by D. R. Bell
“Why can’t we just take this car to the airport?”
Javier replied with an edge to his voice, “Because you are paying me to keep you alive. And I have to keep you alive, so I can maintain my reputation and charge good money for my services. The people that are following you are professionals and they have resources. Judging by what we saw last night and this morning, very extensive resources. And with the business that you find yourself in, one of the secrets to staying alive is to be careful, not attract attention, calculate every step. That’s why Mr. and Mrs. Brockman have properly paid their bill and got their things from the Plaza. That’s why you are in Ford Taurus, not in a fancy limo. That’s why this car has windows that have been coated to confuse face recognition algorithms. That’s why you’ll be flying coach, not first class. You are in the most dangerous part of your escape: you are out of their sight, but they know the area you are in. I am sure they already have their people heading to local airports, they are tuning into all closed-circuit cameras and face recognition systems they can access, trying to pick up the scent. We want to get you to safety without going through too many airports, but we have to make sure that they lose your trail with the very first leg of your journey. I will take you through the plan and through fallback positions in case things don’t go according to the plan. Don’t interrupt me again as we have only a few minutes. Leah, please hand them their change of clothes. You’ll leave the clothes you are wearing in this car. Don’t be shy, start changing.”
Leah produced new shirts and slacks, her face wearing a look of embarrassment. David and Maggie looked at each other, shrugged, and began unbuttoning.
Javier continued. “The car will pull into a rest area off the New Jersey Turnpike and park next to a green-colored SUV. You will quickly move to the back seat. In the SUV, aside from the driver, there is a makeup artist that will work on you. Your travel bags are filled with typical stuff that vacationers take. Since we had to dress up both of you only last week, hopefully everything should fit. David’s bag has a narrow double-bottom compartment. You just reach in and pull the lining from the bottom of the bag. Nothing fancy, just a small precaution in case you are unlucky enough to be singled out for a search, not that we expect it. Nothing there will show up on X-ray scans, but it’s important to you. There are three differently colored envelopes there. The first one to use is a white envelope with two other boarding passes and driver’s licenses.”
They were in Lincoln Tunnel now, riding in the dark under the river. The reception remained intact.
“I am pretty sure your enemies are already watching New York airports, but probably not the Philadelphia one. You are booked on the flight from Philadelphia to San Francisco, leaving at 10:10 a.m. You should land there at about 1:20 p.m. local time. When you land in San Francisco, go to a restroom stall, change your shirt, put on sunglasses. Take out the white envelope I mentioned. Place the driver’s licenses we just gave you into the secret compartment. Please don’t throw them away but carefully destroy them later. Go out of the airport. Come back in with the new driver’s licenses and boarding passes and go through security again. Your names will be Mr. Paul Compton and Mrs. Jill Compton, from Cupertino, CA. Please look at the licenses while in security line and memorize them. You will be boarding a flight to Kahului, Maui, leaving at 2:35 p.m. You should have enough time, but don’t waste any.”
When Javier said ‘Maui,’ Maggie gave David a quizzical look but said nothing.
They were out of the tunnel and in New Jersey now, driving by rows of nondescript houses.
Javier continued, his tone less stern now. “You will change identities twice, so even if someone figures out that Mr. and Mrs. Brockman and Mr. McCarren and Ms. Gronko are the same people, they won’t know that you continued to Maui. And by the way, Mr. Ferguson, I would not have picked Maui in your shoes. But since those were your instructions last Saturday, at least play it safe and don’t stay there too long. And there might be logic to doing something illogical; your adversaries won’t expect it. To show you that I am not totally heartless, I upgraded you to economy plus. Now, here is the important part. David, in the double-bottom compartment there is another envelope, a blue one. Unlike the cheap identities that you will use in Philadelphia and in San Francisco, this one is a long-term identity. Hopefully it’ll last you more than ten days. David, you will be Jeffrey Moran. Maggie, you are Tatiana Baum. I am not going to go into details; you have the files. When you are in Maui, carefully destroy the used driver’s licenses and start using your new identities. There are also passports, credit cards, bank accounts. Despite my exorbitant charges, your accounts seem to be growing. The monies from your Zurich and Cayman accounts have been moved and will be moved a few more times by the time you are in Maui. They will also be divided into a number of accounts. Overall, together you will have just over $2.6MM. Of course, at the rate you are going it won’t last you too long, you better slow down.”
Leah said, “Five minutes.”
“Now, the plans don’t always work out. Remember, don’t leave them a trail to follow. They will be looking for anything unusual, such as someone not getting to their flights. If you have to make a change, always assume that the planned identity and the destination will be compromised. If for whatever reason you don’t make it to Philadelphia, the driver is instructed to take you to Wilmington, Delaware. Fly from there to Miami; we will contact you. If you don’t make it to the San Francisco flight, take BART to Oakland, fly from there to Portland. There is yet another set of driver’s licenses and credit cards in the compartment in a green envelope, use those if any change of plans is made or if you want to cover your tracks later. If you are fortunate and everything goes as planned, you’ll have that identity to throw off the trail if needed. But never use the documents from today’s flights again, you must destroy them.”
“One minute.”
Javier’s voice sounded almost gentle. “These were some bad motherfuckers after you. We followed you last night and there were always at least four of them. Hopefully, we got them off your tail for now. Try to stay alive.”
Maggie said, “Thank you, Javier. We are only alive thanks to you.” She touched her fingers to her lips and then to the screen.
Javier grumbled, “OK, don’t forget to follow directions. Good-bye.”
“He likes you, you know,” Leah said after turning off the tablet. The car turned into a rest area.
Tuesday, 5/10/2022, 1:43 p.m. HST
David and Maggie finished their lunch at Whalers Village. Following Javier’s directives, they avoided the most expensive places and checked into the aging Sheraton Maui on Kaanapali Beach. Getting a room was not a problem. It was a slow “kids are still at school” season, and the hotel was half empty. Seemed like most visitors were from China. Last night a friendly waiter at Black Rock restaurant was wondering what would happen to Hawaii now that the mainland was splitting apart. An air of uncertainty hung over the islands.
It was pure kitsch, but David enjoyed Black Rock, a large outcropping of lava jutting out into the ocean. He felt like a little kid jumping into crystal clear water twenty feet down. He and Maggie spent hours snorkeling near the rock and watching a giant tortoise maneuver slowly around colorful fishes. They’d been training to call each other Jeffrey and Tatiana and giggled when they slipped. David missed the old-fashioned sunscreen. He would have enjoyed rubbing it on Maggie. But the new sunscreen pills were convenient, no doubt about that, just take one in the morning and don’t worry about being burned.
Maggie had never been to Hawaii before, and she thought she landed in paradise. She would go running in the mornings on the path that wound its way along the beach. Sunset was her favorite time to sit at the Terrace bar watching the sun slide into the water. After sunset, they would drive into Lahaina, park by the huge banyan tree and stroll along the sidewalk looking for an interesting place to eat.
Their journey went as planned, no late planes, no changes required. When they landed late
Sunday afternoon, they agreed to a seventy-two hour “truce”—no talking about Nemzhov or Schulmann or their future was allowed. They followed Javier’s directions, destroying the documents they’d used on Sunday. They still had their “main” new identities plus another set of documents left. As the “truce” was ending, both were anxious. One can ignore reality for only so long.
They were walking along the path back to the Sheraton. Maggie was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a light cover-up over her bikini. David had on knee-length swimming trunks, a “Black Rock” T-shirt, and a “Hula Girl” cap. Both had treated themselves to Maui Jim sunglasses and comfortable flip-flops. The carefully laid-out path winded its way between two rows of manicured bushes, the perfectly blue ocean shining in the sun on the left, with Lanai and Molokai rising in the distance.
Maggie broke the ice. “So what are we going to do about this?”
“What this?” David responded reflexively, realizing the stupidity of the reply before it finished leaving his mouth. “Sorry, yes, of course. I guess the vacation is over.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Maggie gently replied. “I know it hasn’t been seventy-two hours yet. I just woke up this morning all agitated. You know the feeling, where you have to make a decision and you can’t relax until you do. We can wait.”
“Yes, I know that feeling, and it’s OK. We should start dealing with this. It’s not going to go away.”
“I know you were right when you said that they will never leave us alone. And I don’t think we have ten years; probably three or four.”
David nodded in agreement.
Maggie continued. “I told you the truth. I only wanted to go back to living my life, but that’s not an option anymore.”
“I’m so sorry,” David said. “I wish I hadn’t walked into your restaurant; I wish I hadn’t asked for your phone. You were kind to me, and I have ruined your life.”
Maggie stopped, took David’s hands into hers, and looked up at him. “Please, please don’t think this way. You couldn’t possibly have known. Perhaps it was fate.” She reached on tiptoes and kissed him. “You were truly my knight in shining armor. If not for you, I would have died a few times over.”
David swallowed hard. “But now that your old life is gone, what do you want to do?”
Maggie turned and continued down the path while holding David’s hand. “I think the most logical choice would be to take what we can. Collect Nemzhov’s money for three years, prepare for an expensive long-term identity change with plastic surgery, like Javier described. Do it and disappear. There might be enough money by then to live inexpensively for many years in some distant locations. Do you agree?”
“Yes. Of course there is a risk that Nemzhov’s calculation will change earlier than we anticipate. He set it up so collecting the money requires us to appear in person, and surely they’ll be watching.”
“The only other choice is to blow up his game and go on the run now, with little resources or preparation.”
David agreed.
“So, here’s what I am thinking,” Maggie said. “These are hard decisions. I don’t want to influence you like I did back in Phoenix. Why don’t we go our separate ways this afternoon, think about it on our own, and then meet at six and see where each of us came down.”
“OK. But I do have one question.”
“What is it?”
“You talked about Schulmann’s report, about Nemzhov … but what about us?”
She gently touched his cheek with her hand. “That’s also something for you and me to think about. And please remember, I’m a big girl.”
David nodded. “OK. Are you going to stay here?”
“Yes, I’ll walk around. Why?”
“I’ll take the car then.”
“See you at six on the Black Rock.”
Tuesday, 5/10/2022, 3:22 p.m. HST
“We can never know what to want, because, living only one life,
we can neither compare it with our previous lives
nor perfect it in our lives to come.”
— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Maggie walked the path around the Black Rock and continued up Kaanapali Beach along the water line. Her original quest for the Schulmann file was entirely about getting her life back. When in Phoenix, she’d suspected that David wanted for them to disappear, take the money and run. She’d manipulated him for her own ends. I got exactly what I wanted, she thought, but it turned out to be all wrong. She knew David was right in Zurich, when he said that eventually Nemzhov’s cost-benefit analysis would change. He’d risked his life partly for her reasons, but in the end going back was not possible. Her old life was gone and she did not have another one figured out.
She was glad she saw her parents last week. She didn’t think she was ever going to see them again. “Ever” was such a heavy, final word. She thought of her time in Kiev. The Orange Revolution had been the high point of her life. The excitement, the camaraderie. And most important, the hope. Was it truly that long ago that she’d soared with elation on Maidan Square when they’d won their revolution? Her soul had been so pure then she’d felt like she was flying. It must have been a long time, because just a few days ago she was ready to trade Schulmann’s file for money. She thought David was idealistic, but what was wrong with that? She was happiest when she was that way.
Maggie found herself next to one of the newish ugly high-rise timeshares littering Kaanapali’s coastline. There was a large tree about twenty yards from the water. She sat in its shade. After Kiev, she’d found a new home in easygoing, freewheeling California. The kinds of things that Maggie and her friends debated back in Ukraine did not seem to matter here. People took what they had for granted. They would gossip, they would talk about sports, money, cars, sex, real estate, movies, lives of the rich and famous, drugs. They did not talk about freedom. One of the few exceptions was her old friend James Bowen. She stared out at the water, quietly crying after thinking of him. A passing couple with a little baby looked at her in amazement as if to say “why is this woman crying in paradise?”
James, James … He didn’t like big words or simple solutions. When a student would start pontificating in class, he would politely steer the conversation away from the slogans. She thought James was sad because he understood human nature, the constant struggle between materialistic and spiritual. He acknowledged humankind for what they are, neither angels nor devils. He worried about his adopted country, feeling that it had abandoned the wisdom of the “dead white men” that risked their lives to give birth to the republic. And now the old teacher had given his life for his principles, assassinated by thugs from Europe. She thought of Jonathan Schulmann and Suzy Yamamoto. They must have known how dangerous the information was. Still, they pushed forward.
And then she thought of Nemzhov. Like James, he understood human nature well. But unlike her old teacher, Nemzhov wanted to use this knowledge to tempt, to control, to subjugate. Her throat constricted; she was suffocating from just thinking of him. She was not going to let the Nemzhovs win this time, not without a fight. She had faith in herself more than anything.
And what about David? No, he was not what she’d come to view as her type. In her mind the man for her would be someone whom she saw as truly a master of his fate, someone of perfection. David had no perfection. If not for Oleg and Sasha and Javier, they would have been dead. But it was David that held it all together, that against all odds found the report, that went to face Nemzhov and his goons.
She thought how David would start his day with a little ceremony of closing his eyes and meditating for a few minutes. So different from her instinct to jump out of bed and go for a run. When they’d first met, he would maintain physical distance from her. But now he would touch her when he could, just a small reassuring touch, like taking her hand or placing his gently on her shoulder. Just to remind her that he was there, that he had her back.
Anxiety had gripped her yesterday, when she real
ized that the decision time was near and that she dreaded losing him, losing that “he is here” feeling. Maggie usually closed her eyes during lovemaking, but last night she kept them open. In sadness of not knowing how much longer they’d be together, she wanted to capture him in her memory.
Maggie shook her head. Somehow he’d crawled into her heart. Not the man that she imagined, but here it was. She knew that the vulnerability, the fears that she saw in him were real. But it did not make her turn away. Instead, she felt tenderness, like she had to protect him. Hold him, calm him down, let his fears drain into her. Perfect or not, he was hers and she needed to anchor herself to him. Not needed, wanted to. He was her country now. But she could not tell him that.
“Does he need me?” she said out loud, scaring away a little colorful finch that hopped close to her. No, he does not. He has the files; he knows where they are. He can look out for “number one.” She chased away the thought. He wouldn’t do anything like that. Would she have done it to him? Maybe earlier, definitely not now. But he might be better able to survive on his own. She’d let the chips fall where they may.
She thought of Pavel; there was a debt to be paid. An overdue debt. Maggie shook sand off her knees and stood up to walk back. As she was heading into shallow water toward the Black Rock, her thoughts drifted to The Master and Margarita. Like the heroes of the book, they had left their lives behind. But there was no peaceful refuge waiting for her, no home with Venetian windows, no writing with quill by candlelight. Perhaps one day she’d be able to have a child, but today was not the day to think about it. Instead, there would be more running, probably more deaths. What must be, must be.
Tuesday, 5/10/2022, 4:48 p.m. HST
David was deconstructing the situation into three separate boxes: how to stay alive, what to do about the Schulmann report, and what to do about Maggie. All three seemed equally difficult and interconnected. While logically he should have been focusing on staying alive, it was the last question that kept moving to the front of his thoughts. It was time to leave the little moon-shaped cove.