Heike looked at the boy. “My God, what happened to him?”
“He didn’t watch where he was going.”
The cop holding the boy spoke abruptly, waving the girls out of his way.
Seeing the passport in his hand, Romee said, “Is that mine?”
“Yeah,” Alex told her.
Romee pointed at the passport, and said to the cop, “Give that to me.”
The cops stopped, and the one holding the passport opened it to look at the picture.
“He’s got your money, too,” Alex said.
“My money?”
“A little zippered pouch. Flowers on the outside?”
Romee stiffened and her face paled. She said something under her breath in Dutch, then whispered to Heike. Heike’s eyes grew big as her friend spoke, and her expression turned angry. Romee cowered a bit, saying something in a tone that could only be pleading.
“What?” Alex asked, afraid of the answer.
Heike stared at her friend for a moment longer, then turned to Alex. “Do they speak English?”
“No, but Mr. Quick Fingers over there does a little, at least.”
Heike looked confused for a moment, then seemed to understand who Alex meant. She leaned in so no one else could hear. “Did they look inside?”
“Just enough to see the cash. Why? What’s in there?”
“Not here,” Heike whispered.
While they were talking, the cop compared the passport photo to Romee. Finally, he pointed at the two girls and gestured for them to come along.
Pantomiming as she spoke, Romee said, “I don’t want to cause trouble for the boy. Just give me my things and we forget everything.”
Son of a bitch, Alex thought.
She realized now what was going on.
Somewhere in that pouch was hash or marijuana or something similar. Whatever it was, it would land them all in a whole boatload of trouble. Which meant her mission was about to end before it even started.
Shit.
The police officer repeated his gestures, this time emphasizing it with words. He shoved the passport and pouch into his pocket, and grabbed Romee’s arm with his free hand. The other cop latched on to Heike and they continued on their way.
They were quite a sight for all the waiting passengers. Alex would have laughed at the irony if she could have. There would be no problem getting thrown into prison now. Unfortunately, given that she was still hundreds of miles from Crimea, it wouldn’t be the right prison.
How the hell would she get out of this?
The police took them into a small three-room office down a back hallway of the station. They put the girls in one room and shut the door. Alex could hear them moving around in the outer room for a few minutes, then it grew quiet. She guessed they were getting the boy some medical attention.
She looked at Romee, and said in a low voice, “What the hell’s in that pouch?”
Romee hesitated. “Marijuana.”
Jesus. “How much?”
“Very little. Not even enough to make smoke, um, joint, yes?”
Alex closed her eyes and counted to ten. Did this idiot not understand anything? In some countries, even a trace amount could get you a dozen years in prison.
Alex wasn’t up on the latest Ukrainian laws, but she knew they had to be a hell of a lot harsher than those in the Netherlands, where you could legally buy pot at the corner coffee shop.
“They probably won’t even find it,” Romee said.
Alex opened her eyes again. “The moment they pull your money out, they’ll see it.”
“No. It’s in the lining. There’s a hole at the bottom, closed with a safety pin. If they don’t open the pin, they won’t find it.”
“How much do you want to bet on that happening?”
Alex checked her watch. It was 9:50, two hours and change until her train left. A train she couldn’t miss. Dammit. She should have just let the guy run.
Voices in the outer office again, three separate ones this time. While Alex recognized two as belonging to the cops, the third was definitely not the boy’s. It was female.
Several minutes passed, then the door to their room opened. The main cop stood in the doorway, pointed at Alex, and gestured for her to follow him. She pushed herself off the desk she was leaning against and headed out. The other two girls started to fall in step behind her, but the cop barked at them and shook his head.
As soon as Alex was out, he shut the door.
The other cop was standing near the woman. She was a bit older than both men, perhaps in her forties, with a stern face that wasn’t helped by her pulled-back hair.
The cop led Alex to the third room, the smallest of the lot. He jutted his chin at the lone empty chair. Alex took the hint and sat.
As the stern-faced woman stepped inside, the cop closed the door, leaving his partner outside on guard duty. He and the woman stared at Alex for a long moment without saying anything.
Finally, Alex held out her hands. “Can I help you?”
The woman smiled humorlessly. “Your name, please.”
Alex was relieved that she spoke English. “Maureen Powell.”
“May I have your passport?”
Alex pulled her passport out of her pocket and handed it over. The woman examined it, then handed it to the man.
“Canadian, I see,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you are in Ukraine for…?”
“Holiday.”
“Your entry stamp is from today. Good way to start trip, yes?”
“Not exactly.”
That smile again. “Please, tell us exactly what happened.”
Alex proceeded to describe the events as she’d witnessed them. She paused every now and then so that the woman could translate her response to the police officer. She was honest and straightforward, leaving nothing out.
“So you were trying to get back items for friend?”
“That’s correct.”
“I see.” A pause. “How long have you known friend?”
“We just met today.”
“Today?” the woman said, surprised. “You very nice to someone known to you only a few hours.”
“That kid tried to steal something. I don’t like it when someone takes something that’s not theirs. I don’t care if I’ve just met the victim or known her all my life.”
A sneer grew on the woman’s face. “So you are good person.”
“Maybe. Does it matter? Look, you’ve got the guy. He obviously had Romee’s passport and bag. Is there a problem?”
“He say he not know why you chase him. He say items you say he take, you have, not him.”
“Of course he does. Just talk to my friends. They saw him take it. There’s probably another half a dozen people wandering around the station who saw him do it. Do you guys have cameras? It has to be on video, too.”
“Talk your friends next.”
“But you talked to the kid first, huh? And you believe him?” Alex shook her head. “You know what? As far as I’m concerned, you can keep what he took. I’ve got a train to catch.” She rose to her feet.
“Please. Sit back down.”
“I really don’t have time to hang around here any longer.”
“You will leave when we say it’s okay.”
“You’ve got no reason to keep me here.”
“There is matter of boy’s broken arm.”
“What about it?”
“He says you pushed him.”
“Excuse me? I wasn’t even close enough to touch him, let alone push. The kid tripped over the rail. I bet if you went back there, you could see scuff marks and figure it out all on your own.”
“If this is case, he would not have trip if you had not chased him, no?”
Now Alex was getting pissed. “And I wouldn’t have chased him if he hadn’t stolen my friend’s passport and pouch. Tell me, what would you have done if it had been your friend?”
They went back and
forth like this for several minutes, before they returned Alex to the other room and exchanged her with Romee. It was now almost ten thirty. The time until Alex’s train departed was growing dangerously short. And unless they were all released in the next twenty minutes or so, the Dutch girls were definitely going to miss theirs. Of course, they didn’t have an appointment to be arrested the next day in Crimea. It would be only an inconvenience for them, while for Alex it would mean losing out on the opportunity to get a lead on her father.
After Romee, it was Heike’s turn.
Romee took a chair as far from Alex as she could, occasionally looking over, meek and wary.
“Did they…did they ask you about the pouch?” the girl finally asked.
Alex waited a moment before she answered. “No.”
“They didn’t say anything to me, either,” Romee said quickly. “I don’t think they found—”
“Shut up,” Alex said.
“Sorry. I was just…I’m…” Romee’s shoulders drooped. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Alex decided it was best not to answer that question.
It was almost eleven when Heike was ushered back in.
As soon as the three were alone, Romee asked Heike a question in Dutch.
“I don’t know,” Heike said in English. It was clear she was still angry with her friend, and wanted to include Alex. “They didn’t tell me anything.”
Alex heard the main door to the outer office open, then new voices. She cursed under her breath. Just what she needed. Additional authorities to slow things down even more. She had been toying with a last-ditch plan to make a run for it the next time the door to their makeshift cell opened. She was more than confident she could get away from the two bozos who’d been holding them, and somehow get on that train and leave town. It would mean leaving without her passport and her backpack, which, hopefully, Anika was still watching. The backpack was unimportant, but the lack of a passport would be a problem. Still, it would be better to be headed to Crimea than stuck here on a potential drug charge. But if the cops now had friends, that escape plan was not nearly as viable.
The voices outside grew heated until a bark of finality silenced the room. When the conversation resumed, the tones were quieter and more contrite.
Footsteps approached the door to the girls’ room. When the door opened, the two original cops were standing there, looking unhappy. One of them blurted out something while the other waved for the girls to come out.
Not needing a second invitation, they filed into the larger room. There were three new men there now, two uniformed cops probably in their twenties, and a middle-aged man in a suit.
The older man barked something at the original officers. There was a second’s hesitation, then passports were produced and returned to the girls.
“What about my money purse?” Romee asked.
The older man shot a look across the room at the translator. The woman was standing in the corner, looking as if she wanted to be anywhere else. The man asked her a question, she answered, then he looked at the two arresting officers and barked again.
The taller one pulled Romee’s pouch out of his pocket and handed it to her.
The suited man started talking to the girls. When he finished, he glanced at the translator again.
“Colonel Hubenko apologizes for your…inconvenience. He hopes you will not let this keep you from enjoying rest of stay in Ukraine.”
The colonel said something else.
“If you need anything, please let him know,” the woman translated.
“We’re free to go?” Romee said.
“Yes.”
“We’ve missed our train,” Heike said. “Tell him we’ve missed our train. We were supposed to go to Kiev tonight.”
The translator talked with the colonel for a moment, then said, “We will put you in hotel near train station tonight, compliments of the Ukrainian police. In morning, Colonel Hubenko himself will make sure you are on first train out, private compartment. Is this okay?”
Heike and Romee shared a look.
“Yeah, that will be fine,” Heike said.
“For three, yes?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Our friend is waiting in the station with our bags. She’s probably scared to death.”
“Your friend?” the woman said.
“Yes.”
The translator looked at Alex. “What about you?”
“I still have time to catch my train.”
The woman translated everything to the colonel, who took a moment to yell at the two cops again. Alex was pretty sure she knew what the problem was this time. The cops hadn’t even thought to see if there was anyone else traveling with the girls. The lack of luggage should have been a glaring clue. The colonel was not happy.
They found Anika with their bags right where they had left her. The relief on her face was immense. As she hugged her two friends, Alex strapped on her backpack.
“Hopefully the rest of your trip isn’t quite as adventurous,” Alex said.
Heike pulled away from her friends and eyed Alex gratefully. “We didn’t thank you for chasing that boy.”
“Almost wish I hadn’t,” Alex said, smiling. “You guys take care.”
After hugs and goodbyes, Alex navigated through the station and out the door to her platform. The train to Simferopol was already in the station, waiting.
As she neared her car, a voice said, “Next time you get arrested, make sure it’s when you’re supposed to.”
Cooper was standing on the other side of a large baggage trolley piled high with suitcases.
Alex stopped. “Technically, I wasn’t under arrest.”
“Technically,” he said, smirking, “it isn’t easy to find a police colonel I can bribe on such short notice. You should consider yourself lucky.”
“Thank you.”
“Try not to let it happen again, huh?” He smiled.
“I’ll do my best.”
He touched his forehead as if tipping a hat. “Safe journey.” With that, he headed down the platform toward the station.
“Here’s hoping,” Alex said to herself, then climbed aboard the train.
Chapter Twelve
Crimea
She arrived in Simferopol without further incident, a few minutes before noon the next day.
The plan was for her to be arrested at 3:30 p.m. outside the domestic terminal at the city’s airport. Having a little time to kill, she grabbed some food. Since it was likely the last good meal she’d have for a while, she left nothing on her plate.
After paying her bill, she found a cab outside and climbed in.
“Airport,” she told the driver.
He looked at her for a second in the mirror before his eyes widened. “Aeroport.”
“Yes, aeroport,” she said, nodding.
She leaned against the seat, and stared out the window as the city passed by, but her mind was elsewhere. This was her last chance to walk away, to say forget it. All she had to do was tell the cabbie to stop and let her out. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
She had no choice.
While Alex was devastated by her mother’s death, her father had reacted with the same stoic fortitude he always displayed. Alex had begun to wonder if he was secretly glad her mother was gone. Then one night, when she couldn’t sleep, she went out to the kitchen to get some water. The light was on in the den, so she assumed her father was up. He often worked late, after all. She didn’t want to talk to him, but there was no way to get to the kitchen without passing the office’s door.
Steeling herself, she continued down the hall, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. As she glanced inside the den, however, she saw he wasn’t there, and his desk, which was usually clean and tidy, was now covered with squares of paper.
No, not paper, she realized, as her curiosity propelled her into the room.
Photographs.
She couldn’t help but pick one up. A snapshot of her mother, cradling a
very young Danny.
Alex touched the image, her mother’s hair dark and thick, her creamy brown skin so perfect.
God, she was beautiful.
While Alex had inherited the hair, she had always wished she’d gotten her mother’s darker skin, too. And even half her beauty.
She set the picture down and scanned the others. They were all of her mother.
One by one, she looked at each, the tears growing in her eyes with every memory.
She wasn’t sure how long her father had been standing behind her, but at some point she heard him take in a breath.
She turned with a start. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said.
Without saying a word, her father put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She cried for what seemed like days. She thought maybe he’d cried, too. And as her tears petered out, so did her strength, and she fell asleep standing there, leaning against him.
When she woke the next morning, it had almost felt like a dream. But she knew from that moment forward that her father was grieving also, and that made getting through each day easier. Her relief, however, lasted only until the morning he left the house and never returned.
There had been no goodbyes, no “I have to go away for a while.”
He was simply there one day and not the next.
The army had said he’d gone AWOL, that he had sold secrets to some foreign organization. Her father? A traitor? Not a chance. He was a good soldier, a great one. Next to his own family, serving his country was the most important thing to him. He was no more a traitor than the commander of the joint chiefs himself.
As the years went by, she held on to that thought even as her anger at him began to blossom.
So many questions only he could answer.
And now, here she was, riding in the back of a cab in the Autonomous Republic of Crimea, one step closer to getting those answers.
When the cab reached the airport and pulled to the curb, Alex didn’t enter either of the terminals. Instead she made her way over to the small plaza between the buildings.
It was 3:30 p.m. Her instructions were to find a red-roofed building, something that wasn’t hard to do. It came into view, just beyond the plaza’s diamond-shaped flower beds, the moment she turned the corner. Words in large Cyrillic type were displayed on white beams across the apex of the roof—an advertisement or perhaps an identifier of what was inside. The door to the building was to the right of center, flanked by a pair of windows.
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