Dark Eyes

by William Richter

  Wally pulled a flashlight out of her bag and held the map up for the lobsterman, shining the light to illuminate their destination: it was the beach closest to the Hatch home, which was the last private property abutting the virginal conservancy land.

  “This spot here,” Wally said. “I think there’s a dock.”

  As he steered the boat across the dark waters, the lobsterman took just a quick glance at Wally’s map, confirming the destination.

  “The Hatches’ house?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Shame what happened.”

  “What’s that?” Wally asked. The lobsterman looked at Wally and saw that she had no idea about the murders of the Hatch brothers. He briefly ran down the information for her, not having to shout quite as much since their speed had now reduced to ten knots for their final approach to the dock on the Hatch property. Wally did her best to process the information without emotion.

  “How long ago was that?” she asked, and when he told her, Wally realized that when she had seen the Russians in the Hatches’ house, ten days earlier, they had been there to kill the brothers. The thought made her sick. Should she have done something differently? Should she have called the police to report a break-in?

  “It ain’t just you this morning, dearie,” the lobsterman said, nodding in the direction they were headed.

  Wally looked ahead to the dock, now just fifty yards away, where the falling snow had blanketed the shoreline of the inlet in white. Wally could see the outline of a small skiff, maybe fifteen feet long, tied off at the dock. Had the skiff brought Claire here? Wally wondered how Claire had found a boat in the middle of the night, but the more she thought about it, the clearer it became. This sequence of events—from the appearance of Klesko in America to, Wally anticipated, a showdown at the Hatches’ property—was a worst-case scenario that Johanna had prepared for and shared with Claire. The boat was part of the plan, stored somewhere near Greenport and standing ready. Whatever their plan was for this worst case, Wally hoped it was a good one.

  The lobsterman’s Boston whaler slowed to a drift as he steered it parallel to where the skiff was tied off. Wally hopped out of the boat and onto the weathered gray boards of the dock.

  “You sure you know what you’re doin’?” the lobsterman asked.

  Wally nodded and held out the five hundred dollars, but the lobsterman waved the offer away.

  “You kids, you grow up too fast,” he said.

  “Yeah, we do,” Wally said, mustering a smile to thank the man.

  The lobsterman gave her a little salute and gunned the engine of the whaler. Within ten seconds he was out of sight, just the fading growl of his outboard to mark his departure across the inlet.

  Wally crept quietly through the Hatches’ house and found Claire in the kitchen, almost scaring her mother out of her skin.

  “Mom?”

  “Wally!” Claire stifled a scream. “Oh my God!”

  Wally saw immediately why Claire was so spooked, and it wasn’t just because of her own surprise appearance there. The inside of the house had been violently torn apart, from closets and cabinets to floorboards and furniture cushions. In the kitchen where they stood, blood was splattered everywhere, and a large pool of it stained the center of the floor. There were outlines within the blood pool indicating that two bodies had once rested there.

  “How did you find this place?” Claire said, terrified and angry all at once.

  “I was here before.”

  “What? When was that?” Claire demanded. “Why did you come?”

  “I came to meet the Hatch brothers—I guess it was the day they died.”

  “I didn’t know anything about this.” Claire gestured toward the bloodstains, still coming to grips with the gruesome evidence before her. “How did you know I would be here?”

  “I figured it out,” Wally said. “You and Johanna have a plan, right? She’s supposed to bring them here for the stones?”

  “Please don’t do this, Wally. Leave now, I’m begging you. I did everything I could to make sure this would never happen.”

  “And it happened anyway,” Wally said. The sight of all the blood was terrifying to her as well, but in a strange way Wally was feeling vindicated by everything she saw, by everything that had happened up until that moment. Her search had brought her there for a reason, she was sure of it. “I belong here, Mom. My whole life, everything has been leading to this. We’re going to save her.”

  Claire opened her mouth as if to object again but must have read the determination in her daughter’s eyes. She sighed deeply and finally surrendered to the inevitable.

  “Shit,” Claire said. “That’s the way it has to be?”

  “Yes, Mom. We both know that.”

  “Okay,” Claire said. Wally could see the wheels turning inside her mother’s head as she assessed the challenge before them. “He’s strong, Wally. And ruthless.”

  “I know.”

  “Our only chance is to catch him by surprise.”

  “Good,” Wally said. She looked at her cell phone to check the time. “The first ferry sails in fifteen minutes. What do we do?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Claire led Wally to a covered woodpile at the back of the Hatch home. She reached in back of the pile and retrieved a small bundle wrapped in plastic and fastened with duct tape. Claire tore through the wrapping, including several layers of yellowed old newspapers, to reveal three handguns, looking fairly well preserved. There were half a dozen speed loaders of ammo for the guns.

  “Benjamin’s stash,” Claire said.

  Claire was about to pass one of the guns to Wally, but at the last moment held it back.

  “It’s been a long time, Wally,” said Claire. “Can you still use it?”

  “Not as long as you might think,” Wally said. She confidently took hold of the gun and two speed loads, sliding one into the barrel and flicking the mechanism shut, ready to shoot. “I always thought it was weird, Mom,” she said. “A mother and her eleven-year-old girl together at a shooting range, blowing away targets.”

  “And what do you think about it now?” Claire asked.

  “All things considered, not so weird.”

  With their weapons ready, they turned and faced the ground behind the Hatches’ home. There was a stretch of open ground, about fifty yards, before the low scrub began and, beyond that, the forest of the Mashomack Preserve. All of it was covered in white, with more snow still falling.

  “There are three buried caches,” Claire said. “The first is about two hundred yards away, inside the preserve. The next is about two hundred yards beyond that. The third is farther, almost back to the shore.”

  “But why out here at all? If Yalena—”

  “Benjamin took the stones, Yalena the cash. That was their bargain. But when they—she and Benjamin—first arrived by boat from Russia, Yalena stayed here. She kept a close eye on Benjamin and followed him late at night, through the dark woods, when he dug his hiding places. Just in case.”

  “In case this day came?”

  “Yes. Yalena wanted to take the stones back from Benjamin and return them to Klesko’s associates in Russia,” Claire said, “in the hope that they would stop looking for her. But Benjamin made it clear that if she tried anything like that, he would reveal her new American identity—and yours, Wally—to those same people. There was nothing she could do.”

  “What about after Benjamin died? Did his sons know where the caches were?”

  “From the looks of that house,” Claire said, “I would say not.”

  “Probably drove them crazy,” Wally said. “Thinking about the stones somewhere out here, just waiting to be found.”

  “You’re probably right. But it didn’t matter, for Yalena. She still couldn’t risk trying to retrieve them, however many of the stones were left. The brothers knew about her new identity, so she couldn’t do anything to anger them.”

  Claire stopped in the snow and faced Wally. �
��Klesko will never let us walk away. You understand? No matter what we do or what we give him. If we want to live, we have to win.”

  “I understand,” Wally answered.

  “Good. The snow will show our tracks, so we’ll take an indirect path to the first cache.”

  Wally nodded in agreement and they began to walk, heading off to the side of the Hatches’ property, where their tracks in the snow would be less obvious.

  “You know a lot of Yalena’s story,” Wally said.

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell me what you know about her,” Wally asked as they walked along. Claire was silent for a long while before she began.

  “Your mother was young when she got together with Klesko. It was a terrible mistake, and she realized it too late. It will be hard for you to hear this, Wally. …”

  “I may never get another chance.”

  “Yes, okay,” Claire said, and gathered herself to continue. “Yalena tried to get away from him several times over the years, but he tracked her down and brought her back. The last time, he beat her mercilessly, almost to death, and raped her. That is how you were conceived.” She paused, and the full weight of the message hit Wally all at once. “I’m sorry,” Claire said, reaching for her hand.

  Conceived by rape. The shocking story—Wally’s own cruel history—was a savage body blow, striking Wally with a depth of pain she didn’t think she was capable of feeling anymore. She looked to Claire, wanting to be assured by her loving gaze that life was not always this cruel, that there was still peace and goodness in the world. Claire had always been able to make Wally feel safe that way, but instead Claire turned her head away from her daughter, avoiding Wally’s glance as if it might burn her.

  “Mom …” Wally’s voice quavered.

  Claire steeled herself to continue. “When Yalena learned that she was carrying you, she was determined that Klesko could never be a part of your life. She never told him about you.”

  “He doesn’t know about me?”

  Claire shook her head no.

  Wally considered this for a moment. Her path had crossed Klesko’s three times so far, and he had been following her when she finally found Yalena’s safe house. Who did Klesko imagine she was, anyway? Probably it made no difference to him, as long as Wally led him to Yalena, to the stones.

  Wally and Claire walked in a wide arc away from the grounds of the Hatches’ property and past small signs that marked the edge of the Mashomack Preserve. Claire continued to tell Yalena’s story, the first part mostly covering what Wally already knew.

  “So Benjamin Hatch took the stones in exchange for getting Yalena to America,” Wally said, still needing to understand. “What went wrong? Why did she leave me behind?”

  “The problem was,” Claire said, “Klesko’s associates—powerful men—figured that with Klesko in prison, his riches belonged to them. After your mother made off with everything, they hunted her relentlessly, knowing she would try to escape the country. It was too dangerous for Benjamin to try to get her out at that point. So they waited. With the help of family and friends, she stayed hidden for six months, long enough to give birth to you. She and Benjamin thought that enough time had passed for her to make her break, but as soon Yalena came out of hiding—with you—she was spotted. Your mother was certain she was going to be caught and both of you killed. She had an old family friend—Irina Ivanova—who was a nurse at a children’s home. Your mother made the hardest decision of her life.”

  “She left me behind.”

  “She did. She left you behind to save you. She never expected to escape Klesko’s associates, but fate surprised her. Benjamin got her out of the country alive.”

  “And eventually she found me again.” Wally filled in the logical progression of events. “In the U.S., with you.”

  “She never gave up,” Claire said.

  The woods became denser. Claire pointed to a small clearing with two red maple trees at its center, bare of foliage now.

  “Between those two red maples is the first cache,” Claire said. “That’s our moment, okay?”

  Wally nodded. “Yes.”

  “We’ll find a place with cover and wait.”

  Claire led the way as they marched past the first cache, finding a spot among some snow-covered scrub brush just thirty yards beyond the cache. They both knelt down on one knee and waited, their eyes focused on the woods beyond the clearing, where Klesko would most likely appear.

  “In all this time,” Wally said, “why didn’t Yalena ever reveal herself to me? Why didn’t she tell me our story?”

  Claire considered this. “She was ashamed. She had abandoned you.”

  “But it was to save me.”

  “Yes, but that truth was not enough for her to forgive herself. She had left you behind—alone and an entire world away—while she made her own escape.”

  Wally sensed a note of judgment in Claire’s voice and objected.

  “She had no choice.”

  “No, and she hoped that one day you would be able to hear everything and understand. But by the time you were old enough, you were so very angry, Wally. Angry at everything and everyone. It wasn’t your fault; there were lies in our home, and unhappiness. You took all of that on your own shoulders, especially when your father left. Yalena thought that if you heard the truth, about her decision to leave you behind, your anger would fall on her. She was afraid you wouldn’t be able to forgive her.”

  “I would have,” Wally insisted.

  “Are you so sure?”

  They were silent for a long time after that. A full hour passed, there in the cold woods, and Claire wrapped Wally up in her arms to share her warmth. They almost didn’t hear it—quiet footsteps approaching in the snow—but the sound of a branch snapping alerted them. It was still a few minutes before the sun would rise, but there was enough ambient light in the woods for them to make out two figures approaching the clearing: one was Klesko, still limping but moving ahead with a sense of purpose, a handgun in one hand and a small shovel in the other. Beside him was Johanna, looking barely alive. She walked gingerly and off balance, with her hands fastened behind her back, and there was dried blood around her nose and mouth.

  Claire let out a quiet gasp at the sight of Klesko.

  “Goddamn it,” Wally whispered. “They’ve beaten her more.”

  “It’s just Klesko?” Claire whispered. “I thought you said … didn’t you say there were two of them? Klesko and another?”

  “There are two …” Wally answered, and both of them began to scan the woods, looking for signs of the younger Russian. There was nothing. No sound and no movement, only the gentle snowfall.

  “He’s here somewhere,” Claire said, frustrated. “Following them, protecting against an ambush. We can’t make a move until he shows himself.”

  Klesko and Johanna reached the center of the small clearing, where the two red maples stood. Johanna made a gesture toward the two trees, and Klesko drew a huge combat knife from under his belt, cutting the tape around her wrists and freeing her hands. He shoved her down to the ground and tossed the small shovel down beside her. She began digging. The ground must have been nearly frozen, because her progress was slow. Impatient, Klesko reared back and kicked her in the ribs, sending her tumbling with a sharp cry of pain.

  Wally flinched and almost stood up, but Claire grabbed onto her and held her down.

  “Faster!” Klesko barked; his voice carried a little in the woods but was quickly muted by the snow that surrounded him, in the air and on the ground. Johanna crawled back to the cache site, leaving a trail of blood in the snow, and resumed digging. She stopped at the sound of her shovel striking something hard about a foot and a half belowground. Johanna brushed away some more dirt with her hand, then rose to her feet and stood back, waiting for Klesko to step in and claim his prize. Klesko took one step toward the cache but then stopped himself, suddenly wary. He shoved Johanna back to the ground and motioned for her to open the contain
er while he kept his gun pointed at the back of her head.

  Claire’s hand gripped Wally’s arm tightly. “Be ready,” she whispered.

  They watched as Johanna reached down into the cache slowly, but then suddenly spun around with a gun in her hand. Johanna squeezed off one quick shot at Klesko—the bullet missed its mark, and Klesko immediately dropped onto Johanna, struggling for control of the gun in her hand.

  Wally began to stand, but Claire held her back.

  “No,” Claire insisted. “The other one is here somewhere.”

  At that very moment, they spotted a blur of motion off to one side of the clearing. It was Tiger, flying out from the forest like a bolt of lightning, dark hair flowing behind him as he covered the distance to the cache and struck Johanna with his fist, freeing his father from her grasp. He grabbed the handgun from Johanna and tossed it aside.

  Claire and Wally were poised to jump out when a chance presented itself, but even through the struggle Tiger seemed to sense the possibility of an ambush; his eyes darted into the surrounding woods and he never lowered his gun.

  “Damn!” Wally hissed.

  Now Klesko, in a rage, stepped to the fallen Johanna—her head bleeding from Tiger’s blow—and held his gun to her head, ready to kill her. Before he could shoot, Tiger lunged at his father and knocked Klesko’s hand aside just as he squeezed the trigger. The shot plowed uselessly into the snow beside Johanna.

  “Not yet!” Tiger yelled. He reached down into the hole and pulled out the cache box—a watertight plastic container the size of a coffee can. Tiger turned the box upside down to reveal that it was completely empty. He held the empty container up in front of Klesko. “We still need her, you see?”

  Klesko howled with frustrated rage.