at first me, then his father.
“Tasha, tell this guy—”
“Find him,” I told Dan. “Watch him. Track him. Mark him. But don’t touch him, Dan. And don’t let him make you. Once you have him, you let us know.”
“I have to take care of this!”
“You will. But I’m going to need him first.”
I moved my eyes from Dan to Alena, and I saw she was with me, that she understood what I wanted, and why, and more, why it was important.
She spoke quietly, in Russian, and Dan made a face like he was having trouble controlling his temper, and then he actually did throw his hands in the air. When they came down again, he pointed his finger at me a second time.
“I don’t do this for you,” he said. “And I don’t do this for Tasha, you understand? I do this for Natalie, because I liked her, and she liked you. But because I do this for Natalie, Illya is
mine,
you understand? His life is now mine, no one else’s. No one kills that walking fuckhole but me, understand?”
“I understand.”
Dan grunted, turned away, slapping Vadim on the shoulder. The younger man got to his feet, and the two of them exchanged a rough hug. Vadim had drawn the short straw on the height gene, because he only reached Dan’s shoulder, which put him at, perhaps, chin height on me and Alena. But he had his father’s body type, the same strength of chin and jaw. When the two of them embraced, it was clear that the blood running between them was thick.
Dan released the young man, this time slapping him lightly on the cheek, then made his way to the front of the aircraft. He stopped at the door, looked back at us.
“I will see you when I see you.”
“You didn’t even see us here,” Alena responded.
Dan turned to the pilot, still waiting at the cockpit door. “How many passengers you carrying?”
“One,” the pilot said. “Some kid I’m taking back to the home country.”
“That’s right. One.”
Dan looked back at us, then at his son, a final time. Then he went out the door, disappearing down the stairs.
“Buckle up,” the pilot told us.
Seven minutes after takeoff, the pilot came over the intercom.
“International waters,”
he said.
I shifted carefully on my bench, looked over to where Alena had taken a position opposite me, her legs stretched out in front of her, as if she was imitating my posture. Her head was turned to the window, resting her forehead against the glass. Miata lay curled in the aisle between us.
Without looking at me, Alena asked, “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
“If you’re asking do I feel up to it, yes, I think so.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
I told her what happened, as best as I could remember. Everything from the moment I’d left the safe house in the Civic to my broken memories upon returning. I ended with her and Vadim taking me to see Natalie where she lay in the yard.
She never stopped looking out the window as I relayed it to her, and her questions were few. She was curious about the AR-15, because she said that had been an anomaly in the weapons load-out. The MP5s were, strictly speaking, MP5SDs, and apparently, all but two of the people who’d been trying to kill us had carried them.
“Tasked from the same source,” Alena murmured, more to herself than to me. “Each group, tasked from the same source for their op.”
“Your turn,” I said. “What happened at the house?”
She drew a deep breath through her nose, exhaling it strong enough that it formed a mist on her window. Then she swung her legs off the bench, turning so she could sit facing me.
“Natalie was trying to protect me,” Alena said. “Remember that, Atticus.”
Then she told me what happened at the safe house.
CHAPTER
SIX
The window in Alena’s room at the house in Cold Spring looked out over the backyard, not the front, and so she had not watched me go. But she had heard the sound of the Civic starting, had heard its wheels turning on the
“Tasha, tell this guy—”
“Find him,” I told Dan. “Watch him. Track him. Mark him. But don’t touch him, Dan. And don’t let him make you. Once you have him, you let us know.”
“I have to take care of this!”
“You will. But I’m going to need him first.”
I moved my eyes from Dan to Alena, and I saw she was with me, that she understood what I wanted, and why, and more, why it was important.
She spoke quietly, in Russian, and Dan made a face like he was having trouble controlling his temper, and then he actually did throw his hands in the air. When they came down again, he pointed his finger at me a second time.
“I don’t do this for you,” he said. “And I don’t do this for Tasha, you understand? I do this for Natalie, because I liked her, and she liked you. But because I do this for Natalie, Illya is
mine,
you understand? His life is now mine, no one else’s. No one kills that walking fuckhole but me, understand?”
“I understand.”
Dan grunted, turned away, slapping Vadim on the shoulder. The younger man got to his feet, and the two of them exchanged a rough hug. Vadim had drawn the short straw on the height gene, because he only reached Dan’s shoulder, which put him at, perhaps, chin height on me and Alena. But he had his father’s body type, the same strength of chin and jaw. When the two of them embraced, it was clear that the blood running between them was thick.
Dan released the young man, this time slapping him lightly on the cheek, then made his way to the front of the aircraft. He stopped at the door, looked back at us.
“I will see you when I see you.”
“You didn’t even see us here,” Alena responded.
Dan turned to the pilot, still waiting at the cockpit door. “How many passengers you carrying?”
“One,” the pilot said. “Some kid I’m taking back to the home country.”
“That’s right. One.”
Dan looked back at us, then at his son, a final time. Then he went out the door, disappearing down the stairs.
“Buckle up,” the pilot told us.
Seven minutes after takeoff, the pilot came over the intercom.
“International waters,”
he said.
I shifted carefully on my bench, looked over to where Alena had taken a position opposite me, her legs stretched out in front of her, as if she was imitating my posture. Her head was turned to the window, resting her forehead against the glass. Miata lay curled in the aisle between us.
Without looking at me, Alena asked, “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
“If you’re asking do I feel up to it, yes, I think so.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
I told her what happened, as best as I could remember. Everything from the moment I’d left the safe house in the Civic to my broken memories upon returning. I ended with her and Vadim taking me to see Natalie where she lay in the yard.
She never stopped looking out the window as I relayed it to her, and her questions were few. She was curious about the AR-15, because she said that had been an anomaly in the weapons load-out. The MP5s were, strictly speaking, MP5SDs, and apparently, all but two of the people who’d been trying to kill us had carried them.
“Tasked from the same source,” Alena murmured, more to herself than to me. “Each group, tasked from the same source for their op.”
“Your turn,” I said. “What happened at the house?”
She drew a deep breath through her nose, exhaling it strong enough that it formed a mist on her window. Then she swung her legs off the bench, turning so she could sit facing me.
“Natalie was trying to protect me,” Alena said. “Remember that, Atticus.”
Then she told me what happened at the safe house.
CHAPTER
SIX
The window in Alena’s room at the house in Cold Spring looked out over the backyard, not the front, and so she had not watched me go. But she had heard the sound of the Civic starting, had heard its wheels turning on the
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