by P A Duncan
How the hell did I get myself into this, Carroll thought. “Look, these guys know what hangs in the balance. They’ll help me.”
“If you don’t do as I say, I’ll get to your sister. Or your whore.”
“I got it. I understand. It’s not a problem.”
“I’m near where Parker lives now. I’ll talk to him, but if the time comes for punishment, that’s your job. Speak to Duval. Now.”
“All right.”
“And if you tell Parker I’m coming, one call to my network and your sister gets punished for your sin. Understand?”
“Yes. Perfectly.”
Prophet hung up, and Carroll stumbled to the bathroom to vomit in the toilet.
19
Fellowship
Near Wichita, Kansas
Farm work appealed to Gerald Parker. His brother was into management and experimentation, dealing with extension agents, bankers, loan officers. Gerald’s satisfaction came from sitting on a piece of equipment, trekking back and forth across a field. He could lose himself in the predictability. Often, this was the most constant thing in his life. It paid little, but it made no intellectual demands of him.
Almost intoxicated by the smell of turned earth, Parker checked his watch. Another half-dozen rounds and this field would be ready for planting when it got warmer. He’d be finished in time to play with the kids when he got home, before Corazon put them to bed. After, the two of them would have dinner and talk about his day, her day, like married people did.
He’d been showing her more appreciation for how she took care of the kids, kept the house, cooked the meals, and she’d stopped talking about returning to college or finding a job. Either of those would keep her away from home. And him.
He wanted this marriage to work, and Corazon meant something more to him than a cook and a housemaid he could fuck. He loved his children far more than he thought he could. His family had superseded Jay Carroll’s mission on Parker’s list of priorities.
Parker lifted the plow and turned to start another swath. A pickup sat inside the gate to the field, and it wasn’t his boss leaning against it. Parker’s hands squeezed the steering wheel when he recognized the man. He finished the row and stopped the tractor parallel to the truck. As he climbed down, Prophet strode over to meet him, and Parker wondered about the healing cuts and bruises on Prophet’s face. Parker left his gloves on his sweaty palms.
“Prophet, God is great,” Parker said.
“I’m disappointed in you. J.T. told me you’re not supporting him.”
“What? No, sir, I totally support him. Right now, he doesn’t need my help, sir.”
“What’s your fucking problem? I thought you knew the stakes.”
“I do, sir. My support hasn’t wavered, but I’ve got—”
“What?”
Parker’s throat tightened in fear, and he had trouble swallowing. “Family obligations, sir.”
“What family?”
“My wife and children, sir.”
“You think your mongrel pups and your brown whore are a family? I thought you knew your Bible, Gerald. They’re your slaves. Your only obligation is to your white race. Have you forgotten that?”
Parker put a hand on the tractor as his knees quivered. “No, sir. I… I… They’re important to me.”
“And what I’m doing isn’t?”
“Yes, sir, it’s the most important, and I’ve done everything you and J.T. asked. You’ve got him. You don’t need me.”
“When the day comes, he’ll need your help.”
“Yes, sir.” Parker studied his work boots. “She’s not a whore, sir.”
“Your ‘wife’ came to you pregnant with another man’s child. She wasn’t supposed to become family to you. She was your excuse to be in the Philippines.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, but… I care about my children. It’s nice having my own family.”
“Gerald, they are not God’s children.” Prophet grabbed Parker by his jacket. “You disgust me. Putting niggers ahead of my sacred cause.”
“They’re not niggers!”
Prophet slammed Parker against the tractor. “John Carroll will call on you when the time comes, and you better be on board. If you’re not, I’ll cut your nigger brats’ throats in their sleep, and I’ll cut pieces off your nigger wife. Am I clear?”
Parker’s stomach churned. He nodded, unable to speak.
Prophet stormed back to his truck and tore off across the field Parker had plowed, throwing earth to the wind.
Parker shook as he climbed back onto the tractor.
Parker was thankful Corazon didn’t question his dour silence. He bathed the children for her, something he liked. Washing the newborn in the sink while Angela splashed in the tub brought him a fatherly peace he hadn’t known with his first child, now a surly teenager.
These children weren’t as white as he was, but he loved them. They looked at him with adoration and trust in their eyes, and he knew he couldn’t let them down. He patted them dry with their soft towels and dressed them for bed. The baby slept almost at once, and he read a book to Angela. She fell asleep before he finished, but he completed the story about the moon and the mittens and the three little kittens. He tucked her coverlet around her. Parker stood in the doorway, watching them sleep; their beauty brought tears to his eyes.
In his and Corazon’s bedroom, he stripped to his waist, shaved, and cleaned himself before putting on a fresh shirt. Once Corazon had called him a dirty, smelly farmer, and he’d hit her. He’d sworn never again, and he hadn’t. He combed his hair, splashed on after-shave, and went to the kitchen.
Prophet sat at the table.
Smiling, Prophet said, “Gerald, good to see you. I’m on my way to Arizona, and I stopped by to see how you liked the house. When your lovely wife told me you were bathing the babies, I thanked God you’re such a good father. Your sweet wife here invited me to dinner, and I welcome the fellowship. I’ve been on the road a while.”
Parker read the contempt in Prophet’s piggish eyes.
“I don’t mean to intrude, but the little woman insisted.” Prophet’s eyes swarmed over Corazon. “Didn’t you, honey?”
Parker tried to convey a silent apology to Corazon, but she stared at the floor.
“Sit, Gerald. Your wife has made a wonderful dinner. Let’s not keep her from serving us.”
Prophet sat at the head of the table. Parker sat to his left, Corazon across from her husband. She dished food onto their plates, her eyes down. Prophet held a hand out to Parker and Corazon.
“I’d like to say grace,” Prophet said.
Parker took the offered hand. Prophet squeezed his fingers hard and did the same to Corazon. She pursed her lips and looked at her husband, tears in her eyes. He looked away.
20
Disillusionment
Mount Vernon, Virginia
Olga Lubova found her charge sprawled on the family room sofa, watching television. “You have finished homework?” Olga asked her.
“All done,” Natalia said. “It’s on the kitchen counter if you want to check it over.”
Olga glanced at the television. National news and not the inane “Friends” or “Seinfeld” she’d caught Natalia watching last week. Olga looked over the homework assignments. “You need to proofread English homework. I see errors,” Olga said.
“Seriously? You’re finding mistakes in my English?”
“I may have accent, but I improved your grandfather’s English. Try again.” A movement on the security monitor in the kitchen caught Olga’s eye. Mai’s new monster truck. “Turn television off,” Olga said.
“Why? The news is educational.”
“Because Maiya and your grandfather are returning, and—”
Natalia’s squeal of joy made Olga’s ears ring.
The girl turned off the television and dashed toward the garage. By the time Olga joined her, Natalia had opened the center garage door and stood in its opening, bouncing and waving.
Natalia bounced out of the way, and Alexei eased the big vehicle into its spot. Natalia had the passenger door open, and Mai’s feet had barely touched the floor when Natalia threw her arms around Mai’s neck.
Alexei walked around the front of the vehicle, and Olga caught his eye. He shook his head.
Done with Mai, Natalia leapt into her grandfather’s arms. His joy wasn’t forced. Olga gave a rare smile and went to help Mai unload their bags from the rear of the Suburban.
“Why do you always carry luggage?” Lubova asked. “What is wrong with his arms?”
“He throws them in the back willy-nilly. I don’t. How was she?” Mai asked.
“Fine, but asking every day when you will be home.” Olga took two of the bags. “How long will you be here?”
“Those go in the laundry room,” Mai said, nodding to the bags, “and likely the rest of my miserable life.”
“Mums! Mums! Guess what came in the mail!” Natalia said.
“I can’t imagine,” Mai replied.
“The tickets! For Phantom! I totally looked at the seating diagram, and the seats are, like, perfect!”
“They should be. They cost a pretty penny.”
Natalia hugged and kissed Mai again. “But I’m worth every cent. It’s, like, in the middle of spring break, so no school night issue.”
“When is it?” Alexei asked.
“April eighteenth.”
Olga caught the expression Mai and Alexei exchanged. The date bothered Mai, but Alexei’s raised eyebrow silenced her.
“Perfect,” Mai said, voice flat. “What are your weekend plans?”
“I was spending the weekend at Dior’s, but…”
“Don’t change your plans. Popi and I are home, but we have a lot of work this weekend.”
“But, you just got home.”
That was close to a whine, and Olga intervened. “Devushka, you have working grandparents. Remember, you are tutoring Dior for test next week.”
Alexei hugged his granddaughter again. “A tutor? I’m proud of you. You can’t let her down.”
“Okay,” Natalia said, but with a pout. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“We are, too,” Alexei said.
“Well, I’d like a long soak in my tub and a nap in my own bed,” Mai said.
Olga expected a riposte from Bukharin, but he said nothing.
“However,” Mai continued, “how about a family dinner out?”
Olga caught Bukharin’s grateful smile to his wife.
Natalia’s bouncing resumed. “Oh! Oh! Le Refuge, please, please!”
“After fast food for the past few weeks, Le Refuge would be heaven,” Mai said. “Alexei, call for a reservation while I take a bath. Four for dinner. Eight thirty.” Mai took her bags and headed for the stairs.
Alexei called to her, “I’ll come in shortly to wash your back.”
“Oh, puh-leeze,” Natalia said. “Adults are so gross.”
Halfway up the stairs, Mai called down, “We plan it that way.”
“Move over.”
Mai cracked an eye open and saw a naked Alexei indicating he wanted to join her in the tub.
“I’m not interested in sex.” She shifted so he had room.
He slid into the tub behind her, his legs on either side of her.
“I think I can control myself.” He soaped a sponge and began to wash her back. “Thanks for suggesting dinner. I know you wanted to head for the office, and I’m glad you put Natalia first.”
“I’m headed to the office after dinner.”
He used his hands to rinse her back and let them wander. “Are you sure you’re not interested in sex?”
“Really? Right now?”
“Mai, you’ll lock yourself in the office with a supply of Irish whiskey. If not now, it won’t be for days. Or weeks.”
She turned to face him, legs wrapping around his hips as she pressed against him.
Her mouth close to his, she said, “I thought you said you could control yourself.”
“I lied,” he replied and kissed her.
True to her word, Mai went straight to the office after dinner. Alexei sent Natalia off to bed.
“Bukharin? I waited until malyishka went to bed.” Olga handed him a large Directorate classified packet. “This came by courier a few days ago.”
The seal read, “Bukharin/Fisher Eyes Only.” It hadn’t been compromised. How had Olga resisted the temptation?
“Things are better?” Olga said.
“The personal is better.”
“Yes, so I heard.”
Alexei frowned. “If you put a camera in my bedroom, I will not be a happy man.”
“No camera. I listen at door.” She gave her characteristic shrug. “Mission was not success?”
“No, we couldn’t find him. We came close, but not close enough. And something bad is going to happen to this country.”
Olga’s gray eyes, which had terrified him as a KGB recruit, even more than his army sergeant had, studied him. “That matters to you?”
“Of course.”
“I thought after breakup of Soviet Union, you would return to Ukraine. Ukraine has need for intelligent people in government.”
“Not my area of expertise.”
“Not even Ukrainian intelligence service?”
Alexei’s frown deepened. “Has someone approached you?”
“Nyet.”
“What are you getting at?”
“This mission disillusioned you and Maiya.”
Alexei wagged a finger at her. “You eavesdrop too much.”
“Old habits.”
“Disillusioned with politics. At least on my part. We’re not moving to Ukraine. Soon, you’ll go to college with Natalia.”
“Yes, I know. Mafiya might be easier. Udachi.”
“Why do you wish me luck?”
“At crossroads of mission, that you pick correct path. Dobray vyecher, tovarishch.”
“Good night.”
Not willing to interrupt Mai, Alexei poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the eat-in counter to break the seal on the packet. Inside was an inch-thick computer print-out and a hand-written note in Grace Lydell’s writing: “Call me when you get this.”
He skimmed the first few pages. The length of the list of potential targets was dismaying. He took out The Directorate mobile phone he’d had on the trip and dialed Analysis’ number from memory.
“Lydell.”
“Grace, it’s Alexei. I got your package.”
“Welcome home. Let me explain the size of the print-out. The U.S. government owns a lot of buildings and rents a lot more. Almost every major and minor metropolitan area in the country has a potential target, sometimes more than one per city. The agencies the right-wingers hate are everywhere.”
“What about buildings housing multiple agencies, say, FBI, ATF, and IRS together?”
“Table Two. Dozens.”
“All right, how about those within a day’s drive of either Parker, Duval, or Carroll’s last known addresses?”
“Table Three. Dozens. We also included those within a day’s drive of the elder Parker’s farm, Carroll’s mother’s condo in Florida, and his father’s home in Port Town. Plus everywhere he was stationed in the Army. Guess how many?”
“Dozens.”
“These guys may know exactly where, but short of telepathy, we’re not going to narrow it down without more to go on. I don’t have copies of your and Mai’s case notes.”
“I’ll make copies. Send a courier tomorrow morning. I’m asking for a miracle. The signatory briefing is Tuesday.”
“This Tuesday? I’ll have to divert the entire domestic section. Even then, I can’t guarantee a positive outcome.”
“It’s the nature of the game, Grace.”
“Okay, but you owe me. Big time. Like a catered dinner party for thirty of my closest friends.”
“Grace, you don’t have thirty friends.”
“I’ll find them.”
Alexei smiled. “Deal.” He murmured goodbye and hung up, eying the thick print-out.
A familiar feeling of ineffectiveness crept over him: the way he’d felt when bullets put Nelson behind a desk, when the Serbian warlord Arkan had held Mai for ransom. His gut told him they weren’t going to find out where in time. When John Carroll blew up a government building, Mai would be altered in ways Alexei didn’t want to consider.
He downed his wine for courage and headed to the office to be the bearer of bad news.
21
Bad Timing
Kingman, Arizona
Kingman held too many bad memories about Siobhan. No letters from her despite Carroll’s almost daily phone calls. Every time he’d called Lamar, he learned she hadn’t been back. On the road, he bought copies of major newspapers to look for stories about the arrest of an IRA fugitive. The lack of mention calmed him only a little.
But Carroll was back, mainly to satisfy Prophet’s demand to keep Duval in line.
In case the government—or Prophet—watched Lamar’s trailer, Carroll used a makeshift road that cut behind the place. He parked in the back, his vehicle hidden from the main road. In the backyard all by herself, Ashley played in what passed for a lawn. She was covered in dust, her blonde hair dulled by it. Her nose had run, and she’d swiped at it repeatedly. Streaks of snotty mud marred both cheeks.
“What the fuck?” Carroll muttered and left his car.
The little girl ran to meet him. He knelt down when she reached him, and she flung her arms around his neck. He hugged her and smelled she hadn’t had a bath in days.
“Unca Jay, you been gone a long, long time,” she said.
“I’ve been busy, honey. What are you doing?”
“I pwaying in da dirt.”
“I see that. Where’s Daddy and Mommy?”
“Taking a nap.”
Fucking, more like it, and Sharon was what? Eight months pregnant. What a selfish prick Lamar could be.