a terrible person for trying to milk every last bit of information from him before I lead him to the slaughterhouse.
“Seven,” he says. “Seven to end them all.”
“Seven,” I repeat back to him. “Yes, Uncle.”
“The forest. Oh, where was it?” He looks at me, and I can tell I’m losing him. “Your children, they’ve suffered without you,” he says again with concern.
I glance at Dimitri and then back to Sergei. “Yes, Uncle, but they want to end this just as much as I do. We need to know how to find the seven bombs so we can win. The world will be a better place once my husband is dead. Can you tell me where you hid the bombs?”
“Red versus white. Blood. The forest. The Red Mountain. The island near the city.” He trails off.
“Yes, Uncle. The island near the city, and under the Easter waters,” I say as though it makes perfect sense.
“Green domes. Two of them.”
“Like church domes?” I ask, and he nods. “Which church, Uncle?”
“The square. The one we love to hate.” He struggles to catch some memory, and then he looks out the window. “Yelena, I want to see you more often. But I don’t blame you. It’s hard with the war. Not safe for anyone.”
Dimitri shakes his head. He might as well have donned a black executioner’s hood. The information is not good enough for my father. They will bring in the interrogation officer, but I refuse to let this sweet old man come to harm.
“Uncle, I’ll do my part. Seven bombs. I’ll find them all. And I will end the work you started. The birds will sing for us.”
Those words spark panic in him. “Yelena, don’t marry him. No information is worth it. Your life will be forever tied to his. I know you want to think he has good in him. And I know you love him. But every time I think of you married to him, I feel your mother’s ghost raise the hairs on my neck. Don’t do it.”
Tears slide down my cheeks. I don’t know if it is better or worse to know that my mother loved my father at one point.
“Alright, Uncle,” I lie to him. “I won’t.”
“I’m tired, Yelena. I’m so tired.” He closes his eyes, and I pull his blanket up to him and tuck it into the sides of his wheelchair—my only act of kindness for this man who clearly loved all of us.
“I won’t be here much longer.” He sighs and peers at me again. “I’m sorry I sent you away when they died. I didn’t know how else to keep you safe.” He wipes at my tears then says, “Don’t cry, Yelena. You’re not as alone as you feel. I pray for you every day. Your parents watch over you from the other side. And the mother I found for you loves you with all her heart.” He smiles at me, his kind, gap-toothed smile. And then the cloud lifts and clarity gives him a new focus, “You’re not Yelena. Yulia?” he asks in wonderment.
“Yes, Uncle.” I cry. “It’s me, Yulia. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I didn’t know.”
“Then it’s done.” He sighs with relief. “You’ve finished it, and now you’ve come to celebrate with an old man.” He kisses my hand. “I dreamed of this day.” He closes his eyes, contentment settling across his features. My tears fall hot, fast, and silent.
When he opens his eyes, he’s gone again. He looks at me curiously, not understanding why a stranger is crying at his feet. I wipe my eyes. “Would you like to see the
birds?” I turn him toward the window and stand.
Dimitri, Yana, and I walk into the hall. My cheeks are stained with tears, Yana’s eyes are rimmed red, and Dimitri’s face is more stonelike than normal.
“I can’t take that information back to Vladimir. You have to give me something else,” Dimitri growls at Yana.
“There must be something you can make sense of?” I try one final time, slipping into hopelessness.
“You heard it with your own ears.” She grabs for her suitcases, glaring at me. But Dimitri won’t release them.
“When did you first hear about the bombs, and who else have you given this information to?” He slips into questioning. It’s clear he won’t release her. But how will he get more when there is no more to give? Yana needs to leave now.
She wordlessly pleads with me. I nod, the weight of the bottle heavy in my pocket. I slip quietly into the sitting room as the two of them argue.
“Hello,” Sergei says. “Have you seen my keys?”
“No, Uncle, but I’ve brought you a drink. You must be thirsty.” My hands shake as I pull the bottle out of my pocket and remove the rubber stopper. I hold the glass bottle up to his lips and help him take a drink.
He grimaces at the taste. “Just a little more,” I encourage him, and he obeys. His eyes are droopy by the time he takes the last sip. I gasp, placing my hand over my mouth as I hold in the scream over what I’ve just done. I grab his hand, wishing I could bring him back. But his hand is limp. As his head slumps against his shoulder, a sob tears through my throat.
Dimitri rushes into the room, Yana grabs her bag and runs.
“It’s done,” I cry. “I’ve killed him.” I can’t fathom the words. They must be false. But Dima takes Sergei’s pulse, and I can tell by his face that I really did it. I took a life.
Dima looks toward the door, and I grab his hand so he won’t go after Yana. He looks down at me as I fall apart, clutching to the blanket and the man I will never know. Dima picks up the jar on the floor, wipes it clean with a white cloth from his pocket, then sets it in Sergei’s hand. He pulls a knife from his pant leg and, before I can argue, cuts a large gash across Sergei’s face.
“No!” I scream. Dima doesn’t look at me. He cuts Sergei again.
“It’s not hurting him.” He breathes out, wiping his blade on the blanket and restoring it to its regular place as though it didn’t just desecrate a body.
“Time to go,” Dimitri growls and pulls me from the murder scene.
Chapter 32
Dima picks up our communication devices from the kitchen and helps me exchange my slippers for shoes. All the while I’m shaking so hard I can barely move.
Dima practically carries me down the stairs. At the entrance, he turns on his portable. “Drive as close to the door as you can and send local enforcement.”
Nothing is making sense to me. His words sound like echoes against the drum beating in my ears and the gasping breaths escaping my lungs.
The car leaves the driveway and comes onto the grass. We rush inside, closing the doors as quickly as possible.
“Go. Just drive until we have our next orders,” Dima commands the attendant who slowly raises the glass barrier that will hide my shame from everyone. Dima pushes the audio button on his portable. “Verkhovney Gosudar.”
I feel hot and cold at the same time. Sweat beads across my hairline. My head feels heavy, and suddenly, holding it up is too much effort. “I’m going to throw up,” I say. “Stop the car.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Dima orders the attendant as the glass finally blocks us from his view. He pats my thigh. “Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths.” He rubs my back, trying to bring life back into me. But I don’t deserve the air or the heartbeat pounding in my ears when I just stopped a loving, tender heart.
My father appears before us. “You!” he yells at me, and the sight of his evil face triggers my gag reflex. I heave and empty the contents of my stomach onto the floor of the car.
“Chort,” Dima curses and removes his jacket. He tries to wipe my mouth and then lays the jacket over my vomit.
“LOOK AT ME!” my father screams.
I raise my head to look at his ghostly figure, and my world starts to spin again. Acid burns up my throat, but I swallow it down. I wipe the sweat off of my forehead and take deep, steadying breaths.
Dima proceeds like it’s business as usual. “I started the investigation, but Yana pulled a gun on Yulia. I let her escape, knowing it would be easier to get her back than negotiate a hostage situation. But the old man can’t go anywhere. Bring in an interrogator, to finish the job. Yana can’t have gotten far.”
“Who trained you?” my father screams at me, unconcerned with Dimitri’s information and unconcerned with my wellbeing.
I don’t understand what he’s asking. “I . . . I don’t . . .” I say shakily.
“Twice this week you’ve walked into high-level situations, and both times you’ve acquired information. Did your mother train you?”
“Sir, you’ve had her under surveillance for years. And she’s falling apart. How could she have received training?” Dima says, trying to reason with him.
“I won’t be made a fool of. Especially by you.” His face is red and angry, and I realize that my all-powerful father is terrified of me. For the first time in my life, I hold the power.
“You trained me!” I yell back to him.
“Don’t play games with me. Who are you working with?”
I’ve seen this rage on his face before. All the times he spanked too hard and for too long. All the times his hand leaped toward me as I shrieked with laughter or sadness. Mama is not here to protect me. And it’s his fault. I won’t run from him. Or cower before him. I sit up straight and proud, my anger acting like a rod in my spine. He won’t break me today.
“I’ve spent my entire life watching you,” I shout at him. “You think I didn’t notice that you left Mama alone while she was sweet and acquiescing? And the minute she showed strength, you turned into a brute? I studied the mask you put on when cameras were watching, and I created my own. It’s so good, it even fooled you. I played the part you wanted to see. You’re just angry because you underestimated me.” I glare at him with such ferocity that I see his lips quiver involuntarily.
I keep going. “I used to think you were terrifying. Now, when I look at you, I see a scared, small man.” I exhale as I gaze into his grey, heartless eyes. “So kill me if you want. But good luck holding onto power once I’m gone.”
“Never speak to me like that again.” He points at me.
“Why, Father? Because the truth reveals my strength or your incompetence?”
“Stop.” I’m not sure if it’s me or my father that Dima wishes to silence. My father turns to me with a sinister smile.
“One more sound from you, and by the time you get back to her, Zhenya will have one less eye. Am I clear?”
I refuse to shrink under his glare or hollow threats. “If you pluck so much as one hair from her head, you’ll have one less daughter.”
For once, I’m the one whose rage can’t be controlled. I think he senses it. He must. He has a lifetime of experience with vehement hostility. He eyes me for a moment and then changes course. “Dimitri, what did you get?”
Dimitri says, “As you can see. Yulia didn’t have the stomach for it. We got ramblings but nothing more.”
“There had better be more, because the old man is dead. Apparently, you left him with lethal medication in his pocket. You let this happen, Dimitri. Perhaps your punishment will be to interrogate Yulia?”
I shiver to recall the knife and the blood.
“I got something,” I interject. “Code names, perhaps. I’m sure we can break them”.
“Well then?” my father asks hungrily.
“Give him the locations.” Dima taps my wrist with his index finger, indicating one—only one—real location.
“The island by the city.” I say
the first place that pops into my mind.
“That’s useless!” my father yells. “What city? What island?”
“It’s not useless,” Dimitri says calmly. “You have a team of researchers. Send them to cities with islands close by to scan for the same types of materials Sergei used in creating our energy grid. It will take time, but it is doable.”
“That’s it?” my father growls dangerously.
Dima continues. “Something about yellow meadows, a bay of blood.”
“The tyrant and the saint.” I add to the lies, understanding that we only need one of them to be right for him to believe that all of them are true. Let him spend the next year wasting time trying to figure out bogus clues. “A rock like a bear.”
“Yana was certain that the real locations were lost to the disease. She insisted that all that was left behind was nonsense,” Dima finishes.
“When he spoke of the bombs, he had the most clarity. I’m sure we can find them if we look hard enough.” I want nothing more than for my father to go on a wild goose chase.
He sneers at me in a way no parent should look at their child. “Yulia, since you think you’re more capable than me, maybe we should wager. If you recover the first weapon before me, I will use it to target the Dragovich family and eliminate your biggest enemy. But if I find it first, I will destroy a domestic site then place blame on an activist group. They’re so much easier to stamp out when labeled as ‘terrorists.’ They turn from sympathetic to despised so fast that they’re rarely able to regroup. It will be hard to narrow it down to a single site. An orphanage, a church, a school, an entire nenoozhny neighborhood perhaps?”
Where is his tenderness? Where is the compassion? Was he born evil, or did he have to work hard to get to this point?
He turns to Dimitri. “Take her to the number four respite site. Let’s see what the two of you can accomplish together. I’ll even give you a seventy-two-hour head start. Either way, it’s a win for me. End communication.” He disappears.
“He’s already looking,” I say.
“He’ll give us seventy-two hours. He loves the game. If he finds the first bomb before then and we fail, he’ll wait until the last second expires, show us the weapon, and point it at whichever target will hurt you the most.”