“So, what do you do when the facts say one thing and the intention another?”
Alex wished she had an answer. She didn’t. “Then you follow your conscience,” she replied.
“You are worried,” he said.
“Not worried,” Alex told her son. “Aware. Aware that my decisions affect other people—you, your mom, Claire—lots of people. And, aware that for every answer I discover, twenty more questions arise. ”
“You’re not working with the FBI; are you?”
Truth? Should she tell Dylan the truth? Yes. “I’m working within the FBI.”
“But not for them.”
“I’m not sure there is much of a difference.”
“Is that a fact or a truth?”
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know, Dylan.”
“Why do you do it?”
“What is it?”
“What you do,” Dylan said. “Dig into all these things that can hurt people.”
“Because sometimes that’s the only way to help people.”
“That’s fucked up.”
Alex laughed. “That is a fact, Dylan.” She reached over the table and grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry so much about me and your mom,” she told him. “We are still your parents.”
“No promises,” he said.
“Fair enough. Do me a favor?”
“I don’t think she’ll talk to me,” he said.
“Try harder,” Alex advised. “Don’t let it fester. The past catches up to us all. Talk to her.”
Dylan nodded.
Alex packed up her computer.
“Done for the night?” Dylan asked.
“It will wait,” Alex said. “Something more important is waiting for me.”
Dylan smiled. “Tell Mom I said goodnight.”
“I will.”
LODZ, POLAND
Claire assumed she was meeting a young man; at least, someone younger than Filip Nowak. She sipped a cup of coffee and watched as the frail older man embraced Eleana. He looked at Claire and said something to Eleana that she was unable to understand. Whatever it was, Eleana’s eyes had brightened, and she laughed—a full-throated laugh that Claire had not heard in years. It made her stomach flutter—a reminder of the relationship she had once shared with the woman a few feet away. She lifted a curious brow. Eleana laughed again.
“I am not as you expected,” Filip observed with amusement.
No sense in denying it. “Not exactly,” Claire replied.
“And, you are exactly as I imagined,” the man said. He took a seat across from Claire and smiled at her. “I am a bit shorter than I used to be,” he teased.
Eleana nudged him. “But ever as sharp,” she commented.
“Ah, so you say.” He looked back at Claire. “I’ve heard many stories about you.”
“That can’t be good,” Claire replied.
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not so. Now, tell me, Claire; what brings you here?”
“El thought you might have some thoughts on Kaliningrad.”
“Thoughts? I have many thoughts,” he teased. “What do you want to know?”
“What do you think Kapralov’s government would want to conceal there?”
“I would imagine there could be many things,” he said. “Perhaps it is not what is concealed but what is evident that should concern you.”
Claire looked at Eleana.
“Filip,” Eleana began. “Some of our resources in the area think that the Russians have something new in Kaliningrad—something we haven’t seen before.”
“What is new?” he asked. “It is all the same,” he told them. “Too often we look to find some secret when the truth is glaring us in the eye.”
Claire preferred directness to riddles. “What does that mean?” she asked.
Filip offered her a smile. “Kaliningrad stands between two worlds.”
“You mean Poland and Lithuania,” Claire said.
“It does exist between countries.” he said. “And ideology.”
“A divider,” Claire commented.
“Is it? That which can divide can also become a bridge.”
Claire tried to be patient.
“Did Eleana tell you how I came to be a professor?” Filip inquired.
Claire shook her head.
“Tell the story,” Eleana requested. She held Claire’s gaze and silently implored her to listen.
“Very well,” Filip agreed. “I was born here—here in Lodz,” he explained. “1932.” Filip paused and a look of sadness washed over him. “Most Americans think of the concentration camps. Before the trucks left for that horror, there were ghettos. I was eight-years-old when the Germans closed the gate on the ghetto in Lodz. I was not there—not behind the wire that divided our city. The Germans gave our home a new name, Litzmannstadt. Did you know that the first people they took away were the Polish elite? My father was beaten, but our family was spared the cruelty many endured. My mother’s father was German. She spent months gathering papers to prove our German heritage. She found enough to make a case for my father, or someone did. To this day, I don’t know if the papers they presented were real,” he continued. “My parents were forced to denounce our Polish heritage. We adopted the surname of my mother, Richter. We were loyal Germans. I held the name until 1989 when I changed to the name I knew as a boy, Nowak.” Filip gauged Claire’s interest before he continued.
“My father accepted a position working as a city administrator.” Filip’s temple twitched and his pupils narrowed. “We lived in comfort but not without fear. Nothing assured safety. There was a tram that ran through the city. It cut through the ghetto. I rode it several times with my brother. I will never forget it,” he said. “The day I saw my friend, Abraham standing behind the barbed wire. His parents had been my father’s tenants before the German’s came. We played in the garden together. His mother gave my mama bread.” Filip’s eyes closed at the memory. “I don’t know if he saw me. I have never forgotten his face—tired and dirty. I don’t know what became of him. If he survived, I never saw him again.”
Claire’s heart sank. She considered her words carefully. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I don’t understand how this is relevant to why we are here.”
Filip offered her a solemn smile. “Ah, but it is. When we passed through the ghetto, everyone fell silent. No one spoke. The wire divided us—the German’s separated us. But we pretended not to see—pretended it did not make our stomach’s turn and our heart’s break. That tram—it still follows the same route,” he told Claire. “It was both a bridge and a divide.”
“Depending on which side of the wire you lived,” Eleana said.
“No,” Claire began. “It kept people apart and reminded them how alike they were.”
Filip turned to Eleana. “She is as bright as you said.” He looked at Claire again. “Yes. We all saw the same thing. What it meant to each of us was not always the same. To the Germans, the ghettos were a means of elevation. To the Jews and the Roma, a sentence of despair. To those of us in the middle? A reminder that we could find ourselves on the other side of the wire without warning, for something as simple as speaking our true name or making a statement regarded as inflammatory.” He paused. “Our silence made us complicit in it all. Were we victims or perpetrators?” he asked. “Perhaps, both. To my parents—victims. To Abraham, looking at the tram freely pass by—perpetrators. Can a person be both?” Filip sighed. “More than seventy years have passed, and I still cannot say.”
“I understand what you are driving at,” Claire said. “But—”
“How does this help you?” Filip nodded. “Do you know who liberated our city?”
“The Soviet Army,” Claire replied.
“Indeed,” he said. “Indeed. They closed the gates of hell,” he said.
“And gave you communism,” Claire observed.
“True,” he admitted. “And the liberator can become the oppressor,” he told her. “The Germans thought they were entitled to Pol
and. The Soviets believed the same. Neither saw us as equals. War does not only change maps. It changes people. Orphans littered Europe after the war,” he said. “Polish, Jewish, Russian—every corner of Europe saw children wandering without guidance. German children too,” he said. “Twenty-four-million people,” he told her. “That is how many people Russia lost in World War II. Children were soldiers before they became orphans.”
“You sound sympathetic,” Claire observed.
“Do I? I understand the toll,” he said. “How do you think Russia sees Kaliningrad? As a bridge or a divide?” Filip sighed. “You do not wear these scars in America. Not the scars that we bear. Our scars have not fully healed,” he told her. “Perhaps, in another century or two; maybe in a millennium they will close—these wounds of war. They are not the ancient history most believe. If you want to understand Russia, you must feel and think as the Russians do,” he said. “Just as if you want to understand me, you must ride that tram and look through my eyes.”
Claire traced her lips over and over with a fingertip as she contemplated Filip Nowak’s advice. She’d come here hoping for something specific. He offered her something infinitely more valuable. She needed to change the lens she looked through. “One man’s hero is another’s perpetrator,” she offered.
Filip smiled. “Whatever you find in Kaliningrad is only a beginning,” he said. “It is not the story. If what you wish is to avoid repeating the past—any of it, you must look with foreign eyes,” he advised. “Remember that the Great War led the world to all that I just told you. That war could have been avoided. Each country believed it had to fight to defend itself; instead, each encroached upon the other. At the end, every nation believed itself the victim and cast the other side as the aggressor. Many who have survived life behind walls and wire have placed others there. The greatest weapon in any country’s arsenal is the ability to rationalize atrocity—to justify oneself as the oppressor because one perceives himself as the victim.”
Eleana detected respect and admiration in Claire’s eyes. She also witnessed something else—empathy. There was a softness in Claire’s gaze that Eleana had rarely seen in the presence of strangers, and it stirred something deep within her. Claire.
“And look deep,” he told Claire. “Here—where you travel—always look below the surface.”
Claire surmised that looking below the surface had more than one meaning. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t thank me. We are always one step away from each, Claire,” he said. He squeezed her hand. “In a breath, the hero becomes the tyrant.”
Claire nodded. Then how do we ever stop any of it?
CHAPTER EIGHT
AIRFORCE ONE
Candace Reid kept replaying her visit with the Ukrainian President. Her conversation with Symon Ponomarenko was more candid than she’d expected. It left her wondering what she might expect when she arrived in Bucharest. Candace remained confident in her ability to read between the lines a person spoke. She looked directly into the eyes of every person who addressed her. By her assessment, Ponomarenko was sincere. Ukraine still held a palpable distrust of its neighbor, Romania. Candace was curious what she might derive from her meeting with the Romanian president later in the evening. She needed to assess who her most likely allies were in this part of the world. She kept replaying an exchange she’d shared with President Ponomarenko:
“Safety is an illusion for all of us. Progress is the only way to ensure our civilization continues and thrives,” Candace said.
“Ah, the American spirit.”
“I meant human civilization,” she said. “You are right. The lines that we cling to on maps are fading by the day. I suppose we each have to choose—”
“Where to draw them?”
“How to maneuver their erasure,” she corrected him.
Ponomarenko raised his glass to his lips. “People need lines, Candace,” he said. “More than they wish to believe.”
Candace looked out the window and sighed.
“Are you okay?” Jameson asked.
Candace squeezed her wife’s hand. “Curious,” she replied.
“About what President Barbu will have to say?”
“About everything, Jameson. About everything.”
WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT
Cassidy was surprised to see Alex sitting at the kitchen table. She set Fallon down and watched her run to Alex.
“Momma!”
“That’s me,” Alex said. She scooped her daughter up and onto her lap.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Cassidy said.
“Thought I’d take the day off.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but why?”
“I thought maybe we could take a drive,” Alex explained.
“A drive?”
“Yes, a drive.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mom said she’d spend the day with Fallon and be here for the kids when they get home.”
“Okay—”
“Dylan borrowed my car. I think he’s finally going to talk to Maggie,” Alex said. “I don’t know if he’ll be home tonight.”
“You could have taken my car to work,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah, but I’d rather take a ride with you in your car.”
Cassidy studied Alex for any clue about what prompted her suggestion.
“Did you have other plans?” Alex asked.
“You mean besides laundry, grocery shopping, and taking care of Fallon? No.”
“Good.”
“Alex? What is going on with you?”
“Maybe I’d like to spend some time alone with you.”
Cassidy was tempted to press. She opted to let the day reveal Alex’s needs and reasons. “Is that so?” she asked playfully.
“Yeah. It is.”
“Anything I need to do to prepare for this excursion?”
“Bring a sweater.”
“A sweater?”
“Yep,” Alex said. She got up with Fallon attached to her hip and put her coffee mug in the dishwasher. “And a jacket—just in case.”
“Okay,” Cassidy replied. “And, when should I expect the car to leave?”
“Mom will be here in half an hour,” Alex replied. She kissed Cassidy on the cheek. “I’ll get Fallon dressed. “Half an hour,” she told Cassidy again before heading out of the room with their daughter.
Now, what is she up to?
SUCEAVA, ROMANIA
“Dinner?” Claire griped.
“What do you have against dinner?” Eleana asked.
“Since when does anyone we do business with invite us to dinner?”
“From what I’ve been able to find on him, Fyodor Popescu is a businessman,” Eleana said.
“Right, and I’m the Pope.”
“Well, Your Eminence—”
“Cute, El.”
“Not every meeting has to be clandestine.”
“It does if you don’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Perhaps that’s exactly the point.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe Gregorovich wants everyone to know you are meeting with Mr. Popescu.”
“Yeah, I figured that much. To see what word gets back to Alex? To Candace? To what end?”
“The only way to find that out is to meet Mr. Popescu. Enjoy the meal, Claire. Have a glass of wine. Be yourself,” Eleana suggested lightly.
Claire burst into laughter. “You’ve lost it, El.”
“I love to hear you laugh,” Eleana said. She raised her hand to Claire’s cheek.
“El.”
“I do,” Eleana said. “Love to hear you laugh.”
Claire lost herself in Eleana’s gaze. It would be easy to lose herself completely. She closed her eyes. “I need to go.”
Eleana stepped back. “I know. Be careful.”
“In that case, I probably should skip your previous advice.”
Eleana looked confused.
“About being m
yself,” Claire clarified. She leaned in and kissed Eleana’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
“Claire? Make sure you do.” Eleana held her breath as Claire walked through the door. She suddenly felt untethered and unsure about everything in her life. Why was she here? Her family was waiting for her at home. She didn’t have to be in Europe. Her contact, that was the reason she gave. That’s what she argued to Claire. It was what she used to justify her trip to Jonathan. Eleana collapsed onto the loveseat in the hotel room. Claire could have met with Illya or Filip. She might not be fluent in every language. Claire Brackett could fake it unlike anyone Eleana knew. Claire was, without any doubt, the most intelligent and determined person Eleana had ever met. It wasn’t Claire’s intellect that drew Eleana. It wasn’t the idea that she could help either. It was a chance to be with Claire when Claire could not easily run or hide. She looked at her cell phone on the table. She closed her eyes before raising it. She held it to her ear and waited. “Jonathan.”
STONINGTON, CONNECTICUT
Cassidy took a deep breath and savored the scent of sand and water. She felt Alex’s arms wrap around her waist and leaned into the familiar embrace.
“It’s been a while,” Alex said.
“Too long,” Cassidy replied. “What made you decide to come here today?”
“Dylan.”
“Dylan?”
“Yeah. In a roundabout way.”
Cassidy spun in Alex’s arms.
“You are beautiful, Cass.”
“Mm. Flattery might get you everywhere later.”
“I miss you,” Alex said. “I guess I realize how much I’ve been missing you.” She kissed Cassidy’s lips softly. “I don’t regret any of it, Cass. Our kids. Our family. What we both choose to do with our lives.”
“Alex?”
“But I do; I miss you. It seems like we’re always running—both of us. How did we get here? We were almost grandparents. Has it been that long since I first brought you here?”
Time was a funny thing. It could pass in painfully slow ticks or it could evaporate as fast as the speed of light. There were days when Cassidy looked in the mirror and wondered who was looking back. She found it difficult to process the reality that her son could be someone’s father while she taught Fallon her first words. She saw evidence of time on the faces of her mother and father—the toll that time could take, and the laughter it offered. Dylan’s visit home offered contrast and reminders. No one could stop the world from turning. One day, loss would visit their family again. Cassidy thought they’d been incredibly blessed and fortunate. Aside from Helen’s mild heart attack, and a brief bought with breast cancer for Rose, their family had been healthy. Loss was inevitable. She knew that too. Alex stepping back into the work she swore she’d left behind shook Cassidy’s world. It served as a reminder that loss would visit them again one day.
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