“Forgive me,” says my mother, noticing my confounded expression. “Sophia, this is Bev Andrews.”
I sputter, “Y-You’re Andrews?”
She bows her chin. “I only wish you had introduced yourself in Tunis.”
Tunis? She saw me?
Andrews reaches her hand forward, and I shake it.
I glance down at her manicured fingernails. She is refined and polished. Her jacquard suit is tailored and ironed. She is an older, grayer version of my mother.
On her wrist is a delicate silver watch. Skagen. Silver with a stream of gold circling through the links, same model as mine.
Why couldn’t my parents track Bekami? How did Abramovich find out I was alive? And why is Andrews still smiling at me?
Aksel watches Andrews warily. Her, he said. It was her.
“Please allow me to offer my condolences,” Andrews continues softly. Her eyes are moist. “Your father was an honorable man who served his country with the highest distinction. He saved countless lives, and we all lost so much yesterday.”
“Thank you,” I say appreciatively, but I am barely listening. Synapses fire inside my skull.
I touch my fingers to my collarbone, feeling the hollow where my necklace once lay.
“I’ll need to ask you some questions, Sophia. I’m sorry to do it now, but I think we should do it while these events are fresh. A simple conversation.”
“A debriefing?” I ask.
“No interrogation cube this time.” Andrews smiles, standing. “Let’s go to the front of the plane for some privacy.”
I stay seated. “I’m fine here, Ms. Andrews.”
My mother frowns at me. Apparently, I’m not supposed to disagree with Andrews. “Soph—”
“Here is fine,” Andrews says sympathetically, waving off my mother’s interruption. She sits back down and removes an electronic tablet from her purse. “Let’s start with Abramovich. Are you sure he was dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I look at Aksel. His brow is furrowed. His eyes darting from me to Andrews to my mother.
“What did Abramovich tell you?” asks Andrews. “Did he mention anything specific about his past?”
“Not really, ma’am.”
“Did he mention any names before you killed him?”
“I didn’t kill him,” I say.
“You confirmed he was dead; are you suggesting—”
“Sophia didn’t kill Abramovich,” Aksel interrupts. “I did.” He’s subtly shifted forward in his seat, positioning his shoulder in front of me—an instinctive, defensive gesture.
Andrews looks him over appraisingly. “Thank you for clarifying, Aksel. And thank you for taking action.”
Aksel glowers at Andrews; he didn’t tell her for praise, he told her because he doesn’t want me implicated.
Andrews proceeds to ask more questions—vague, unspecific, leading questions. But her inquisitive voice sounds distant, fuzzy. It is background noise compared to the orchestral presence of the imperious voice of my father.
Command always knows where we are … An informant on the inside … There is always someone willing to betray you for a price …
A price. Abramovich was a corrupt oligarch, worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
“What did you discuss with Abramovich?” Andrews asks. “What details can you tell me?”
… I only answer to one person …
Only one person always knew where we were. Only one person knew about the circumstances of Farhad’s death in Tunisia. Only one person knew about Aksel’s parents. Only one person sent us to Waterford. Only one person knew we were boarding a train in Vienna and could have tracked me when I jumped.
I look down at my own Skagen watch.
Silver, with a string of gold circling through it.
Like a rifle shot, I know who. The only thing I don’t know is—
“Why?” I blurt out, standing. My mother coils her fingers around my wrist. I shake her off. “Why did you do it?” I nearly shout at Andrews.
“Sophia!” my mother says sharply. Her eyes flash between us.
“You betrayed my father, my mother, all of us!”
“Sophia,” my mother hisses.
“You worked for the Russians—Abramovich—and you sold us out every time you had a chance. How did they pay you? Cash? Mansions? Or was power enough that—”
“Sophia, sit down,” my mother orders. But Aksel stands behind me. I feel the weight of his presence like my own shield of armor.
After all these years I am no longer afraid. Not of Bekami. Not of Abramovich. And certainly not of Andrews.
“How much?” I shout. “How much am I worth? My life? What did he pay you? What did you want so badly?”
If Andrews is surprised, she masks it nicely. “You’ve been through a lot, Sophia. You’re grieving and sleep-deprived. I’ll pardon this outburst, given what you’ve endured.”
“Endured? Yes, I’ve endured plenty. On account of you.” Pointing at Andrews, I look at my mother. “They always knew where we were headed, right? Because she told you where to go!”
I hold up my wrist to my mother. “She told you to give me this, didn’t she?” I point at the matching Skagen watch on Andrews’s wrist. “She found me in Hütteldorf after I jumped from the train, and she told Bekami where to find me in the forest!”
Andrews glares at me. “I do not know what you are suggesting, but you are playing a dangerous game. You are delusional and in shock following your father’s death—”
“He’s dead because you betrayed him!” I fire back.
“You’ve been through a lot,” she says calmly. “You’re unwell. I should have brought a physician on board with me. I’m so sorry I didn’t.”
Steeling my resolve, I touch the clasp on my watch. “Perhaps I am unwell. But we’ll see after specialists examine both our watches.”
When Andrews flicks her eyes to her own watch, my instincts are confirmed. I may have, at times, been out of my parents’ line of sight, but never far from Andrews’s. My necklace allowed my parents to keep track of me; my watch allowed Andrews to keep track of us.
“Don’t be foolish,” Andrews says. “I’ve helped your parents protect you—”
“Then why didn’t you tell my parents that Abramovich was living in Istanbul? Or that Bekami had escaped prison? You knew about the NEMCOVA mission—about me—and rather than protect us, you cut a deal with Abramovich! Because of you, a Russian has been controlling an entire division of America’s intelligence network.”
“I have done no such thing—”
“Rather than protect people against terrorists, you found a Russian who supplies them weapons and you brokered a deal! Now Chechen separatists have a nuclear weapon—because of you.”
Andrews steps toward me.
Aksel is no longer standing behind me, but beside me—his forearm lodged at my hip, ready to protect me like the safety bar on a roller coaster.
Hearing our raised voices, several Latvian soldiers have lifted their eyes to watch us. But they aren’t allowed to interfere. Talk to us. Touch us. We are invisible cargo that just happens to be on the brink of imploding.
“I saved you,” Andrews declares. “Repeatedly, I refused to deliver you to Bekami—”
“So you played a game, sending us around the world to see who could catch the other first?”
“I helped you! Bekami wanted to kill you.”
“Instead you let him kill my father?”
It’s obvious how she’s gotten away with this for so long—her eyes, wide with innocent sincerity, her delicate features, her immaculately tailored appearance—it is easy to feel like she is innocent, like she is the victim. Her well-rehearsed, melancholic, manipulative voice ensures this facade.
I look at my mother. “She’s the one, Mom. Don’t you get it?”
My mother rises to her feet. She looks both stunned and raging mad.
“Mary, you’ve known me for twenty-nine years,” Andrews s
ays softly. “I would never betray my team, my country. You can’t believe accusations from an addled adolescent—”
“Except I do believe my daughter,” my mother says in cold fury. “Kent and I knew someone had leaked information, but it’s worse. You’re a double agent. And you have been for a decade. You prevented us from rescuing Sophia in Istanbul—”
“Mom, she’s been a double agent longer than a decade,” I breathe out, feeling dizzy. “Andrews knew about the NEMCOVA mission—she organized Katranov’s exfiltration, right? She knew where you were hiding my family at the Kotka safe house …”
My mother sways, pale. “No,” she whispers. She covers her mouth with both hands and closes her eyes.
Andrews is watching my mother. But I am watching Andrews.
“You told Abramovich where my family was hiding in Finland. And then, when my parents told you I’d been born, that I was alive, you told Abramovich that too.”
Andrews turns from my mother to me. Her innocent wide eyes are now venomous.
“You think you have it all figured out, Nancy Drew?” she asks me.
“I know I do,” I answer.
“Then I suppose I have no choice but to end this.” Her voice is authoritative but casual, as if she’s said these words many times before.
“Do it,” I say.
Andrews glances around at the airmen. They aren’t her people. They stare right back at her. She doesn’t move.
“No one will believe you,” Andrews spits out. “This is nonsense—you’re a deranged, traumatized teenager trying to make sense of your father’s tragic death. You need to be evaluated for injuries.”
“No one has to believe me,” I interrupt, looking toward the cockpit. “But they will believe you.”
I point to the ceiling. “We’re flying in an old MN-2; it doesn’t look much like a Soviet transport anymore, but they didn’t disassemble the interior, didn’t remove the surveillance equipment …” I trail off, trusting Andrews to figure out her own mistake.
Andrews’s composed defiance dissolves into disbelief. She has all but admitted being a double agent, and the captain on this old Latvian NATO jet is listening to all of it. But, more significantly, it is being recorded and transmitted to some distant, forgotten, but nonetheless reliable, server.
Andrews’s gaze scans the fuselage, looking for an escape. “What now, Sophia?” she asks derisively.
“The pilot will radio ahead. When we land, you will be arrested and tried for treason, terrorism. You’ll go to prison,” I say softly. “Everything Abramovich gave you will be confiscated. That is if your superiors at the Department of Defense don’t reach you first. ON-YX was created to operate outside the rules of engagement, correct?”
Andrews looks to my mother. “Mary, this accusation will destroy my family. Think of my children, my husband. They’ll lose everything. They’ll be humiliated.” Her hands shake. “You’ll destroy them, their futures, with this lie.”
“You’re right,” says my mother. “They will lose everything because of you.”
Andrews loosens the scarf at her throat.
“There’s another option,” I say abruptly. “If you want it.”
My mother and Aksel look over at me.
I nod across the platform, my eyes settling on the jump chute. I wait for Andrews to follow my gaze, to understand.
“You can avoid a trial. Prison. Humiliation,” I say softly. “You can choose to be remembered for who you were before you turned. No one has to know you are a traitor.”
Fastening a tether around my wrist, I walk over to the jump chute door, pull up a red lever, twist the air lock handle, and tug. The door swings inward. A biting wind whistles into the plane. It sweeps the hair off our faces. I walk back to stand beside Aksel and my mother.
Andrews’s face is tight. “How dare you—”
“It’s your choice.”
Her eyes flit between me, my mother, Aksel, and finally the inky black sky and glimmering stars above the Atlantic. “Mary, please. I would never hurt you or Sophia—”
“She’s giving you a choice”—my mother cuts her off with a cold glare—“I’d take it.”
“After all we’ve been through—”
“You can do it, Bev,” my mother’s voice rings clearly beside me, “or I can do it for you, but either way you are finished destroying my family.”
Andrews stares at us, suddenly expressionless. She straightens out her jacquard coat. She strides two meters across the platform to the jump chute. She pauses with her toes at the edge, looking out into the velvety night.
The wind ruffles the plastered hair around Andrew’s face.
It happens at once—Andrews reaches her hand inside her jacket and spins around. A double-edged dagger flies at us. Aksel pushes me behind him, backing us into the cargo net. My mother shifts in time for it to sail past her and land in the fuselage wall.
Andrews lunges at me. “I have worked too hard to be—”
Swirling in front of me, my mother grabs Andrews by her lapel, flings her around, and shoves.
Andrews tumbles backward out of the plane, sucked into the sky.
I walk over to the chute. Below I can see the cold sea and a stray iceberg.
I unclip my watch and drop it into the night. It will sink into the Atlantic and plummet to the ocean floor.
I will never be tracked again.
CHAPTER 65
My mother sits at the foot of my hospital bed, watching me.
Her face is puffy and red, but she remains entirely composed. She is wearing her black pearl earrings.
“Your father’s body was recovered in Austria,” she tells me. “There’ll be a service this morning. After decades of not existing, the president says your father must be recognized. For his military service and his years at the Central Intelligence Agency before he joined ON-YX, your father has been awarded an anonymous engraved star on the marble wall at Langley.”
By midmorning, the sky is white and overcast. I put on a black wool coatdress and a velvet fascinator with a net veil.
It has stopped snowing, and the air around us is still and quiet. Beside my mother and me, those present at Arlington National Cemetery are Aksel, two dozen Navy SEALs in full dress uniform, several men in suits I don’t recognize, and the Deputy Secretary of Defense.
During the brief service, I sense someone watching us. I glance up during the Lord’s Prayer and see a figure in a trim suit standing still against an oak tree, fifty meters away.
Across the white earth, David nods at me.
Smiling faintly, I nod back.
When I lift my eyes at the end of the prayer, David is gone.
After the benediction, each SEAL steps up to the coffin, removes his Navy SEAL trident, and pounds his pin into the wood with his fist. The sound echoes into the sky.
Once everyone has left the gravesite, my mother and I stand beside each other, staring at the mound of dirt in the middle of a blanket of snow.
I turn to my mother, admiring her beautiful clear blue eyes that wrinkle at the corners when she smiles. My eyes aren’t hers, Abramovich told me, and yet when I look into them, I see me. I love her so much it hurts.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I start. “It’s my fault he’s dead and—”
“Hush, Sophia.” She presses her cold hand against my lips. My tears melt into her fingers. “Don’t you ever utter those words again. Your father died protecting the person he loved most in the world. Do not blame yourself for any of this—”
“How can I not? Look at everything that happened because of me. I was so mad at him for taking me out of Waterford, and I told him I hated him and—” The words can no longer pass the strangled sobs escaping my throat.
Her arms tighten around me in a crushing embrace. Her voice is in my ear. “You must try.” Tears stream down her face, soaking my cheek, as she says, “You must know that this is not, and never will be, your burden to bear.”
After a few minutes, she lets
go of me and readjusts the fur stole over her coat.
“Shirley Piper,” she says softly. “That was my name before I joined Intelligence.” My mother wipes her eyes. “Shirley. I haven’t said that name in thirty years.”
“And Dad?” I ask, knowing that for the first time in my life I am getting answers.
My mother smiles, and her whole face lights up. “Charles. His name was Charles MacDonaghue. And let me tell you, Sophia, from the moment Shirley met Chuck in Panama, she was smitten.”
She continues gently, looking at me. “I always wanted children. My whole life I hoped to have children. But I chose a career that wasn’t exactly made out for that. I told myself it didn’t matter. That maybe it wasn’t meant to happen for me … for us …”
She pauses. Swallows. “I was forty-four when you were born, Sophia. You came into our lives in the most unexpected, extraordinary, and tragic of circumstances. I’ve never questioned the choice we made that night.”
“All those years, I never considered we were running because of me,” I confess.
“Sophia, it doesn’t matter—”
“It does,” I say. “Because you would have been safer without me. Abramovich said if you had turned me over from the beginning, none of this would have happened and—”
“Sophia, neither your father nor I have regretted, for one second, the life we chose with you. Yes, we’ve been running for sixteen years, but we would do it all over again if it meant raising you. I’ll run, and I’ll fight, until I die, Sophia, if it means I can be your mother.”
I finally stop wiping the wetness from my cheeks. I can’t stop looking at her.
“In your face, Sophia, I see your courageous mother, Katarina. Her blood runs in you, and I see so much of her in you. But I also see myself in you, Sophia. And I like to think that somehow, in another way, I am a part of you too.”
I fight back tears as my mother finishes in a whisper, “You are my daughter, and I love you. I love you with the passion of not one parent, but four. Your mother gave us a gift, you see. And I know it’s not fair that they died the way they did, but, Sophia, through you … they live.”
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