Before Gaia

by Francine Pascal

  “Really? That’s sweet,” Katia said. “It’s good to see you, Oliver.”

  “It’s great to see you,” Oliver said. The waitress had come over—Katia ordered a club soda herself. Which was odd, Oliver thought, since she usually drank white wine—but it was early in the afternoon.

  “Listen—I wanted to talk to you,” Katia said. She was leaning forward in the chair, gazing at him from up close. “I want to have a conversation that’s a little more serious.”

  “Okay.” Oliver was all ears.

  “Oliver, I really like you,” Katia said. Her eyes told him that she meant it. “The time we’ve spent together has been so wonderful for me.”

  “Oh—I feel the same way, Katia.”

  “I don’t even think you fully appreciate what you’ve done for me,” she said. “Before I met you, I was… well, I was lonely. I hadn’t been in the city very long… and I don’t even think I realized how closed off I was.”

  You see, Olly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re way too hard on yourself. She does love you. Trust your instincts. Oliver’s heart was singing.

  “You’re a wonderful person, Oliver. A wonderful man. You’re generous and warmhearted and smart, and any girl would be—well, she’d be lucky to get you, that’s all.”

  “Thanks,” Oliver said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I mean, you’re too kind. I’m not all those things.”

  “You are,” Katia said urgently. She had reached to touch his hands as she looked at him. “You are. And you need to believe that you are—to have confidence that a woman can see your goodness in your eyes.”

  “Can you see it?” Oliver asked.

  But Katia had cast her eyes down—she was staring at the bubbles rising through her club soda.

  “Oliver,” she said, more slowly, “that’s why this is so difficult for me. I have to say something that I don’t want to—and I need to know you’re really listening.”

  “W—what? I mean, yes. I’m listening.”

  A knot of wood exploded in the fireplace suddenly—the popping noise made them both jump. Katia pulled her hands away from his, laughing nervously.

  “Oliver,” Katia said, “I’m in love with Tom. Tom and I—Tom and I are involved now.”

  It actually took a full five seconds for Oliver to absorb what she’d said. He was staring at her dully, feeling a knot forming in his stomach.

  He could barely move.

  “Wait,” he finally said. “In love—so soon? I mean, it’s been—you’ve only had one date!”

  “Oliver,” Katia said. “That’s something else you need to understand. I mean, I barely understand it myself—”

  “What? What are you trying to tell me?” Oliver said harshly. Someone at the bar glanced over—he was speaking more loudly than he’d intended.

  “Tom and I—our love really began the day we met,” Katia said quietly. “In the bookstore. We’ve been ‘involved,’ if you want to put it like that, since that day.”

  And now she finally looked at him, and tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about that, Oliver. I never talked about him. But I’ve loved him since the moment we met.”

  Oliver stared back at her the way one would stare at an oncoming train before it hit you—when it was too late, when you were powerless to get out of the way. That was the only thing he could compare it to in his mind. It was that bad.

  “So you’ve lied to me,” he managed to say.

  “Oh, Oliver, no,” Katia said, wiping her eyes. “No. I guess I’ve—I’m just so sorry.”

  “Uh-huh,” Oliver said. He was staring at the bar, where he and Nikolai had drunk all that vodka just a day before. “You’re sorry.”

  “Oliver—”

  “A month of lying! Both of you!” He couldn’t believe it. Nikolai had been right. On my honor as a soldier, he thought bitterly. Tom, you bastard.

  Maybe everything Nikolai had said was correct.

  “Where are you going?” Katia asked. Her untouched drink stood on the table, reflecting the bright firelight. Oliver realized he had risen to his feet.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, stumbling forward.

  Oliver made it past her, without knocking the chairs over, without touching her, and stumbled toward the door of Chumley’s for the second time in as many days. As he yanked on the wooden door and came out into the sun, he realized he was crying, but he wasn’t feeling the release of his tears—he felt a terrible, empty pain in his stomach, and at the same time he felt nothing, a sick wave of nothingness that was somehow worse than the pain.

  Dangerously Close

  “THANKS FOR COMING IN,” RODRIGUEZ said, leaning on the conference room table. “I wanted you both here so I could go over some organizational changes.”

  Organizational changes? Oliver thought.

  He was sitting next to Tom, and it was all he could do to keep from fidgeting in nervous frustration and anger. He could almost smell Katia’s perfume all over his brother. And with Rodriguez there, Oliver was trapped—there was nothing he could do or say right now that wouldn’t jeopardize his career.

  And that was what he focused on. Oliver stared straight ahead at Rodriguez, concentrating on the room, which he’d been in countless times, and on Rodriguez, his superior, whom he’d spoken to time and time again. Oliver felt at home here—in a way Tom clearly did not. He hadn’t missed the way that Tom looked around like a tourist as they came down the corridor together.

  Did I really want us both to work here? Oliver thought wonderingly. Was that really my game plan? To have Tom right next to me in the same job?

  Sliding his eyes sideways to look at Tom, Oliver decided that it was a bad idea—that it had always been a bad idea. Why couldn’t Tom have stayed at the university, where he belonged? Why didn’t he get out of here—and go do something useful, like actually write his thesis, rather than use it as a cover while secretly seducing Oliver’s girl?

  “The agency places a tremendous value on each of you,” Rodriguez was saying, looking back and forth between them. “These new changes reflect that. Oliver, you’ve been heading up our code division for the past few years—and you’ve done some extraordinary work there.”

  Until now, Oliver thought. He had a sudden fear that he was about to be reprimanded. That’s what this is about, he thought nervously. He could feel a thin film of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead—he wanted to wipe it away, but he thought that would be too obvious. Rod’s going to dress me down but good for failing to crack that damn code.

  “Recently you’ve run into some trouble,” Rodriguez went on. Oliver felt a sinking feeling. Here it comes, he thought. “The intercepted Organization message. You haven’t been able to crack it.”

  The Organization. Right then Oliver’s fear began to combine with a different feeling entirely. He began to feel a crazy sort of guilt, as if he was getting away with something. Because he hadn’t said anything about Nikolai.

  He knew he should be reporting his encounters with Nikolai. He should be telling Tom and Rodriguez all about their meetings, recalling every detail so that it could go into a case file. Nikolai’s card, which Nikolai had given him at the bar and which Oliver still had in his pocket, should have already been handed over to Rodriguez and placed in an evidence bag to be analyzed by the CIA lab technicians. Nikolai’s clothing, his habits, his promises, all of his talk about the Organization and Katia—he should already be reporting all of it.

  But he couldn’t do it. There was no way to sit there and tell Rodriguez about Katia. Not with Tom sitting right there. It would have to wait. So he said nothing and kept listening, waiting for the reprimand he knew was coming.

  I’ll just have to suck it up this time, he told himself. Once I break the code, I’m sure all will be forgiven. From now on I’ll just drown myself in work rather than booze. To hell with Nikolai and everyone else.

  “Well, I’ve got some good news, Oliver.” Rodriguez was smiling at him. “Going forward,
you won’t have to worry about cracking that code.”

  “What?” It wasn’t at all what Oliver was expecting to hear. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s been solved,” Rodriguez said, grinning. He had produced a file folder and was handing it over. Encryption Project, Oliver read on the spine, followed by the previous day’s date.

  “But—I don’t understand,” Oliver said finally. He was staring at the file folder, thinking about Nikolai, thinking about Katia, thinking about his throbbing head. Tom was sitting next to him, staring straight ahead—no doubt thinking about his sexy new girlfriend. But Rodriguez had Oliver’s full attention. This was completely confusing. The code was solved? Since when? Who had solved it?

  “The changes are as follows,” Rodriguez was saying. “Oliver, since your main project is now complete, we’re going to move you over to the robotics division. It’ll be a fresh start for you since the agency feels you’ve, uh, outlived your usefulness in code breaking.”

  “What?” Tom sat forward suddenly. “Wait, that’s not what we agreed. You can’t just take him off the—”

  “Robotics?” Oliver repeated. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Agent Rodriguez. Who cracked the code?”

  “Your father was a programmer in the seventies, wasn’t he?” Rodriguez said. Oliver was struggling to follow the logic of what he was saying. My father? “I’m not surprised, given the genes he’s passed on. Since your brother, Tom, managed to crack the code, we’re going to put him in charge of the code-breaking team.”

  “Put him in charge?” Oliver repeated weakly. “What?”

  “That’s not what we agreed!” Tom yelled, leaning forward on the conference table. “Damn it, Rodriguez, you weren’t even supposed to—”

  “You stole my job, you—” Oliver was staring at Tom incredulously. He still couldn’t believe it. He had expected something bad, but this—he wouldn’t have believed it in a million years, even as a hypothetical. Tom was actually being given his job.

  “Oliver,” Tom said urgently, grabbing Oliver’s arm. “You’ve got to believe me. This is a complete misunderstanding. I’m not trying to… He wasn’t supposed to—”

  “Don’t touch me,” Oliver said quietly. He was planning on keeping this quiet. Agent Rodriguez was across the table, and that meant this would stay quiet. Rodriguez had been duped somehow—he had fallen into Tom’s trap, with this nonsense about the code being solved. Rodriguez, Katia—they were all the same in the end. All victims of Tom’s charms.

  “Oliver—”

  “I said keep your hands off me,” Oliver said even more quietly. The perspiration was now pouring off his face. His hands, under the table, were clenched into fists, with the thumbs pulled taut, for maximum damage when they hit flesh. I can take them both, he thought. Easily.

  “Oliver, look,” Rodriguez said. “This may not be exactly what you wanted, but I assure you that robotics is a perfectly—”

  “Go to hell,” Oliver said venomously. He rose to his feet so quickly that the metal chair flew backward, colliding with the wall. The clatter of the chair was shockingly loud in the small room. “Both of you!”

  Oliver was dangerously close to dropping into a fighting stance—which would have been a big mistake since he’d still have to make his way out of a building full of CIA agents. Thankfully he realized this in time—just before he yanked open the door and, eyes blinded by tears, ran from the room.

  OLIVER

  You can all go to hell.

  You, Tom, with your reassuring smiles, and your “soldier’s honor,” and the rabbits you keep pulling out of hats—the broken codes, all the girls.

  And you, Agent Rodriguez—you can go to hell, too. Sending me to the robotics division, of all places.

  And Katia—dear, sweet, deluded Katia. What did he do to you to make you believe his lies? There have been so many girls, Katia. Just wait—you’ll find out what he’s really like.

  But you nailed it, Katia, darling, didn’t you? This afternoon. I need to believe that I’m wonderful, you told me. To have confidence that a woman can see your goodness in your eyes. Well, get ready to look into my eyes, Katia, and see just that. I’m finished with being weak.

  You want to see what I’m really capable of? I’ll show you what I’m really capable of.

  His Own Man

  OLIVER COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT he was doing—but at the same time there was a peculiar rightness to it. He was finally doing something for himself. He wasn’t a pawn in someone else’s game—in Rodriguez’s game, or Tom’s, or Katia’s—anymore.

  He pulled the card out of his pocket. This is it, he thought, looking up at the industrial building in front of him. The Organization.

  This was espionage gold—the location of the Organization’s Manhattan headquarters. All he had to do was get back on the subway, head uptown, and report.

  And then what? he thought, standing there at the doorway. The robotics division? Hardly an appetizing thought.

  And don’t forget Tom. That was the other part—he would spend days, months—years—watching his upstart twin brother run the code division. And every time Tom came in late to work, Oliver would have to imagine him lingering at home with Katia, making puppy-dog eyes at her across the breakfast table in that awful messy apartment of his.

  No, he thought. He had made up his mind. There was no going back now.

  Standing up straight, he knocked on the door.

  With an electronic buzzing noise, the door opened. Nikolai was standing there.

  “Welcome, my friend,” Nikolai said warmly. “Won’t you come in?”

  1983

  The brothers were closer now than they had been since long before this whole conflict over girls and codes had begun.

  Gloved Hands

  IT WAS THE END OF MARCH AND the beginning of spring. All over New York, the ice had melted. The air was getting warmer, and buds were appearing on the trees. Tom had his window open, and the warm air was blowing into his apartment, rustling the covers of magazines and newspapers that were piled around the room. Outside the window, the sky was fading from bright blue to a deeper gold.

  He tried to remember the story of how his father proposed to his mother. The story wasn’t complicated. Tom and Oliver’s father had always told it in a quiet, shambling voice. They had gone to the nicest restaurant he could afford. He had the ring in his pocket the whole time, but he kept checking for it with his fingers every five minutes. He was convinced their mother had seen him doing it and was on to him the entire night. But she always insisted that she had no idea. She was shocked, she said later, but at the same time it was like she had known all along, that day, from the first time their eyes had met.

  Now Tom was doing the same thing. The ring was in his pocket. He checked it again. He was tying his tie over and over—it always came out slightly crooked—and wondering whether or not to shave. Not that he hadn’t shaved, exactly, but it hadn’t turned out to be a terribly close shave. He looked a little stubbly. On the other hand, he didn’t really have time to undo his tie and shave again. Checking his watch, he took a deep breath, held it, and blew it out, nodding at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was time to stop playing games and just go propose.

  Walking out onto Morningside Drive, Tom checked his pocket for the ring again. He had it—the small velvet case brushed against his fingers. If everything went right, he thought, Katia would be pulling open that box at eight-thirty, just as Tom signaled the waiters to bring the champagne. And then, at a quarter to nine, Oliver would arrive. That was the other surprise he had planned.

  If he was going to be married, then he would be needing a best man, and after everything he and Oliver had been through in the past weeks, it meant the world to Tom to have his brother back by his side, celebrating his love for Katia instead of resenting it. Tom had honestly begun to doubt whether that kind of family bond could ever exist again.

  The truth was, Oliver’s suffering had hurt Tom terribly. He did
n’t fully understand what had upset his brother so much. He knew that Oliver had spent an important, meaningful time with Katia—but it had torn into him somehow and caused the rage and fear that had blazed from Oliver’s eyes that terrible day he ran out of the Agency. That night Tom lay awake, confused and troubled by his brother’s strong emotions. He had tried to call him, leaving message after message and getting no reply. Tom had finally decided that Oliver would have to come around on his own—but Oliver had surprised him. The change had come much more quickly than Tom had expected. It had only been a couple of days before Oliver was apologizing for his “immature behavior” and promising to heal the rift he’d created between them.

  The brothers were closer now than they had been since long before this whole conflict over girls and codes had begun. The rift was healed.

  That was why Tom had invited Oliver to join them tonight—to celebrate that healing, to mark the beginning of a new and peaceful life between the three of them.

  And Katia didn’t know about any of it—he had managed to keep everything secret. She had agreed to meet him at the Four Seasons, and that was all she knew.

  Tom kept picturing the wedding, though he was trying not to let himself do it too often. After all, Katia hadn’t even said yes yet. So he thought about little pieces of it at a time. Right now he was imagining Katia walking down the aisle, her glowing face shrouded in white netting, holding her breath and leaning in toward Tom as she approached him at the altar. He then extended his arm toward her…

  “Ugh—”

  A brutally powerful blow crashed against the side of Tom’s head.

  What was that?

  Tom’s vision blacked out for a second and he saw stars. But it took less than a second for him to react.

  Attack, he barely registered. I’m being mugged. Jesus, not tonight, New York. Please, not tonight…