“You know what I mean, Benedict. The armed guys, the strong men. The guys with the helicopters and the big guns.”
“The problem is not on our end, Aili.” He stressed her first name to bring attention to her use of his. “We’ll ghost any girl who shows up at an extraction point, you know that. But I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter how rich he thinks your boss is, or how much you promise to pay for the look, he will not loan out his entire inventory of girls for even an hour. He’s a businessman, not a high-stakes gambler. Feel him out if you want to, but I would bet my Devon cottage that you’ll find I’m right. And if you push him too hard, you might blow the whole operation.”
Aili stomped her right shoe on the cheap aged dirty linoleum of this rotten third world government building. “Experience, my foot! You’ve gotten cold and scared and—and weak in your old age, Beck. I know Ivanovich is smart, but I am too. I deserve a little credit for being willing to take this risk. I don’t need you to lecture me. And you’re not my father, either, so why don’t you stop telling me what I can’t pull off?”
Beck put his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. She wouldn’t hold his gaze, staring instead at the third button on his shirt. “Ms. MacIntire, I know you’re smart. You’ve done things with data that I’ve never seen. We wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t have this chance, without you. I’m not trying to drown the passion that put this case together. That’s the last thing I want. But you have to remember that field work is a little different than analysis. Out in the field, running operations, every decision has stakes that are much higher and much more urgent. You need to be able to weigh the options and make prudent decisions, and no matter what, you need to keep your head. If you go in there with too much to prove, you may lose it in more ways than one.”
When he finished, Aili sighed dramatically. “Is that all, sir?”
He shook his head sadly, but he let her go and waved his hand. “You’re dismissed.”
She turned on her heels and marched down the hall. After a few steps, she turned back and said, “You know, after all that she’s been through, Katya still believes in miracles. What’s your excuse?”
Beck responded, “That poor girl may yet believe in miracles, Agent MacIntire, but I doubt very much she believes that arrogance causes them.”
Aili didn’t have a smart response for that, so she turned again and ran away.
Chapter Five
It was like a circus. Literally. The backyard of the house on Orange Grove Avenue was transformed into a Big Top. Or as much like a Big Top as a single mom on a budget could put on in her own backyard with a little bit of logistical help from her boyfriend and her possible, future sister-in-law.
Aggie’s mother couldn’t have known the little girl’s birth date exactly, but she knew it was sometime in February, and neither early nor late. As the hopeful young romantic that she was, she decided to call the birthday on St. Valentine’s Day. So when a birth certificate for the little girl finally was made, that’s what Alexandra had put on it. Not that it mattered much, as what bits of information on the aforementioned document that weren’t guessed were outright lies.
Aggie’s fifth birthday party was the first party she’d had with more guests than herself and her mother, and it was scheduled on a Sunday afternoon. Alex had never thrown a children’s party before (come to think of it, she hadn’t thrown that many grown-up parties either), and she was glad of Wendy’s help. Though Wendy did run a couple errands for her, her advice, direction, and Rolodex were much more critical. In the end, Alexandra managed to find a pavilion with red and yellow stripes like a circus tent, a clown to twist up balloon animals, cotton candy and snow cone makers, an extreme amount of circus-themed decorations and games, and cute themed paper baggies to fill with the peanuts and popcorn she’d gotten at Costco.
All the kids dressed as acrobats, animals, and the like, and one little boy in a black top hat and cape even brought his pet rabbit as a prop. Alex wore a rainbow-colored wig, much to her daughter’s chronic amusement; and Matt, in jeans and a T-shirt, claimed to be dressed as “The Tattooed Freak.”
Not only did Alex have to play mother and hostess, but she constantly scanned the crowd for anyone who wasn’t on the approved, background-checked guest list or anyone who simply behaved in an unusual manner. That was a bit of a nightmare.
But it went well. There was an incident early on when Aggie, saying, “It’s my party!” rather loudly, had attempted to cut in the cotton candy line. Matthew quickly put the kibosh on Aggie’s rudeness… and on the tantrum that immediately followed his discipline. After hating him with astonishing resolve for an entire three and a half minutes (which he purposefully ignored), the “big” girl ran back to him, lifted her arms to be picked up, and covered his cheeks in sloppy, sticky, salty kisses.
“Your husband is certainly a good sport, isn’t he?” one of the church moms observed to Alex, who was on the patio topping off the punch and snack bowls.
“Oh, no,” Alex said, quickly.
The woman looked surprised or, more, confused. “Well, I just mean, he handled that situation well, I think.”
“Oh, yeah, of course, he’s an excellent sport. He’s great with her, and she trusts him very much. What I mean is that Matt and I are not married or anything. He’s kinda my boyfriend, I guess.” Then Alex felt heat rising in her cheeks and neck. The woman—whose name was Darcy, Alex thought—had a tall accountant husband and three soccer-playing little boys. Darcy must be painting the words “Living in Sin” under her mental surveillance photo of Alex. (Not that normal people had mental surveillance photos of people they met, but whatever was the normal person’s equivalent thereof.) Alex rushed to add, “But he doesn’t live here, you know. He has his own house.”
“I’m sorry, I assumed, just because you’re always together at church. You look like such a stable family. Well, it is wonderful, really, that he’s so hands-on with her. A lot of nonresident fathers are quite distant from their children as far as events, affection, discipline, and, oh, many other ways.”
“Oh, well, see, he’s actually not her father. He’s just, I mean, he and I are dating. Or in an actual relationship, I guess. About ten months now.”
“Oh…” Darcy (or Mrs. Darcy, maybe?) faltered a bit then.
Could I possibly have made that whole thing any more awkward? “I’m sorry,” Alex blurted. “I know it’s not the usual situation.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s even more amazing, then, how good he is at filling that role.”
“Well, several of the other kids here are his nieces and nephews, so that helps, I guess, him being used to kids.”
The woman nodded. “Well, he’s a good choice for you, anyway.”
“Thank you. I do feel fortunate with him.” And Alex grinned to herself for more than one reason. Because one could have made note of the fact that Matt Gold attended that church a couple years before he even met Alexandra and Aglaya. And one could have made note of the long genetic odds on two people with dark hair and dark eyes and ivory skin producing a daughter who was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and rosy. Or the fact that of the three people involved, there were three completely separate surnames. But, in spite of all these facts, there was something in their relationship that a woman who seemed perceptive enough and perfectly functionally intelligent had mistaken them for an actual family. Alex watched her fella chat with a dad from the neighborhood and thought about how much she loved him and tried not to think about how terrified she was of losing him.
After a few moments, he glanced in Alex’s direction and caught her watching him. He grinned, wrapped up his conversation with the neighbor, and drifted over to her, to Alex, his girlfriend, the one he loved. He hugged her, kissed her. He took his place behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders while they watched Aggie’s party happen all around, with all the bright colors, fun games, and happy people. He said, “I think you’re officially a pro at children’s party planning now
.”
“Mmm…” she hummed her response, a bit lost in her thoughts as usual.
“Ah, my lovely daydream believer. Are you all right, Lex?”
She giggled and leaned back against his chest. “I’m great. I’m really, truly, sincerely wonderful.”
“Well, that’s what I like to hear.”
* * *
For just a few minutes, she had him all to herself. Not that they didn’t have time together, but it seemed like they were always doing something else too or running to some distraction. But not in these few precious moments. The busy holidays with his long and crazy hours at Sunset Coast had ended at last, and his January business trip to a supplier in Utah had gone off too, and quite well, he had told her. They had taken weeks to plan and pull off Aggie’s fifth birthday extravaganza. And now, now that all the party goers had gone home, all the decorations and gifts were put away, and he had just gotten back inside from leaving all the trash along the curb of Orange Grove Avenue, now… she had him.
Soon he’d go home to bed to be rested for work tomorrow, and in a day or two, he’d come up with some charitable project or educational ambition, and all that life would begin again. But for just a few minutes, there was no place to go and nothing to do, and he was hers completely.
After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, he took off his glasses and laid them down on the counter. He came over to where she stood near the island and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. They swayed a bit, like they were dancing.
He always had music, Alex thought; if it wasn’t on his stereo or phone, it was humming in his head. He had music in his soul, and he was always happy. It was a beautiful thing, and he was amazing. She reached up and kissed him. He smiled, tasted her lips. “Mmm,” he muttered. She kissed him again, a little bit harder. And again. After a few minutes, he broke from her lips, laughing softly, and leaned his forehead against hers.
“You know how much I love you, right?” he said.
“Hmm…” She seemed to consider. “I’m guessing you love me about as much as I love you,” she told him.
And he held her. He sang some sweet, pure, love song into her ear in a voice just above a whisper. She tucked her head against his chest and put a death grip on his T-shirt, just by his lower ribs, like she loved to do and did almost always and seemed to have been doing her whole life so far and wanted to do for the rest of it.
And they danced slowly, barely, just rocking side to side an inch or two. She was dizzy, even though they were almost standing still. “Head rush,” she mumbled, giggling and lifting up her chin. He bent and planted a firm kiss on her mouth. “That didn’t help my head,” she said when his lips broke from hers.
“I know. I don’t care.”
They danced a few more minutes, and she slipped her head beneath his chin again, hid in his arms, and mumbled against his chest. “I don’t deserve you, Matthew Gold.”
He laughed, surprised. “I don’t deserve you, either, Alexandra. But when Grace starts to be about getting only what you deserve, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
He leaned her head back against his chest and started to sing again. She thought, But I really, really, REALLY don’t deserve you.
A young girl appeared in the room before them, and Ivanovich gestured at her with a mix of salesmanship and frustration, like a real estate agent who had hauled his persnickety client to one too many houses.
“This is her,” Ivanovich told the woman he knew as “Alice Carroll.”
He was right. It was her, Aili knew at once. This was the third girl to whom Ivanovich had introduced her, and she had run out of convincing excuses. She was relieved because this was the girl they’d heard so much about. Five-foot-tall, 105 pounds. Long, auburn curls. Thin, rosy cheeks. Sharp blue eyes. This was the girl they needed.
“Katya, say hi to the nice lady,” Ivanovich said in Russian. “This is Alice Carroll, Katya; be good now.”
Aili listened to their exchange while she showed Ivanovich a blank stare. Unlike Agent Aili MacIntire, American businesswoman “Alice Carroll” did not speak Russian.
Katya smiled at Aili. “Dobre diem,” she greeted.
Aili gave a curt nod. “Do you speak any English?”
“Yes, I speak little.”
“Your boss wants redhead, yes?” Ivanovich asked, and Aili nodded. “Katya is very good girl. If he likes smiley girl, Katya is good. If he doesn’t like smiley girl, don’t take Katya.”
“Mr. Rosman appreciates a smiling face, Mr. Ivanovich. How old are you, Katya?”
“Fifteen years.”
“You look younger. That’s good.” Aili hated herself for saying stuff like that, but how else would she build trust with the monster that owned this little girl? “My boss likes a girl who’s put together, though, and I don’t like to be the one to put her together, because I’ve got better things to worry about. Can you do your own makeup, Katya?”
The girl glanced at Ivanovich, and he explained the question in Russian. “Oh, yes,” she told Aili.
Aili, hoping this girl was as sharp as her eyes, began the most dangerous part of her visit today. If Ivanovich got suspicious, he might intercept their communication, and Aili would die. If he decided that keeping Katya and her child around had become too risky for the potential reward, they would die too. Aili took a compact out of her purse and held it out to Katya. “Let me see you try. I brought some of Mr. Rosman’s favorite things. Show me how you would put them on.”
Again Katya looked at Ivanovich. He nodded and gestured for her to take it. His greed clouded his suspicion, thank God. Katya opened the compact and immediately glanced at Aili, her eyes wide and quizzical. Aili concealed Katya’s slight hesitation by giving specific instructions on how the soon-to-be-arriving “Mr. Rosman” liked the makeup applied.
Listening to Ivanovich’s interpretations of what she didn’t understand, Katya followed the instructions well. When she finished with the product, Aili took it back and handed her the next, with more detailed instructions—two sets of them. Ivanovich was distracted enough translating the first set of instructions he didn’t know about the second set the Interpol team had concealed inside the items that “Alice” handed Katya. If he had found those instructions, even one piece, he’d have killed both Aili and Katya on the spot.
After all the products had come out of and been returned to Aili’s designer shoulder bag, in the right order, Katya’s face looked like that of a porcelain doll child. Aili could only imagine what the young girl thought about the secret message in the makeup. It explained who Aili represented and what they offered Katya in exchange for the evidence printed in her child’s DNA. Finally, it asked if she could, when they came to take her to the fictional Mr. Rosman, smuggle her child out with her.
Katya blotted the bubble-gum pink lipstick and gave it back. She gestured to her make-up. “It is nice, Ms. Carroll, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “I know I can do everything you ask me.”
“Well, good.”
“Do you have any other questions?” Ivanovich asked Ms. Carroll.
Aili nodded and looked at Katya, “Why are you smiling?” This had nothing to do with her job; she just wanted to understand it.
Ivanovich answered for her, “Katya has an imaginary friend, and she thinks he will come take her from here. But I am god here, and if anyone comes, I will kill them.” He repeated the same in Russian to Katya.
In Russian, Katya said, “My Friend is hard to kill. He died once, but he killed Death in the process.”
It was a strange thing for the girl to say, but Aili couldn’t afford to react. Briefly, Ivanovich looked alarmed, then he laughed and glared at Katya. “Crazy girl. But my crazy girl. You are mine forever. Remember that.”
Katya replied to his cruel gaze with a smile and said that her Friend would come get her, one way or another.
Aili filed that conversation in the way back of her brain. She looked at Katya and held her eyes. “Make sure you bri
ng your pajamas and anything else you need.” She was giving the girl an excuse to carry a bundle out of the brothel. “You’ll be staying the night.”
The girl nodded.
Aili looked at Ivanovich. “Let’s make a deal.”
Ivanovich grinned and laughed. “‘Let’s make a deal!’ I love you Americans.” His voice hammered his perverse excitement against Aili’s eardrums. He craned his head to try to gaze down her neckline and picked at a button on her Burberry suit. “If you are going to spend much time in our jungle, you must change your clothes. These things belong in offices; you will ruin them here.”
Aili wanted to gag, but she refrained from punching him in the nose and even held her tone steady. “I’ll make a note.”
Katya vanished into the walls, and Aili smiled and made nice with Ivanovich while they worked out the details. She put on a relaxed demeanor as they discussed their “business,” but she wanted to throw up. She wouldn’t be able to breathe right until she was miles away from this strange, creepy brothel/militia compound… and all of her secret messages safe with her.
Chapter Six
Alex sat at the buffet drinking coffee and reading the Wall Street Journal when Matt knocked on her front door. He was working a closing shift at the Newbury Park store today, so they’d made plans to have some time together in the morning. She let him inside, and he greeted her with a kiss and said, “It will always be beyond me how you are so achingly lovely when you have barely woken up, are wearing no makeup, and your hair isn’t even combed.”
She giggled as she led him toward the kitchen. “I probably am relaxed and happy because I’m still dreaming, and all the noise and anxiety of the day hasn’t made me ugly yet.”
“Stop that, you’re never ugly. But why should you let the noise make you worry? Aggie’s fine, you’re fine. Why not just enjoy the day?” He headed to the Mr. Coffee while Alex settled back into her seat.
“That is the eternal question, isn’t it?”
Liberation Song Page 6