Rift Zone

by Raelynn Hillhouse

  Something brushed against her cheek and she thought she was dreaming when she smelled Summer’s familiar scent. He perched on the bed beside her. The beard that had grown over the past few days had been shaven away, and so had the stubble on his head. He was again as bald as Khrushchev, but much sexier.

  “I lifted a couple medical instruments that made great lockpicks.” He stroked her hair.

  “You know I love how resourceful you are.”

  As she raised her head toward him, he slipped his fingers behind her neck, supporting her head until their lips met.

  “God, I’ve missed you so much,” Faith said. “I lo—”

  The door flew open and the nurse charged inside. “What is going on here? Back to your room, now!” She pointed to the door.

  Summer sprang away from Faith out of old habit.

  Faith sat up in the bed and said in Russian, “Commander Summer is my fiancé and we’re guests of Mr. Gorbachev, so I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when we tell him how you treated us. Leave!”

  The nurse snorted, stomped away and slammed the door.

  “Did you tell her what I think?”

  Faith gazed into Summer’s bloodshot green eyes. “I told her I was going to cheat history.”

  “You did not. What’d you say?” He smiled as his eyes followed along the lines of her face. “You know, you get more beautiful every time I look at you.”

  “I told her you were my fiancé.” Her face relaxed into a soft smile. “And you know, I like the way I felt when I said that. It’s been a long time, but then I am pretty damn tired, so I might be delirious and getting nostalgic.”

  “I know how you can keep saying it.”

  She drew him to her and kissed him. “Make love to me. It’s been too long.” Faith pulled him on top of her, but immediately wiggled out from under him because of the pain from her ribs.

  They had slept almost a day when the nurse waddled into the room, clapping her hands. Summer jerked the sheets up to cover them. They watched the sudden flurry as four deliverymen followed the nurse, carrying garment bags and boxes. A young woman placed a mahogany jewelry case on the dresser while deliverymen filled the wardrobe. Faith thought she recognized one of the dresses from the GUM shop. The smell of fresh coffee and cooked eggs filled the suite as a woman dressed in a chef’s jacket set the table in the adjoining room.

  “Eat, clean yourselves up and get dressed. Someone is going to be here in three hours to pick you up, and I’m supposed to deliver you looking your best,” the nurse said in Russian, her damning eyes glaring at them. “You know, this is never allowed here. I don’t know what possessed the director to tolerate this.”

  “What’s happening?” Faith sat up in bed, careful to pull the covers around her.

  “Doctor Rukovsky is taking care of the pass herself, so I know you’re not being discharged. You have appointments in our salon in an hour for hairstyling, manicures and facials.”

  Faith interpreted for Summer.

  “Tell her the KGB gave me enough of a facial the other day and haircuts aren’t much use to me.”

  The nurse let out a final huff and left. Summer rolled out of the bed and tracked down the coffee smell like an undercaffeinated bloodhound. He lifted the metal covers from a plate. “I think I’m going to need you to translate this, too.”

  Faith walked into the room, not bothering to tie the robe closed. She put her arms on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. The fresh stubble tickled her lips. “What have we got? Scrambled eggs, blini, sausage and kasha. I’d say this is the kitchen’s best stab at an American breakfast.” She reached over his shoulder, grabbed a thin Russian pancake, rolled it up and took a bite.

  “Sit down and join me. Aren’t you starving?” Summer shoveled eggs into his mouth.

  “Yeah, but I’m curious what they brought us.”

  “Clothes are clothes, and you’ve never cared a whole lot about them.”

  “No, but I want to know what they’re planning for us.” Faith opened the wardrobe, which was carved with the usual hammers and sickles, and she unzipped the vinyl garment bag. “Summer, I think you’ll want to see this.”

  “Can’t we have the fashion show after breakfast?”

  Faith lifted open the lid of a hatbox, put the hat on her head and walked into the sitting room.

  “Where the heck did they get that?” Summer pushed his chair back and followed Faith to the wardrobe. He pulled out a hanger with a white jacket. “How the hell did they get ahold of one of my dress uniforms? They even got my medals right.”

  A few hours later, the driver opened the door of the Chaika limousine. Zara eased herself out, favoring her injured arm. She hugged Faith, their bodies pressing as tightly against each other as their respective injuries allowed. When they pushed apart, Faith kissed her forehead.

  “We did it.” Zara shook Summer’s hand and kissed him on the cheeks.

  “That’s what I hear. It’s been a pleasure to work with you, colonel.” He slipped his hand behind her back and embraced her.

  “The pleasure’s been mine, commander.”

  “Glad the first joint Navy-KGB mission was a success, not that the Navy planned or had anything to do with it.”

  “Neither did the KGB.” Zara smiled and motioned for them to climb into the limo.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not so sure about wearing my uniform here, but I guess it’ll add credibility when we go to the embassy. That is where we’re going now, isn’t it?”

  “I’m so sorry I got you into all this.” Zara took Faith’s hand and squeezed it.

  “I was pulled into it before you got involved. I don’t think I’d be alive without you.”

  “Faith, you need to know,” Zara continued in Russian, “Berlin wasn’t some honey-trap to solidify your relationship with the KGB. What I expressed was entirely personal and—”

  “You don’t need to explain yourself, but you should understand that kind of friendship isn’t for me, not now.”

  Summer looked out the window, pretending not to listen to the two women, even though he really didn’t understand the language.

  “Let me finish.” Zara switched to English. “You’re a unique woman. I wish things could’ve been a little different, but I’m happy for you. As soon as I saw you two together, it was obvious to me you shared something very deep. I wish you much happiness.”

  “You already know?”

  “Our walls have ears. And the charge nurse has a big mouth.”

  Faith hugged her, careful not to put pressure on her shoulder. “This awful experience reminded us both that no matter who’s been in our lives, or whether we saw each other every day or once a year, we’ve been the most important person for each other. Right after he joined the Navy we were going to get married, but I could never quite settle on a date.”

  “Drives me crazy trying to pin this one down on anything.” Summer tilted his head toward Faith. “I finally just gave up.”

  “If this whole ordeal has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t wait too long or history passes you by.”

  “So does this mean you’re engaged again?”

  Faith looked away from Summer. “I plan on staying here for a month or two and holding you to your word regarding the import-export business. We both suspect he’s going to be tied up for a while in a long inquiry into what’s happened here.”

  “My security clearance is probably blown to hell after this. Every time it’s come up, I’ve hit snags because of Faith. To date I’ve squeaked by, and I’ve always been kind of amazed I did, but now I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up having to resign my commission with an honorable discharge—seven years shy of retirement.”

  “I probably shouldn’t say it, but there are other employment opportunities,” Zara said.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, comrade.” Summer grinned.

  “Only doing my job.”

  “There are tons of ordnance in the world just begging for an EOD guy
to clean up. I’ve heard rumors the Navy’s going to give back an island in Hawaii it’s used for target practice forever, and some civilian contractor’s gotta take that hardship post. So what are you going to do now, Zara?” Summer looked out the window as they drove through downtown Moscow.

  “You only leave the KGB two ways: retirement or death. So I’ll still be in the business, but definitely not in Berlin. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but they decided this wasn’t the time to remove Honecker.”

  “No way,” Faith said.

  “No one—including your people—wants speculation about how close we came to war over Berlin. They’ll give it a few months, during which we basically run everything from behind the scenes. He won’t be able to scratch his balls without a Soviet adviser approving it. We’ll remove him this fall, when no one will link it to this week. Until he’s gone and Kosyk’s friends are purged from the MfS, Berlin isn’t safe for me or Faith. For that matter, neither is Moscow until we’re sure all the conspirators have been rounded up and Kosyk is found. Both of us have to disappear for a while. I’ll see it through that you get set up in a storefront here, but you’re going to have to wait. Personally, I’d love to be sent back to the San Francisco residency. I’d love to bird again at Point Reyes, and there’s a club in the Castro I wouldn’t mind going back to, but I’m afraid my affiliation with you two will cause our counterintelligence to view me as too big a risk to be deployed to the US again.”

  Summer watched as they drove past the red brick wall of the Kremlin, turned left onto Red Square and passed through the gate into the Kremlin compound. “I get the feeling we’re not going to the embassy. So, is this going to be some kind of press conference?”

  “They don’t want the press involved,” Zara said.

  The driver stopped at a side entrance to a massive yellow building that Faith thought housed the Supreme Soviet. Viktor Petrov, special assistant to Gorbachev, greeted them at the door and escorted them into a wood-paneled elevator. Everyone else stared at the lit numbers while Faith admired a relief depicting a peasant woman bundling sheathes of grain.

  “This way, please.” Petrov held the elevator door open while everyone filed out into the hall. “Commander Summer, we realize you compromised yourself in regard to your government to save the life of Secretary Gorbachev and to de-escalate events in Berlin. Although we’ve put a press blackout in place, we are cooperating fully with the Americans so they understand your exact role in the matter. For your sake, we wouldn’t want them to misconstrue things.”

  “And think I’m a spy. No, we wouldn’t want that.”

  They followed Petrov into a banquet hall. A dozen Soviet generals and admirals were standing around, sipping cocktails and munching hors d’oeuvres, as were an American Army colonel and a handful of civilians. Everyone stopped talking and applauded when they entered the room.

  Mama Whitney waddled over and hugged them. A distinguished gentleman waited for her to finish, then kissed Zara on both cheeks.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever be welcome back in these walls,” he said in Russian.

  Zara kissed the gentleman on the cheek. “I’d like all of you to meet my father, Anton Antonovich.”

  Before they all could finish shaking hands, Petrov interrupted. “You need to meet some people.” He ushered the three away, then turned to the parents, shrugged his shoulders and said in Russian, “Protocol.” He led them around the room, introducing them to an assortment of dignitaries, including the American Ambassador, the military attaché and someone from the political section.

  The African-American colonel extended his hand to Faith. “I’m Colonel Holton Wilson, the American military attaché. Very pleased to meet you.”

  “You’re Colonel Wilson?” Summer said.

  “I was when I got up this morning.” His teeth glistened. “Commander Summer, you sure got some folks’ attention in Washington.”

  “This is going to sound strange,” Summer said, “but is there another Military Attaché posted to the embassy—another Colonel Wilson, a white guy? I think I know the answer to this one, too, but is there a lawyer, a husky woman named Chris Goldfarb?”

  “What’s this all about?” Wilson said.

  “These two claiming to be from the embassy stopped the KGB’s interrogation and met with me for a good hour and a half yesterday morning.”

  Faith and Zara made eye contact and smiled.

  “The embassy’s been trying to find you ever since your call to Indian Head. This morning when we were invited to this reception was the first we knew of your whereabouts.” Wilson snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a waiter.

  “Looks like you were false-flagged, honey.” Faith patted him on the arm.

  Summer shot a glance at Zara. She nodded her confirmation. “At least you don’t have to rough people up that way.” Zara took a sip of white wine. “I’ve heard stories from some old-timers of how we had a whole team in Berlin right after the war who’d pose as American Army officers. They’d approach Soviet citizens who they thought were at high risk for defection. They’d convince them to go over to the Americans, pick them up in a fake American staff car and pretend to drive them to a safe house in West Berlin, but they never left the East. They’d debrief the poor bastards and ship them off to the gulags—if they were lucky.”

  Petrov ushered Faith, Summer and Zara to seats directly behind a podium. “If I could have your attention, please,” Petrov announced in both English and Russian, but before he could finish, General Secretary Gorbachev strolled up behind him.

  Gorbachev lowered the mike and it screeched loudly. He jumped back in an exaggerated gesture and turned it off. “Andrei Sergeyevich, you hear me back there?” A silver-haired officer nodded. Gorbachev continued, “I always know that if the admiral hears me, everyone can, so I won’t use this thing.” Everyone in the room laughed; a few delayed chuckles betrayed the non-Russian speakers who were relying upon the interpreter standing to his right. “Today we’re honoring three individuals who placed concerns of our country and world peace above their own. For this, my country is grateful. And for saving my life, I am personally indebted.” Gorbachev flashed a smile and launched into a long discourse on the importance of Soviet-American cooperation to world peace and regional stability in Central Europe.

  Faith tuned him out and focused on Summer. She surprised herself at how happy she felt as she daydreamed of a vacation together on the shores of Siberia’s Lake Baikal. When a man approached Gorbachev carrying several small cases, Faith started listening again.

  “Although the world cannot know what these three individuals did for the preservation of peace, I would like to recognize them today on behalf of the people of the USSR. Lieutenant Colonel Zara Antonovna Bogdanov, I am promoting you today to full colonel, with all the rights and privileges of that rank. Congratulations.” Gorbachev clapped and the crowd followed his lead. The aide opened the first small box. The Soviet leader held up a red ribbon with a gold star dangling from it. A raised hammer and sickle decorated the center of the star. “Colonel Bogdanov, Lieutenant Commander Maxwell Summer and Professor Faith Whitney, in recognition of your courage and your heroic actions, I am pleased to bestow upon you our highest title, Hero of the Soviet Union.”

  Faith stood and tugged at Summer. “Get up.”

  “I don’t know if I can accept this. I’m an American.”

  “Don’t blow it for me. Do you know how hard these are to get hold of?” Faith whispered as she pulled him up from his chair.

  Gorbachev shook their hands and pinned the awards on their chests. Summer’s hung beside his Purple Heart. Gorbachev held up another medal attached to a red ribbon bordered with gold stripes; gold bands of wheat framed a platinum bust of Lenin above a small red enameled hammer and sickle.

  “That better not be what I think it is,” Summer whispered to Faith.

  “Not as hard to get, but right up there. Eight hundred bucks on the black market. We’ll have to sneak them out befor
e this is over because the Sovs will take them from us for safekeeping.”

  “I can’t have a cameo of that Bolshevik stuck to me.”

  “And I present, to these Heroes of the Soviet Union, the Order of Lenin for their actions strengthening peace between peoples. Congratulations.”

  Faith followed Zara’s lead and thanked the General Secretary without trying to make a speech. She held her breath as Gorbachev pinned the Order of Lenin on Summer’s dress white US Navy uniform.

  Summer opened his mouth.

  Summer, no.

  He hesitated, then said, “I appreciate the gesture of goodwill, Mr. General Secretary. As you know, I was not acting on behalf of my government, but as an individual thrown into extraordinary circumstances. As an officer of the US Navy, I’m not sure I can accept an honor from your government like this. Don’t get me wrong, but my understanding is the only American military you ever hand these things out to are spies. We all know I’m definitely not one of those.”

  Gorbachev stared at the floor as he listened to the translation, and then he looked up. “I shared your concern when I first discussed it with my staff, but they tell me we’ve awarded our highest military honor, the Order of Victory, to your General Eisenhower. You’re in the company of your presidents, Commander Summer.”

  After the ceremony broke up, the assortment of military brass and high-ranking Communist Party members again shook hands with the honorees, but Zara’s father and Faith’s mother were too enthralled with each other to pay attention. Afterward the US military attaché and the Ambassador strolled up to them.

  “Lenin looks real pretty on you, commander,” the military attaché said with a chuckle.

  “How in the heck am I ever going to explain this one to my CO?” Summer glared at Lenin resting on his chest.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll take it off your hands as soon as we get it out of the country.” Faith kissed him on the cheek. “And that Hero of the Soviet Union status will get you all kinds of perks here—free public transportation, a free yearly visit to a sanitarium, one free first-class domestic round trip on Aeroflot each year—”