by C. G. Cooper
Anna exhaled softly. “Do you promise not to tell anyone, unless I say it’s okay?”
“I do. Have you told your mother?”
Anna shook her head, embarrassed.
Varushkin pursed his lips, more questions coming to mind.
“Very well. I will not tell your secret to anyone unless you give me your permission.”
Anna nodded and marched forward, her hand extended. They shook like two CEOs coming to an agreement.
“Deal,” she said.
“Deal,” he repeated. “Now, tell me who your friend is.”
Anna’s eyes lit up, and she said, “His name is Daniel.”
“And who is Daniel?”
Her body was relaxed now.
“Daniel was a Marine, or, is a Marine. You know, they always say once a Marine always a Marine.”
Varushkin nodded.
“And this Daniel, how is it that you came to know him?”
“He was staying on our farm in Maine, with me and my dad.”
It was the first he’d heard of Anna’s father. He’d only met the man once, when Natasha had been in the midst of her drug-filled adventure. He’d seemed like a nice man who had wanted to be a preacher if he remembered correctly. The only reason Varushkin had consented to allow Anna to go with her father was that the young man’s background had been clean, except for his tryst with Natasha, and he’d been convincing in his court plea to keep the child.
“And where is your father now?”
Anna’s face darkened.
“Something happened,” she said, her voice low again, like she was to blame.
“What happened, Anna? Tell me what happened with your father.”
Anna nodded absently and began to tell the tale.
“For as long as I can remember, my dad wanted to start a church. It was hard to do it without a lot of money, so one day my dad found some people who said they could help. I think that’s when the trouble started.”
Chapter 21
Her body felt the rocking rhythm, but her mind was elsewhere, pondering contingencies and calculating returns. Natasha’s world was all about control. Her therapist said it was her only way of coping with the world around her. Natasha knew what that meant: Lose control and the downward spiral began again.
She’d had enough of failure. Every time she’d relapsed, Natasha told herself it wasn’t her fault, that it was her father or her dead mother. Sometimes it was her DNA and the persistent tug she could never seem to shake.
And then she’d met her last therapist, a cold man with dead eyes who’d taken one look at her and diagnosed everything he believed to be wrong with her. That woke Natasha. There were no tissue boxes or comfy chairs in the man’s office. He was all business and told her in that first meeting that he reserved the right to fire her, not the other way around.
She’d agreed to his stringent terms and plunged headlong into therapy. Cut by cut she carved her life down to its most important parts. Precisely one year into her therapy, though at times she would have described it as more of an indentured servitude, her doctor asked Natasha what she wanted out of life.
“Now that you’ve risen above much of your tainted life, I’m sure your vision has cleared. Tell me, Ms. Varushkin, where do you see yourself in five, ten, twenty years?”
She’d been so focused on getting better that thoughts of the future seemed as foreign as a butterfly in a sweatshop. He saw her hesitation and gave her the week to think about it, again with the same caveat.
“Come with your answer, or see yourself to the door.”
It was one of the hardest, most thought-provoking weeks of her life. She spent many hours running on a treadmill or power-walking around the city, winding in and around places known and unknown, until she couldn’t remember where she was.
The answer came late one night after a hurried call from her father. The elder Varushkin was in Russia for business, shoring up a land deal that could net many millions. He made no mention of it during his call.
“Natasha, the military police have come for me. They are taking me in for questioning. I will call when I can.”
The line went dead and she scrambled to find information. No one she called could tell her anything. She was helpless again, floundering without the aid of her father. And that was when it happened, like a heavy leather page turning to the next, a fight against gravity.
Her mind cleared and she knew what she wanted.
She never went back to her therapist because she knew it was what he wanted. If she truly had found her calling, she didn’t need him anymore. No, everything was clear now. She had to take control of her father’s interests, she had to save him, she had to rise to her new calling and run her father’s organization.
It started slowly, and some of the men tried to get in her way. She found clever ways of disposing of their services, and soon she was in complete control. Her father’s contacts knew they had no choice but to trust her. After all, she held their money and their futures. Five years of working, slaving, overpowering, and now she was so close. The final culmination of the plans that would ensure her future, solidify her control.
But little things were brewing worry in her subconscious. Her father was home, but he was weak and she swore he looked at her differently. Her daughter was home, but Natasha had a hard time looking at Anna and not feeling a twinge of jealousy for Anna’s youth and beauty, the innocent inquisitiveness in her eyes. Then there was the upcoming gathering. Five years in the making, it should be the crowning achievement of her toils.
And yet she worried, a sliver of control lost. Why couldn’t she shake it?
A bead of sweat ran off her neck, between her breasts and landed on her personal trainer’s chiseled stomach. He was looking up at her with rapt attention, moving with her, obviously trying to last longer. But when her mind came back to the task at hand, she grabbed a handful of his hair and moved faster. He finished in seconds.
“Get your clothes on,” she said, sliding off of him and walking naked to the bathroom. “I hope you can do better when we get to the gym.”
+++
The gym helped more than the screwing, and by the time she arrived back at the brownstone, she was showered and clear-headed. The cook had a plain omelet waiting in her room, and she devoured it as she changed.
She was surprised that Anna hadn’t stopped in. Since arriving, the teenager seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing when her mother was about. Maybe she was with her grandfather. The thought made Natasha wince, the dark clouds from the morning threatening to dampen her mood.
When she went to the kitchen to find a glass of water, the cook told her that Mr. Varushkin was in the sunroom reading. She found him staring out the window, the sunshine caressing his sallow face. He turned when she entered, and returned her embrace with an added kiss.
“I’m sorry I missed breakfast,” she said quickly, chiding herself immediately. She wasn’t a child anymore. Why did he make her feel that way?
“I had time to talk to Anna,” he said, still holding her hand. Something in his voice made her shiver.
“How is Anna this morning?” she said, releasing his hand and refilling her glass with the pitcher of orange juice on the side table.
“She is confused.”
“Oh?” Natasha’s heartbeat quickened.
“She worries about her father.”
“Well she shouldn’t. I’m sure he’s just fine.” She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the pile of pastries next to the orange juice, a necessary distraction at the moment.
“Have you been in contact with him?”
“Not since Anna got here.”
“Why is that?”
“Anna felt uncomfortable, so I thought I should give her some time.”
“And this thing about the girls?”
She turned to face him. His face hadn’t changed. She’d never been able to read him. He had the unnerving ability to remain placid despite the situation. It angered
her that the gift had not been passed down to her.
Natasha wanted to lie, wanted to tell her father the same story she’d told Anna, that the girls were safely in the hands of the authorities. But he would know she was lying, he always had.
“What do you want me to tell you, Father?”
“The truth, Natasha.”
She exhaled and said, “The girls are safe.”
“Where are they?”
“They are with the gentlemen who requested them.”
Natasha saw her father’s hand tense and then release.
“You sold them,” he said flatly.
She nodded, unapologetic.
“Why?” he asked. “I was told—”
“You were gone, Father. You left, remember? Everything I did was to make you proud, to prepare for your return. It is because of me that you are here. It is because of me that you have something to come back to.” It was all true. She’d always wanted to make her father proud, to stand next to him as they ascended into a new world of security and freedom.
“But the girls. Why the girls?”
Her glare turned into a hard laugh.
“Do you know how much those girls made us? Millions. Millions, Father. And that was only one small shipment!”
Now his eyes went wide. Her exclamation was supposed to elicit pride in him. All she saw was horror. She rushed to explain.
“We’ve divested every other illegal interest we had. Our real estate holdings have doubled each year. The complex in Wyoming is ready, and The Pension is invested in so many businesses that only a nuclear war could destroy it. We even started a venture capital firm to find and invest in new technologies. Father, this is what we dreamed of. This is our future, and it is wonderful to behold.”
She was holding her hands out wide, demonstrating what she’d built while he was away. She looked to him for approval, for some sign that he understood. He shook his head and looked away instead.
“It is my fault. I should have been more clear. When we took what we did, the plan was always to get out of the criminal world. Can you not see how dangerous this is? Can you not see how one word from a disloyal employee could bring the entire American government down on our family?” He kept shaking his head like a homeless man with a twitch.
“Nobody will find out. We’ve made the transactions seamless and invisible.”
“And that’s why your daughter knows about this?”
Natasha froze. He did not understand and never would. Her visage went cool.
“That was a mistake, a mistake that has been remedied.”
Georgy Varushkin looked up at his only daughter and said, “You were right. You have done well, better than I ever could have asked. But hear me now, as of today, The Pension no longer traffics anything. We have put illegal dealing behind us. It was the promise I made to our investors, to our brothers. Do you understand me, Natasha?”
She stared at him for an extended moment. His eyes were so blue, like the deep cuts of a glacier. But where she’d once seen strength and determination, she now saw weakness and a slow death.
Despite her thoughts, Natasha nodded and said, “I will do as you say, Father.”
She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. He held her close and she tried not to move. When he let go and looked up at her, it took every ounce of hard-won control to smile and nod. He returned the smile and she left the room.
As soon as she was in the office, she shut the French doors and picked up the phone on the desk. The call picked up after the second ring with a gruff, “Yes?”
“We need to talk,” Natasha said, scraping a nail on the back of her hand, watching as the blood rushed to the surface and left a white trail when it disappeared. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
She replaced the phone in the cradle. Things would move quickly now. She hadn’t heard from Adam Eplar yet, but the car wash usually kept him busy in the mornings, and it had probably been a long night. He would call when he had time. He’d never failed her before.
With her ex-husband out of the way, the trail from Old Orchard Beach was cut off. Finding an alternate route would be easy. Despite what her father had said, she had no intention of halting their trafficking operations. They were too lucrative and had turned into one of her power centers. Men wanted power, and usually they wanted it over women. With the girls shipped in from Ukraine, Natasha had quietly wrested that power from them, even establishing a vibrant spy network that funneled all sorts of interesting tidbits into her organization. She had no intention of letting that power go. If her father couldn’t live with that, she could live without him. After all, she was used to it after the last five years.
Chapter 22
Suicide mission.
The words echoed in my head until I finally shook them away. Pastor Walker looked up from where he’d been staring at his hands. I assumed he’d been praying. He’d done a lot of that since coming to Boston. Who knew if it worked, but it seemed to make him feel better, looser and more apt to help.
“What is it?” he asked.
I shook my head again, the vision of Anna’s eyes still splitting me right down the middle. Again two sides of a coin. Decisions. I was used to being a loner. Now all I could think about was ways I could get in and out with Anna. The Marine in me said to look at other options, to ignore my beast and look at the situation objectively.
“We can’t do this alone,” I said, thinking out loud now, as if saying the words might propel me back to firm reality.
Walker tensed. We’d talked about bringing in the authorities and letting them handle the Varushkins. The talk hadn’t gone far. We knew what that would mean. Even if the police or the FBI cracked the Russian clan, there were still Anna and now her father to consider. Anna would probably get snatched up by social services, and I wasn’t a big enough prick to let the pastor get nabbed for something his ex-wife set him up for, no matter how stupid he’d been.
No, there had to be another way, a way to skirt the law and come out on the other side. I saw the beginnings of a path lined by concertina wire. Everything else was a blur, like I just had to take the first steps and see what happened next.
My mind fluttered back to the room, to the concerned look on the pastor’s face, to the cracked tiles in the motel bathroom, to faded paintings of some fictional beach. I stared at the picture for a long time, willing the answer to come, begging it to be seen. Nothing.
“What about your friends from the Marine Corps?” Walker asked. “Is there anyone you could call?”
There were plenty of people I could call, but none that I wanted to call. I’d made a clean break, put all that behind me. No one knew how to find me now. No one knew where…
I stopped cold, the faded memory bursting like a bubble in my head.
“Rex,” I said, surprised when the name slipped out.
“Who?”
I closed my eyes and thought about the last time I’d talked to Rex Hazard. He’d been one of my STA (Surveillance and Target Acquisition) Platoon Commanders. That’s where Marine snipers usually come from, property of Marine battalions or regiments. 1st Lt. Hazard was different than the rest. Most of those lieutenants came in wanting to be snipers themselves. Who could blame them? They were infantry officers by trade and intelligence officers by training. Hazard told me a lot of his fellow Ground Intelligence officers got stuck in S-2, the battalion’s intel shop. The lucky ones got platoons like their infantry officer brethren. He’d almost missed his chance, had somehow convinced someone high up to let him stay on even though he’d soon pick up captain.
1st Lt. Hazard came to STA as a veteran intelligence officer, having been part of the planning for untold operations during the invasion of Iraq. He was smart and he listened. He knew the value of Marine snipers like me, knew how to employ us and how to best support us. Sometimes he asked to come along, but even when he did, he left us to our tasks, even hauling our chow and extra ammo like some boot PFC.
When he took over command, H
azard already knew who I was. I’d met him on a couple occasions. I didn’t know him though.
Our first stint in Afghanistan changed that. It was a long range insertion and he came along for the ride. The rest of our teams had been tasked to companies, but they liked to put me and my spotter deep in Indian country. We knew how to stay hidden, and I could always be counted on to take the toughest shots. That’s not bragging. It’s just how it was.
To make a long story short, we got unlucky. The place we picked to setup camp ended up being a favored mating place for wild dogs. They don’t put that kind of stuff on maps. Not an hour after the helo put the three of us on the ground, the yelping started. The yelps turned to barks when the mangy dogs realized we were there.
Once again, luck went the other way. As so often happens, someone got curious. They must’ve heard the dogs and a band of armed guys headed our way. It was dark, but I could see them clearly through my scope. We radioed higher to see if they knew who the guys were, but that turned up jack and shit. We asked for a helo, but were told to lay low or get to a new location. The quickest timeframe they could get to us was three hours.
Lt. Hazard let me make the call. The guys with guns were close, and I could see there were more coming. Either they thought they’d have some sport with the wailing mutts, or they thought there was something else going on. I still put my money on the first.
We got to our feet and I told Hazard to make for the hills. We didn’t get fifty feet before the firing started. That first volley hit the lieutenant, and he stumbled in the dirt.
I had no choice at that point. I pushed Hazard to the ground and told my spotter to get down too. By the time I was on the ground I’d already taken out two. They couldn’t see us down low, so the shooting was easy. Turned out they were the bad guys we were supposed to be watching the next day, but they’d arrived earlier than expected. Gotta love shitty intel. We got out after the bad guys took heavy casualties and turned tail.
After that, Hazard and I were pretty close. When he was getting out of the Corps, he invited me to the Officers Club where they were giving him his farewell. He pissed off a few officers by doing that, and probably pissed off the rest when he invited me up on the makeshift stage and told everyone in attendance that he owed Sgt. Briggs his life, and that “good ol’ Snake Eyes” was the best Marine he’d ever served with.