by Seeley James
Pia let out a long, sad sigh. “You’re not stuttering.”
“I’m focused now.” Tania waited for a response.
“I’m focused on Popov,” Pia said. “We lost the race to keep Roche out of the White House. If we take him out now, Popov will do it again with another narcissist. After we get Popov, then we go after Roche.”
Tania nodded and drank her coffee.
After a couple minutes, Pia picked up her mug and sipped. “What does the Major say about Watson?”
“The nice way to put it: she was against hiring him in the first place.” Tania drained her coffee. Chef appeared with a carafe for them. Tania poured herself another cup. “She’ll be here at dawn. Bianca will be here at seven.”
“What do you think we should do about Watson?”
“Say the word—” Tania held her gaze “—and he’s dead by lunchtime.”
Pia grabbed Tania’s arm and raised her voice. “His message led to Dad’s murder. My dad, not yours.”
They stared at each other for a long time. Tania in sympathy, Pia embarrassed by her outburst. She let go.
“Popov is our top priority,” she said. “He’s not going to let us get away with annihilating his attack dog, Strangelove. And I’m not going to let him get away with pulling Roche’s chain. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with Watson looking over his shoulder for a few more days.”
Tania sipped her coffee. “Popov could attack any minute.”
Pia scrolled through the emails on her phone. “Anyone find a clue to Pozdeeva’s cipher?”
“Not yet. Word games aren’t my thing.”
“Were they his?” Pia looked up quickly. “Did he play Scrabble or something like that? Olesya, the secretary, said he hid the kompromat in plain sight. Maybe he did the same with the cipher key.”
Tania shrugged.
Pia checked the time: 11:00 AM in Moscow. She dialed Olesya’s number and listened to it ring several times without going to voicemail. As she was about to click off, a sniffling woman said, “Allo.”
“Olesya?” Pia asked. The voice on the other end broke down in tears. “Olesya, is that you?”
“Nyet. Olesya…” the woman’s voice broke down. After a long sob, a stream of Russian came out. The woman disconnected.
The only words Pia picked out were “ubiystvo” and “mertva”. She used her phone to translate: murder and dead.
She couldn’t believe it. The Russians were known to have phone monitoring capabilities. They must have been watching Olesya’s phone. Her lungs crumpled. The old woman had waited for her call. She knew Viktor and the resources he commanded. She knew what he would do when he caught her. She had known talking to Pia was suicide. Olesya also knew Pia could not refuse her deathbed request: Do this for Ilya’s ghost. Do this for my Tatyana. Do this for Bridgette Jallet. Do this for your mother.
Pia’s breathing stopped as the last sentence struck her.
Your mother. That hadn’t registered the first time. It was something she’d always known even though no one had said it before. Popov played a role in her parent’s murders. How? Why?
Pia stared at the phone until Olesya’s number showed up on an incoming call. She answered.
“You the American girl?” A different woman’s voice, also anguished. “You do this to Olesya. They trace call. They come to house.” The woman talking cried.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Nyet. No good.” The woman’s voice trailed off as if she were putting the phone down.
“Wait.” Pia took a moment to think how she could appeal to a stranger for help. “She told me to do something for Tatyana.”
The line did not go dead. She could hear the woman breathing.
Pia said, “I need help.”
“Nyet. No help you.” The call disconnected.
Pia put the phone down.
Her very large attorney carried in a plate of pancakes smothered in whipped cream and syrup. When he sat, two chairs disappeared from view. He knifed two tablespoons of butter on top of his stack. After tucking a white napkin under his chin to protect his suit and tie, he dug in. “You have the best chef in town, you know that?”
He took an oversized forkful and filled his gaping mouth. Before he managed to chew any of it, he started talking. “First thing you need to do is get a blanket pardon out of Veronica Hunter. Lame-duck presidents need to fund their presidential libraries if you know what I mean. In my experience, a couple million should do the trick.”
Bits of whipped cream and syrup spewed as he spoke. He didn’t notice. Pia grabbed a napkin and pretended to fold it, using it as a barrier.
“Before we go that route—” he downed the load and refilled immediately “—you should get over to the Oval Office. As your dad used to say, you gotta kowtow to every president and candidate. With what they’re saying about you, you’ll need to do the full monty, pressing your forehead to the—”
“Not happening. Next subject.”
“They were going to arrest you on the tarmac.” He gave her the once-over while he speared another half-pound of pancake. “But my team kept the wolves at bay. We really came down hard on the Gestapo out there. Did you like that?”
Pia rolled her hand.
“They’re going for all kinds of crazy.” He stopped to swallow. As soon as the food cleared his gullet, he chugged orange juice. He reloaded his fork like a steam shovel. “We spent all day in court and bargained down to staying in the country. So, I need you and everyone who went to Kaliningrad to surrender your passports.”
As the shovel entered his mouth, a tablespoon of whipped cream fell off. He commenced chewing and scooped the fallen dairy, adding it to the work in progress.
“What are the charges?”
“Multiple violations of the Neutrality Act of 1794 and all its updates and amendments.”
She grabbed his plate and moved it out of reach. “A good lawyer wouldn’t have taken all day to beat an outdated and misused law. When you go back to finish the work you should’ve done while you were racking up the billable hours, make sure the judge understands the extent of my US assets. I’m not a flight risk. Hunter’s biggest problem isn’t me leaving the country—it’s if I stay.”
He swallowed hard. He looked down at the repossessed pancakes as if they were a slain child. He removed the napkin from his chest, tossed it on the table, and left.
The lawyer’s vacated seat was filled a few seconds later by Emily. She extended a tablet showing a document. “A draft of the President-Elect’s press release going out this morning.”
Pia glanced at it. “Short version?”
“The first executive order he plans to sign on January 20th is one that cancels all contracts with Sabel Industries except the drone program. He says that one’s too important to national defense.” Emily waited for a reaction. “He’ll put you out of business.”
“I owe you an exclusive,” Pia said.
“Do you want to issue a statement?” Emily absently tapped a pen on the table.
“Roche is a terrible chess player.” Pia sipped her coffee. “He can’t see the moves in advance. Shooting from the hip might work in his refinery business, but it’s disaster on the world stage. He revealed his strategy when he came here seeking my endorsement. When he left, I waved campaign contributions in front of Veronica Hunter and created an arsenal of responses for Roche.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “You made campaign contributions to Hunter in return for executive orders?”
“Never.” Pia sipped her coffee. “She offered to help Sabel Industries and then, separately, asked for my support—which I promised but never gave.”
“You lied to a politician?” Emily clapped her hands. “Someone finally did to one of them what they’ve been doing to us.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” Pia said. “The situation changed.”
Emily put out her fist. Pia bumped it.
“Here’s your scoop,” Pia said, “to be released half an hour befor
e Roche’s press release: Sabel Aerospace is halting the drone program until the next president is elected. Management has deemed Chuck Roche too immature and irresponsible to have a weapon that advanced at his fingertips. Further, Sabel Satellite will open the world’s most secure communication platform for commercial use beginning January 20th now that President Hunter has issued an executive order releasing us from exclusive use.”
Emily smiled and gathered her things.
“If it’s not my business, feel free to say so.” Pia caught Emily’s gaze. “How are things with Bianca?”
“Strained. I screwed up. But, I’m working on it.” Emily slung her purse and left quickly.
Tania said, “A thousand companies would pay much more than the feds for bandwidth on your satellites. You’re releasing that news just to make Roche shut up. You outmaneuvered him.”
Pia sipped her coffee.
“Your dad would be proud.”
“Thanks.” Pia’s face tightened.
Chef delivered a veggie omelet and scooped up the lawyer’s unfinished plate.
Pia’s phone vibrated with Kasey Earl’s caller ID. She picked up.
“I want fifty million.” His first words.
“You once strapped my father to a bomb.” She let the words sink in. “Are you happy now that Strangelove finished your work?”
“Hey now.” Kasey swallowed hard. “I got nothing to do with that. I’m sorry for your dad.”
“I’m not paying fifty million, Kasey. I’ll give you something if you have some kind of proof.”
“I gotcha proof all right. Believe you me. Ten million.”
“No.”
“Five?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I should turn you over to the police.” Pia’s fist tightened. “Withholding information is a crime.”
“OK, send five mil, I’ll send the file. But you’re a bitch, you know that?”
“I’m not sending you money. You bring what you have to Sabel Gardens. We’ll see.”
“Send the jet for me.”
“Get here tomorrow, or I’m calling the cops and reporting extortion.” She clicked off.
Tania watched her. “The world doesn’t even give you time to grieve.”
Pia thought about the last two days of anguish. Was it any different from the first twenty-two years? Had she gone through all the stages of denial, anger, bargaining … what was next? She should have it memorized by now. The legions of therapists she’d seen over the years told her that grieving was an important part of moving forward with life. She saw it as an emotion that could cripple her if she let it.
She checked the time and wondered when Stefan would wake his children. He had been a calming force during the service. He knew her pain firsthand due to his own recent trauma. But she’d never dated a man with kids before. She’d spent a little time with them after the funeral. They were nice but distant. Did she have room in her heart for someone else’s children?
A call interrupted her thoughts.
Pia checked the country code: Russia. She picked up. A professional voice on the other end asked, “Collect call originating in Moscow. Do you accept the charges?”
She did. A few clicks later and the voice of the woman who had called her back from Olesya’s phone came on the line. She sounded as if she were talking through a culvert. The woman had gone to an old-fashioned pay phone in hopes of bypassing the FSB.
“What you do for Olesya?”
Pia considered her response carefully considering the Russians might still record it. “She asked me to destroy the person who killed Tatyana, Brigette Jallet, and my mother.”
“You do these thing?”
“I will.” She hoped her language would be ambiguous enough in court should it come to that.
“What help you need?”
“I need to know what word games Ilya Pozdeeva played.”
“Every day, Ilya play crossword puzzle in Izvestia.”
Pia thanked her and clicked off.
She dialed Bianca. “For Pozdeeva’s cipher key: try Izvestia’s crossword puzzle.”
CHAPTER 46
Everyone has different traditions. Ms. Sabel was intent on having a funeral service as soon as Alan’s family could arrive in Washington. Some of us believe in old-fashioned wakes, the way we do them back in Iowa. Since we didn’t have time beforehand, we decided to drink to his passing the day after. Two dozen agents gathered in one of the bars at Sabel Gardens. We played pool and told stories. Every now and then, someone would theorize about when and where Popov would strike.
Miguel, Tania, and I sat at the back bar and remembered Alan. Miguel remembered how he arrived either like a hurricane or a party animal, but he never entered unnoticed. Tania remembered how he was the sun in his own solar system, everyone orbited around him. But his star always turned in his daughter’s galaxy. I remembered how he called the fully stocked bar we were in “the employee lounge”. We all remembered how his booming laugh overpowered the mood in any room.
Every story ended with a hollow sigh.
Mercury stood next to me. Yo, homes, he was the greatest Caesar of all time. Guys like him became gods back when we ran the show. Least y’all could do is name a planet after him. Uranus is the only planet named after a low-life Greek, you should make them change that to Planet Sabel.
I said, Thanks for helping me with the press.
Mercury waved away my gratitude. Did you know Alan-Caesar-Sabel used to read Shel Silverstein poems to Pia when she couldn’t sleep?
Who?
Silverstein. Dude who wrote A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends. Lots of them.
I shrugged. Childhood seemed like light years ago.
Mercury said, Hey, soon as we’re all done drinking here, we’re going after Popov, right?
I said, Can we prove he’s connected to Alan’s death?
Mercury walked away, with one word over his shoulder. Worse.
The group talked and talked. But there was one thing none of us would talk about: how will Ms. Sabel cope?
Sylvia came in with a roller bag. She frowned and pursed her lips and tried to smile. I wove my way through the crowd to her. We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. I know what I wanted to say, and maybe she wanted to say the same thing, but we didn’t know each other well enough to open up. Yet. We inched close, nearly toe-to-toe.
She broke the tension. “I wish it had been more fun…”
I waited for her to put more thought into her statement, but she gave up.
She frowned. “Is what they’re saying in the papers true? You left our dinner in New York to go kill all those people?”
Again, I waited for her to amend her question, but she didn’t. “They were trying to kill me. I went to save—”
“I get that part. It’s just … Those people have children. How can you kill them?”
“Some people overstay their welcome on the planet.”
“You’re judge and jury? You go to other countries and just walk in, guns blazing?” She waited for me to answer. I didn’t. “I thought you were a good guy. Sensitive and vulnerable—”
“Every woman who’s told me that crap ran away with the first bad boy who slung her on the back of his bike and roared off into the night.”
“Really? Is that what you think of me?” She fisted her hips. “I’m looking for someone serious. Someone who wants a future. Maybe a family. I felt something serious in you.”
That was a first for me. Aside from being the most beautiful woman I ever spent a couple days with, she was also the only woman who thought of me long-term. Hearing that felt like a cold slap. “I am serious about my future. And about you. But, I’m not going to stop protecting the world from the monsters among us.”
“That might be fine for a young guy,” she said. “Now that you’re older, it’s time to grow up. Find a serious career.”
“Killing bad guys is serious.”
“Is it a career?” The edge in her voice sliced like a knife.
“Who are you to throw around ‘career’? What kind of job do you have that requires a short designer dress midday?”
Her jaw dropped. She grabbed the handle of her roller bag. She turned and started away.
“Wait. I’m sorry.” I followed a step behind her. “I’ll drive you.”
“A Lyft is waiting outside. Thanks anyway.”
“Where are you going?”
“Monaco.” She quickened her pace.
I reached out to stop her. She sensed my move and twisted out of my grasp. She made a left into the hall.
Mercury stepped into my path and put a hand on my chest. Good thing he didn’t say anything.
My heart cracked in half. A lonesome saxophone played in my head. I took her for granted. How much she affected me didn’t sink in until she blew up at me. It instantly qualified as the worst breakup in my life—and we hadn’t even kissed.
The room behind me was silent. No balls clacked on the pool table. No voices. No movements. I turned to see everyone staring at me. In unison, they looked away. Only Miguel held my gaze. The stoic Navajo lifted his chin a quarter inch. It felt like a warm hug.
Tania slipped behind the bar. She grabbed four shot glasses and slammed them down. A bottle of Casa Noble Añejo, Ms. Sabel’s favorite tequila, appeared in her hand. She poured three glasses. The fourth, Miguel’s, got a dose of pomegranate juice. He doesn’t drink. I reached for my glass. Tania and Miguel took theirs.
Someone’s hand patted my back before reaching for the last tequila.
“Here’s to losing someone.” Ms. Sabel’s voice surprised me. She gave me an empathetic look through her not-as-swollen eye and hooked her cane on the bar. “Not all losses are permanent.”
We tapped glasses and downed our drinks.
When the glasses landed back on the bar, no one spoke for a minute.
“She’s an actress,” Ms. Sabel said. “She has a supporting role in a French TV show. She has to be on set tomorrow.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Why didn’t I know that before I said something stupid? Why didn’t she tell me when I asked? Did I ask?
