by Jamie Smith
Following her to the door, he held it open as she stepped outside and looked at him. “Are you not gonna say anything?” she said.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, confused.
“If you don’t know then maybe last night was a mistake,” she replied crossly.
He sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Jess.”
Her eyes instantly welled up. “Great to know where I stand,” she said angrily, turning away and marching down the path to the road.
Nikita knew he should call after her but he didn’t have the heart. He’d make it up to her next time he was at the bar. Either that or find a new bar, he thought to himself as he closed the door.
He walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, to feel more awake, before making his way to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. He still could barely remember anything from the night before.
Opening the cupboard, he realised there was no coffee there, or anything else. Nothing in the fridge either, other than some old mouldering ropa vieja — his failed attempt to recreate his favourite Cuban dish. With a groan, he threw on some clothes and headed out to the shop.
Half an hour later, he was placing the paper bag full of groceries onto the passenger seat of his car when he looked up and saw the face that had dominated his thoughts for two days.
CHAPTER 22
Elysia stood a few yards away, her eyes burning into him. She was wearing blue jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt that her long curls tumbled across. This time there was no sadness, only fury.
“Ely—” he began but she quickly held up her hand and interrupted.
“I knew you wouldn’t show, but for some reason I convinced myself that you might not be a coward after all and would face me like a man.”
This time Nikita didn’t bother to try and contradict her. “You were right on both counts. I was a no show and I am a coward.”
He braced himself for the barrage that was to come in his direction. But it didn’t come.
She stood staring at him, her hands on her hips caught between defiance and something else that Nikita could not place.
“How did you find me?” he asked tentatively.
“Get in the car,” she snapped, striding towards the car, grabbing the shopping out of his hands and putting it on the back seat, before flouncing into the passenger seat with no small amount of dramatic flair.
Nikita rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. His head still hurt and whatever was coming would not be enjoyable. He climbed into the driver’s seat and reached into the back, plucking a bottle of Pepto Bismol from the shopping and taking a long drink, before wiping his mouth and screwing the cap back on. Then he turned to face Elysia, whose beauty knocked him for six. He rubbed his eyes and took another swig in an effort to cure his hangover.
“What do you want, Elysia?” he said slowly, working hard not to let his Russian accent reveal itself. “Why are you here?”
“Just drive,” she replied sharply.
He said nothing and started the engine. They drove in silence, the tension fraught between them. Nikita sat stiffly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road. The motion of the car was unpleasant for his fuzzy head.
Eventually, after several minutes, keeping her facing forwards Elysia said simply, “I know, Nathan.”
Nikita kept his hands straight out on the wheel and didn’t falter. Her statement left him considering the implications.
“Ti?” he asked, switching to Greek to keep the ‘what’ from sounding too accusatory.
She smirked briefly. “I know who you are. Who you really are,” she stated flatly.
“Is that right?” he said as he took a right turn. “Do tell.”
“You want to know how I found you?”
“That is another question I would be very interested to hear the answer to,” Nikita replied as he pulled up to his house.
“Where are we?” she asked swiftly.
“This is my home. Do you see what I did there — I answered a question,” he replied drily. “Let’s talk more inside.”
She was striding up the path before Nikita had even opened his door. He had to reach past her to open the front door and caught what felt like a fatal waft of her perfume. He forced himself to be impervious and followed her inside.
“Sit down,” he said sharply as he closed the door.
“Excuse me?” she replied.
“Sit down and start answering my questions.”
Elysia laughed. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. I’ll sit when I damn well want to,” she replied defiantly.
Nikita looked skywards, and upon entering the kitchen, pulled a bottle of wine from his shopping bag and poured them both a glass. Carrying them over to the living room, he sat down in the armchair and placed both glasses on the low coffee table in front of him.
“Isn’t it a little early for wine?” she asked sharply, lowering herself onto the sofa, eyeing him strongly to see if he would comment.
“I’m all out of coffee,” he grunted, taking a sip of the dark red Nemea.
She took a tentative sip from her own glass and raised her eyebrows. “Greek wine?”
He shrugged. “What can I say, you gave me a taste for it.”
Elysia looked pleased, but Nikita swiftly followed up. “Come on, Elysia, enough with the cryptic statements. You have no idea what I’ve gone through since I saw you two days ago.”
“I think I might have a hunch,” she responded. Nikita opened his mouth to start talking but she stopped him with a look. “When you didn’t show up again yesterday, I was furious and wanted to let you know it. But you’re like a ghost, flitting around from Skyros to Baltimore, giving nothing of yourself away. I can’t explain it, but I just felt compelled to try and find you; I had to know…” her voice wobbled and left the sentence hanging tautly.
“Go on,” Nikita whispered.
“As I sat waiting in that shitty bar, I was watching the TV which was showing a live high-speed pursuit. Even from distance, I knew you immediately. You aren’t in the police, are you?”
Nikita said and did nothing, but gazed sadly into her eyes, his skin prickling with sorrow. He took a sip of wine, just to do something other than get trapped in her eyes. It was helping to settle his stomach if nothing else.
“You don’t have to answer, I know the truth. You’re CIA. I doubt Nathan is even your real name, is it?”
Nikita shook his head; there was no harm in her knowing that much at this stage.
She slumped. “Then nothing you said or did when we were together was true.” There was a silence in which silent tears fell down Elysia’s face. The pain he was causing her was unbearable for Nikita.
He leant forward and took her hand gently in his. “Elysia, there is so much I would tell you and so little that I can. But please know this — you meant more to me than anyone ever has done and since we parted you have occupied my every thought.”
She laughed disdainfully. “Sure. Like I could believe you even if it was true.”
“Can you believe this?” Nikita said, as he pulled her up and kissed her deeply on the lips. She kissed him back and he pulled her close.
“Get off me!” she suddenly exclaimed, pushing him away. She put her hand to her mouth and looked up at him.
“The feeling in that kiss is something reserved only for you, Elysia, always for you,” Nikita said hesitantly in his deep, slow voice.
“I don’t know what I can believe any more.”
“How did you find me?” Nikita asked again. “I need to know.”
Elysia slumped back onto the sofa. “I didn’t find you,” she sighed. “I did come to Langley to find you but had no idea where to look. I thought maybe I’d head to the CIA building and see if they would tell me anything. I stopped to get something to eat, and there you were in the car park.”
“Come on, Elysia, you can’t expect me to believe that.”
She shrugged. “It’s up to you what you choose to beli
eve. The gods must have wanted us to see each other again.”
Incredulity was plastered across Nikita’s face. “There is no such thing as a coincidence in my line of work.”
“It wasn’t really a coincidence. I came to find you; it just happened a lot easier than I anticipated. If you are CIA then you aren’t very good at it.”
“If I was CIA, which I’m not saying I am, then there would be no point in trying to hide in Langley,” he responded, with a small smile. His words fell into the silent hole between them. They looked awkwardly at each other, both unsure what to say, what to do. It felt like the gap was growing between them.
“Is there a version of you that could ever be vulnerable?” she asked softly after several minutes’ silence.
He looked at her sadly, his eyes feeling like they were hanging low into his face. He wished there were tears he could call upon. He began to speak but Elysia interrupted. “Maybe just don’t answer,” she said abruptly.
“I would give my heart to tell you everything, Elysia, but it would cost me my soul,” Nikita said hesitantly, the words almost catching in his throat. Every time he looked at her, he could feel guilt, feel Giorgos’s death. His burden was to carry that secret to his grave, to spare Elysia the hurt it would cause.
“I think that is the most real thing you have ever said to me,” she replied, laying a hand gently on his knee. “What’s your real name?” she asked tentatively but almost challengingly.
“I don’t want to lie to you, Elysia.”
“Then don’t,” she said crossly.
“Right now, I’m Jake, Jacob Marshall,” he said, wishing he could be himself just for a moment. “There’s so much you don’t understand. If I give you the answers you seek, I would put us both in very great danger. How can you expect me to knowingly do that? If you’ve seen the footage on TV today, you’ve seen what happens to the people close to me.”
“That was the woman I saw you with in Baltimore?”
He nodded silently, the sorrow flowing up in him again. He emptied his wine glass in one swallow and refilled it.
“The answer isn’t at the bottom of the glass, you know, especially this early in the day” Elysia said pointedly.
Nikita’s face tensed. “How can I know that if I don’t try?” She said nothing, looking down at her lap. “You’re probably right, but I don’t know what rules I should believe in anymore,” he said with a sigh. “You have no idea where my answers lie, Elysia,” he added flatly.
Elysia stood. “You’re right, I don’t,” she said, her eyes flashing. “But I’m on your side, if you would only let me be.”
Nikita stood up. “I’m getting pretty tired of you telling me what to do, Elysia,” he said crossly.
“I’m getting pretty tired of watching you sit silently drinking your thoughts away,” she retorted. “Was that what you were doing in Skyros? Drinking to forget?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” he replied, his voice rising quickly.
“Why do you always do that? Throw everything back onto me,” Elysia shouted, shoving him in the chest. “You act so strong and silent, all brooding and tough, but you know what I think? I think you’re just a coward.”
“That’s the second time this morning that you’ve called me a coward,” he said, irritated.
“Well, you are, just a scared little coward,” she said, her voice rising.
“Elysia…” Nikita tried to stop her, feeling his blood rising in a way he could never remember it doing before.
“Taking the easier way out always, just running away, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea what I’ve endu—”
“Go on; run away again, I can see you want to!” Elysia screamed at him.
“SHUT UP!” shouted Nikita, his hands shaking with fury, his eyes ablaze. “Please stop. PLEASE!” he begged. Control was slipping from his grasp with terrifying pace.
“WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF?”
“THAT I MIGHT LOVE YOU,” roared Nikita.
His eyes immediately widened in horror. It felt like a dagger of ice was driving its way through his body.
Elysia froze. Her hand, which had been raised, dropped to her side. She glared at him, breathing heavily, their faces only inches apart. Nikita was trembling. The silence was horrible.
“Look Elysi—” he began, but was cut off as she threw her arms around him and pulled him to her ferociously and passionately. He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her deeply, allowing himself to get lost in her body.
It was some hours later when he awoke and saw her lying next to him, her body rising and falling slowly, her face looking so peaceful and perfect. He felt so many things and could immediately feel the rising anxiety in his chest.
Elysia’s long eyelashes fluttered open slowly and she smiled at him. Seeing the worried expression on his face, she stroked his cheek and then rested her hand on his heavily scarred chest. “Get out of your head. There are a million things for us to worry about, but for now let’s just enjoy a few moments without worrying about the past or future; just get lost in this moment right now.”
Nikita exhaled heavily and lay back, relaxing. He rolled onto his side and wrapped Elysia in his arms, their bodies fitting together perfectly. He breathed deeply on her hair and felt an unfamiliar feeling spread around his body from his heart. He felt, in just that moment, completely happy.
***
Taras Brishnov floated cautiously towards the shore, awkwardly trying to pull the body of Sarah Chang with him. Every single part of him hurt. He had fallen into the foaming waters where the deep Potomac River met the Washington Channel and Anacostia River, and it was those bubbles which lowered the density of the water that had saved his life. Nonetheless, he felt like he had fallen into wet concrete and he hurt right down to his bones.
Crawling up the cold, grey shale bank of the Potomac River, blood was flowing freely from his upper arm, dripping heavily onto the face of Chang as he squatted and pulled her up onto the short beach. Behind him was a concrete bank and he moved the pair of them up against it and allowed himself a moment of rest against the wall, out of sight from all, as the stormy grey sky darkened. He ripped a strip of cloth from Chang’s shirt and tied it as a tourniquet to stem some of the bleeding and plotted his next move. To believe that he was dead it was vital that the US authorities found neither body, thinking they were both flushed far out towards the Atlantic by the current.
Tentatively, Brishnov lifted his head above the concrete wall, ignoring the swell of blood that squeezed out of the deep gash on his arm. Before him lay the runway of Washington National Airport.
He grinned and his eyes burned with the fury of revenge.
***
The phone in the Oval Office was ringing. It had been ringing steadily for the past minute but President Ernest Callahan couldn’t face answering it.
His attention was on the television next to his desk with the news cycle showing one homeland security fiasco after another. None of it made the slightest bit of sense.
It looped back to the clip of the vice president collapsing on the steps before cutting to images of the shootout on the building site. The images were then replaced by the face of the opposition, explaining in excruciating detail how badly it boded for national security if the president couldn’t even manage to keep his own vice president safe. It was hard to argue back, even though he was fully aware that Gerald Phillips was sitting quite comfortably at home, basking in the massive surge in public favour he was already enjoying, just in time for his run to be president. “None of that helps me though,” muttered the president, picking up the phone and slamming it back down. Within seconds it began to ring again. Once again, he ignored it. Minutes later there was a knock on the door.
With a sigh the president grunted, “Yes?”
His receptionist poked her head around the door. “Mr President, I have Gordon Sykes of the CIA’s Soviet Counter-intelligence Branch here; he
says it’s urgent.”
“Why is everything everyone wants me for always urgent?” he asked forlornly.
She shrugged with a smile. “I’ll show him in, sir,” she replied gently, as he waved his arm to bring him in.
“Mr President,” Sykes said respectfully as he entered. He had done his best to tidy himself up, with a tie and jacket, but his efforts hadn’t stretched as far as fastening the top button of his shirt, or flattening his rough and ready hair which looked as if it hadn’t changed since he climbed out of bed.
The president shook his hand and waved him to the sofa opposite his own as he sat down and crossed his legs.
“What’s so urgent, Gordon?” the president asked wearily.
“We’ve run the tests on the powder used to try and poison the vice president and there is no longer any doubt as to the culprits.”
“Go on,” Callahan said reluctantly.
“The vice president has been targeted by a nerve agent which is part of a group of nerve agents known as novichok.”
“That sounds…”
“Yes, sir, Russian. It is made uniquely in the Soviet Union. It’s a powder so fine that it can be absorbed through your very skin and is incredibly hard to detect. It is the deadliest nerve agent ever made.”
The president paused, rubbing his jawline with one hand and gazing to the heavens for a moment. “But we already knew he was a rogue Soviet agent; this isn’t anything new.”
“Agreed, Mr President, but until we track down the body, this is the only undisputable evidence we have of Russian involvement.”
“Sure, but what the hell are you doing about it, Sykes?” The president demanded, his voice rising. “This was too close, I’m taking a hammering on homeland security issues out there,” he said, waving his arm in the vague direction of the windows.
“Yes, the papers haven’t been too kind this morning.” Sykes chuckled before stopping abruptly under the president’s cold gaze. “There… there is a plan in motion, sir.” He faltered. “I’m working with the Soviet East Department on using the public nature of the whole operation to our advantage.”
