Close Up: Exposure Book Three

by Jocoby, Annie

  I actually felt a bit sorry for Asher at that point. It didn’t seem fair that he would have to take the fall for something that he had no part of. Even if he did a lot of other things that he probably should have been serving time for, he wasn’t good for that particular incident. At least, if what he was telling me was true.

  I shook my head. Asher was coming clean about some very despicable things that he had done. Why would he lie about why he went to prison?

  He smiled ruefully and unbuttoned his shirt. I involuntarily sighed just looking at him, as I always did. He pointed to his tattoo. “This rose means something in the Russian underworld. It basically means that I came of age in prison, which is what happened. I turned 18 behind bars.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying hard to stay calm. “How did you get out of prison?”

  “It took awhile, but my father was able to pay off the right judge, and I was set free. Originally, I was supposed to have served 30 years in prison. The appeals judge was the one who overturned my conviction, and he was the one who was bought off by my father.”

  I nodded my head slowly, tracing my finger on the rose on his chest. I also examined the letters that was below this rose, seeing that the words were in a different language and a different alphabet. I knew that he had, at one time, told me what the tattoo said, but, of course, I didn’t necessarily know what it meant right at that moment. “What does this mean?” I asked him, tracing my fingers on the writing on his chest.

  He looked pained. “It means ‘I’m not afraid, at least not to die. I’m afraid to live and not remember why.’ I thought that was an appropriate saying for me, considering what I’ve experienced in my life. It was something that I had added to my chest after I got out of my father’s organization, and I made a decision that I was going to do something to make this world a better place. I felt that I owed it to the world after being a part of such a sickening organization, and doing such despicable things.”

  “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Asher,” I said, trying very hard to sound encouraging. I wasn’t quite feeling the encouragement, though. I was still doubtful that I wanted to go forward with him.

  Asher wasn’t quite done, though. “That’s why I’m in America. That judge, the one who was bought off…he was murdered. My case was therefore being looked into by some of the other judges, and they were about to have that judge’s order overturned, and I was going to be returned to prison. At that time, my father decided that it was best that I get out of Russia for good. If I couldn’t be found, then I couldn’t be returned to prison. That’s when I came here.”

  I was stunned, and I was afraid to ask the next question. Yet I had to. “Is there an extradition order for you, Asher? Are you in danger of being caught in America and dragged back to Russia?”

  He smiled. “No, thank God. There would have been had I been convicted of murder. But what I was in for was something that was non-violent. I was convicted for illegal drug distribution. So, once I was out of the country, I was out of the country. I can’t go back into Russia, of course, during my lifetime. Or, if I do have to go back there for any reason, it would have to be on the down-low, and it would have to be for a very short period of time.”

  He paused, looking at the ceiling. “There was a period when I thought that I would have had to bring you into Russia to meet my father, and I was prepared to do that. It would have been a risk, of course, but I also know that there was very little chance that I would end up getting caught if I was only there for a week or so. But I could never go there for any period of time. I don’t trust some of those men, and there’s probably at least one man over there who would sell me to the highest bidder in exchange for a lesser sentence for them.”

  I let out a breath of relief. If there was a danger of Asher being extradited…I didn’t want to think of that. I knew very little about extradition, but I knew that it pretty much was reserved for violent crimes, as Asher said.

  He smiled. “And my father let me out of the organization for other reasons, too. He felt guilty about making me take the fall for Evgeny, which was why he bribed that judge in the first place. And he did decide that I could go far in America. He promised to fund me here, no matter what it was that I wanted to do, and he did. I got into Harvard right away, and finished in three years. My father paid for all of that – tuition, books, living expenses, everything. I got my PhD at Stanford in biology, and my father paid for all of that, too.” He looked embarrassed. “As I said before, I have mixed emotions about my father and what I did for his group. Without him, I would be working in a slaughterhouse or something of the sort, because those were my options at the time. I would be, even now, working a job that was undesirable, because I wouldn’t have been able to complete my education.”

  I nodded my head, feeling awful that he was put into such an untenable position. “So, what happened after Stanford?”

  “Well, I actually knew when I went into Stanford what I wanted to do. I had this epiphany when I went to a site where marine animals were washed up on the beach, covered in oil from an oil rig explosion. I saw a dolphin that was struggling to breathe and finally died, and I broke down. I knew, right then and there, that I was going to do whatever I could to make sure that our dependence on oil was lessened. After studying more about the effect that fossil fuels have on our environment, my decision was cemented. While I was at Stanford, I worked hard on developing alternative energy sources, and I did.”

  “Well, it sounds like you made the best of a bad situation.” To say the least.

  He nodded his head, and tears came into his eyes. “That was my aim. I wanted to take this blood money that I was getting from my father and put it to some good use. I wanted to wipe the taint off of it and really do something that would make this world a better place. In somee small way, it made what I did for my father almost worth it. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I feel that the good that I’ve done almost cancels out the bad.”

  It did seem naïve and romantic, really. That, somehow, someway, he could make amends for the murders he committed. Yes, it sounded like these men had it coming to them. As he said, they knew that if they did something that undermined his father’s group, they would be rubbed out. He was only carrying out orders, too.

  Like in Nazi Germany. They, too, were only carrying out orders.

  I tried hard not to think about the moral implications of what he did. I tried hard to believe, as he apparently had convinced himself, that the ends justified the means. That, because he was helping literally millions of people, and, in the process, was doing amazing things for our environment and animals, the way that he got there was irrelevant. And there wasn’t a doubt that Sloane Industries was doing amazing things for this planet. It was literally leading the way around the world on the alternative energy front, and really had started a sort of “arms race,” where other countries were racing to catch up to the innovations that his company was responsible for. Sloane Industries was credited with really speeding up the healing of this planet, and that was a very, very good thing.

  Asher, by this point, was looking a little green. “So….”

  I took a deep breath. “I hate to say this, but, Asher, I’m going to need some time to think. For real this time. I know that what you did was what you had to do. I understand this. But….” I didn’t want to say the words. That he was a murderer. That he killed in cold blood. That what he did for his father wasn’t noble, like a soldier who was fighting for the freedom of a country. What he did was in service of a despicable man and a despicable organization that did despicable things. I wasn’t sure at that time that the way that he lived his life after he got out of his father’s business made up for what he did while he was in it.

  He had tears in his eyes. “I know. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to ever know just how bloody my hands are. But it’s now in the open, and you know. There are no more secrets, CJ. I understand that you need time with all of this, and I really understand. I really do.”


  By the look in his eyes, though, I knew that he was hopeful that I would come back to him after I took some time really thinking about things.

  At that, the pilot announced that our arrival at Heathrow was imminent. I looked at Asher, and I said “okay. Well, I guess I should probably find my own hotel for a little while and think about things. I hope that you can understand.”

  He nodded his head. “I do. I love you, CJ. I want you to know that.”

  “I know. But Asher, you should have come clean with all of this a long time ago. Before you decided to try to get me pregnant, and before I got on this plane to meet your father. I know why you didn’t. It couldn’t have been easy for you to tell me all of that, and I want you to know that I appreciate that. I also appreciate you coming completely clean. But it might have been a day late and a dollar short.”

  He shook his head. “I hope not. I really hope not. Because, now that I have met you and I have fallen head over heels for you, I couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t in my life.”

  I smiled, not wanting to admit that I felt exactly the same way about him. I, too, couldn’t stand to live in a world where Asher wasn’t a part of my life. But I knew that I might have to, really. I might not have much of a choice.

  I didn’t know if I could live with somebody who did things that Asher had done. I hoped and prayed that I could, but I didn’t know that.

  I got off the plane and hailed a cab, kissing Asher goodbye. “I’ll call you in a few days,” I told him.

  He nodded but said nothing. His eyes, though, said it all. He was desperately hoping that I would return.

  I was desperately hoping for the same thing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When I got to my hotel room, I called my job. “I’m in London,” I said. “I just wanted you to know that I’m going to be taking pictures of some of the underground punk bands here in the next few days.”

  “Actually, CJ, if you’ve been watching the news, there’s an event that I would like you to cover instead,” Sally said. “There’s been an explosion there in one of the deep water rigs in the North Sea. The beach on Barafundle Bay has been closed because of it. I need you to take pictures of the beach, because we’re putting together a story about this explosion.”

  I wondered immediately if this was some type of sign. I remembered what Asher had said to me about seeing the animals covered in oil, and deciding, right then and there, that he was going to do all that he could to wean our country off of fossil fuels.

  I shook my head. A sign? I didn’t think that there was any such thing, really.

  “Okay,” I told Sally. “How do I get there?”

  “Take the train from Paddington to Lamphey, then get a cab to Stackpole Quay.”

  “Got it.” Then I called a taxi to come and pick me up and take me to the train station. I had to admit that I was excited about boarding the train. It seemed so romantic to me, something that was much more romantic than a private jet. I remembered seeing a movie, years ago, about two people who meet on a train and end up falling in love. I think that they were even on a train in London, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I found myself, therefore, wishing that Asher was there on the train with me.

  I got to the station, bought my ticket, and waited for the train. It pulled into the station, and I got on and sat down. I was craving this five hour train ride, because I really needed this time to really think. It seemed like everything was coming down on me.

  Could I be with Asher? Would I want him to father my child? What would I tell this child about him and what he did? Asher told me that he wasn’t in danger, but was that true? What if there actually was an extradition order for him? Would I open the door one day, after we had five children, and see the police outside the door?

  I somehow doubted that, though. I thought that if the police were really after him for extradition, then they probably would have come for him already. Asher had been in this country for almost 10 years, and he certainly wasn’t hiding. He had changed his name, of course, but, to my knowledge, he didn’t change the way that he looked. It would have been easy enough for the authorities in Russia to come and get him if they really wanted to. So, at least on that point, I believed him. I believed that there wasn’t a chance of him being sent forcibly back to Russia to serve the rest of his sentence.

  But I was stuck on the morality of it all. These were men that he killed. Men who had dreams and ambitions and families and lives. Yes, they apparently were doing dirty things, but could they be blamed for that? The entire operation stunk to high heaven. And some of those men were iced just for having affairs. These men were guilty of some of the deadly sins – greed and lust seemed paramount – but Asher was judge, jury and executioner of these men. Was that right?

  No, it wasn’t right. How could he ever think that it was?

  Then I remembered what else he told me. He was following orders, and if he refused them, he would have been the one who would have been gunned down. It was the law of the jungle, really. Kill or be killed. It wasn’t as if Asher made the call for these men to be executed. Those orders apparently came from above him. He just had to do as he was told, like a soldier in a war. In Vietnam, it turned out that the war was immoral and pointless, yet the soldiers in that war killed many innocents. Weren’t they just as complicit as Asher was in his organization? Like those soldiers in that war, Asher had to do as he was told, or risk his own life. Wasn’t he following the same principle as the Vietnam soldiers? Or, for that matter, the soldiers in Iraq, which was another questionable war.

  I shook my head. No, it wasn’t the same thing. Asher’s organization was truly despicable. There wasn’t any getting around that. They engaged in the sex slave trade, they probably were responsible for kids getting hooked on drugs, and they stole lots of money.

  I had to get the whole thing straight in my head before I went to see Asher again. As it was, my stomach was turned by it all.

  The train rolled on, and I looked out the window. Countryside flew by, and the train stopped in numerous small towns. People got on and off, and I got up to get a bag of chips and a drink. I brought these items back to my seat, and then stared out the window some more. I sighed and stretched my legs.

  Once again, I wished that I could get my memory back. I desperately wanted to feel more connected to Asher, to feel just as connected to him as he did to me. As it was, my feelings for him were overpowering. I knew that I was deeply, madly and truly in love with him. But I couldn’t help but feel that, if I could have retrieved my other memories of our time together, I would feel the type of connection that would override any kind of misgivings I had about the man. The Sophie pregnancy, the confession that he killed many men – these terrible facts could be pushed aside if I just could feel an irrevocable connection to him.

  Finally, the train arrived at my destination, and I got out and went down to the beach. There were workers there, trying to clean up the mess. The scene before me made me want to vomit. The waves that were coming in were black and tarry, and there were animals that had washed up on the beach. These animals were covered in oil.

  I felt tears coming to my eyes as I picked up my camera and took shot after shot after shot. A gentleman who looked to be around 70 years old noticed me taking pictures, and he came over to me. “Guts you, aye?” he said to me.

  I nodded. “It certainly does.”

  He shook his head. “These oil companies, they need to spend more money for safety measures and clean up methods. They’re so greedy, all they care about is profits. This is the third major spill this year, and it’s been how many years since that Gulf spill? And these companies are still using the same outdated ways of cleaning these messes up. Those blokes who run these companies should be ashamed.”

  “I guess it’s because they don’t care about the wildlife that they kill. They don’t care about the devastation they bring. If they did, you’re right – they would put more money into safety and cleanup.
And that’s a real shame.”

  The man nodded his head and held out his hand. “Name’s Neil.”

  “CJ.”

  “CJ, what is your interest in this area?”

  “I’m a photojournalist for a magazine back in America. They were going to have me taking pictures of underground punk bands, but then this happened, and they asked me to come here and take a picture of the devastation left by the oil spill.”

  He shook his head again. “It’s a dirty business, oil. You would think that we’d be off that nasty stuff by now. It’s time.”

  I smiled. “I agree.”

  “Some of these blokes are doing good work bringing us alternatives to this dirty business. It certainly couldn’t come soon enough. This world belongs to my grandchildren and their grandchildren. I wish more people would realize that.”

  I nodded my head. “I know of at least one person in my own personal life who does seem to realize that.” My heart did little flips when I said this.d

  "Oh?" Neil was curious about this. "Who do you know who realizes this, and what is this person doing about it?”

  “Asher Sloane. He’s the CEO of Sloane Industries, which is a conglomerate that is a leader around the world on alternative energy.”

  Neil nodded his head approvingly. “I know that company. I’ve done research on it. They’ve done amazing work and have really helped a lot of people and have certainly been on the forefront for getting these alternative energy sources to market. Asher Sloane is a good bloke, that’s for sure.”

  I smiled. “Are you an activist?”

  “I am. I’m a very vocal activist at that. Most of the environmental groups around this area know me, and so do the polluters.”

  We talked for a few minutes more, and I politely excused myself. I needed to take more pictures of the sea life and of the beach, which was completely covered in oil.

  There was a small sea lion who was on the beach. It was struggling to breathe, and his mother was standing close by protectively. Both mother and baby were covered in oil, and it broke my heart to see them. One of the workers gingerly picked up the baby sea lion, and a few more workers gathered the mother. The mother wailed, as she apparently didn’t want to see her baby handled by the humans. But the workers continued their jobs, which consisted of loading the animals into various cages and vehicles, and, with any luck, they would be able to clear the oil off of these poor animals and rehabilitate them and return them to the wild.