You Can Run

by Karen Cleveland

  “Absolutely not. If he were released, the SVR would figure things out. They’d know I betrayed them, or worse, they’d think it was Sacha or Misha. Better he stays in prison.”

  Mia shifts in my arms, burrows down deeper.

  Natalia glances at her. “I didn’t want anything to happen to your kids. It’s just…It was so hard to cross that line. To give you that name.”

  “I understand,” I say, and it’s the truth. I do.

  “I knew where you were headed. I followed you here, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. But then I saw your kids. And I heard you”—she turns toward Alex—“refuse to give up my name. Protect me.”

  “You did the right thing,” Alex says.

  “Did I? I always thought the right thing would be reuniting my family, protecting my country.” She shakes her head. “Those dreams are dead. Now I’m nothing more than a traitor.”

  The wind outside howls. In the distance I hear the wail of sirens.

  “I need to leave,” she says.

  I don’t argue this time, and Alex doesn’t either.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could continue to protect my identity,” she says to Alex.

  “Of course,” Alex says.

  She gives Owen and Mia one last look. “Take care of those kids.”

  “I will,” I say.

  She heads for the sliding glass door at the rear of the house, opens it. The wail of the sirens is suddenly louder.

  She steps outside and pulls the door closed again without ever looking back.

  “Mommy, is that the police?” Owen whispers.

  I nod.

  “Are we safe?” Mia asks, pulling away, looking at me with those big innocent eyes.

  I can see flashing lights out front, through the blinds. Splotches of red and blue color the walls of the kitchen. “We’re safe.”

  I feel absolutely overwhelmed with emotion. I hug Owen and Mia tighter. Then I stand, lift Mia onto my hip, take Owen’s small hand in mine, and walk to the front door.

  I still need to face what’s next. Responsibility for my role in all this, for approving Falcon. But come what may, my kids are safe.

  Mia rests her head on my shoulder. Owen squeezes my hand, sidles up closer to me. I look over at Alex, who nods and gives me a smile.

  Then I open the door, and I’m met with a bright sea of flashing lights.

  And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel at peace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Jill

  Things moved fast after that. Less than an hour after we emerged from that cabin, police descended on Langston West’s sprawling property on the outskirts of DC, took him into custody. Our claims on their own might not have been enough, but finding my kids at a property he owns? That did him in.

  That night Alex’s story went live on the Washington Post website. She ended up getting her scoop after all. It detailed everything—everything except Natalia’s involvement, and mine. Nothing about Owen being kidnapped as a baby, or about me approving Falcon. She would have had a stronger story with it, a more sensational one. But she told me it wasn’t about that. Doesn’t have to be the biggest story, she said. Just has to be a truth that people need to hear.

  And I’m grateful, because it kept my family out of the spotlight. But I came clean about my involvement, because it was the right thing to do. Because you can run from your past, but you can’t hide from it. I told Agency investigators everything I did, and why I did it. Maybe they’ll keep it in-house, maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The kids are safe. That’s what matters.

  Alex’s story made waves around the world, as it should have. The President and the director of the CIA denounced the Gang of Three in the strongest of terms, made it clear they were rogue actors, pledged that the U.S. would never deploy offensive bioweapons, never enter into a military conflict without abundant and unquestionably strong evidence. But the damage was done. Criticism of the U.S. reached an all-time high. The CIA was thrown into disarray. The director won’t survive the fallout; her resignation is expected any day now. I’m not sure anyone will ever trust U.S. intelligence again—at home or abroad.

  Langston West refuses to divulge details of his activities; he just keeps claiming he wasn’t involved. The FBI’s investigating, keeping the details out of the public domain, putting a lid on it, just like the CIA would do, but everything will come out eventually. It always does. Natalia says the SVR has intelligence that the anthrax was a research sample stolen from Fort Detrick, and that West was ultimately behind it. The dots are all there; we just need to connect them. And the CIA’s hard at work on that, with Hana leading the charge. Alex gave her a tip about Falcon as soon as we were out of that house, and she got her scoop, just like she wanted, and a promotion, to boot.

  Alex also called A.J.’s mother before the story went live, told her the truth, said it brought the woman a great deal of peace. I don’t blame A.J. for what he did, sending in that cable. I don’t blame Jeremy, either, for stepping away, refusing to help. Langston West found their price for silence, just like he found mine. Thankfully, Jeremy’s dog Max turned up at a shelter a few days ago—one not far from Langston West’s home—and the two were reunited.

  Things with Drew are on the mend. He told me that when the kids were taken, he’d have done anything to get them back. I think for the first time he understood where I was coming from all those years ago. Why I did what they said, then stayed quiet, didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Because it was the way to get Owen back, and then to keep him safe. Because I was doing what I thought was best for our family.

  We’re together again, the four of us. In temporary housing in Virginia, protected by elite Agency security. Langston West is locked away, no longer a threat, but Falcon is still out there. Benjamin Goodson is still out there, I should say. His picture was run through every facial recognition software system in the country. There was a match on a New Jersey driver’s license. The Bureau’s working to track him down. He’ll turn up sometime; everyone does.

  You can run, but you can’t hide.

  Every so often I look at my family—my husband, my two kids—and I think of Natalia. Her husband, her two kids. Her dream was for them all to be together. And I feel such sadness for her. Who would have ever thought I’d feel sympathy for a Russian spy? But she’s so much more than that. She’s the reason this all came to light. The reason I can finally find some peace.

  I’m looking forward to getting back to regular life. Craving it, much more than I would have ever anticipated. Our home in Florida, my teaching job. It’s not the life I envisioned, but I’m realizing that doesn’t really matter. It’s okay that life doesn’t look the way I thought it would. I’m content. I have my family, and we’re together. We’re safe.

  This nightmare is finally over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Alex

  I open the shipping box and carefully move aside sheets of packing paper, revealing the item nestled within: a large framed copy of the front page of The Washington Post. The one that features my headline, front and center and so damn big. I carefully pull it out and smile. A gift from my colleagues at the Post. They’d all chipped in when they learned I hadn’t put this in a frame. Unacceptable, Marco had said in mock horror.

  I zero in on the byline. Alexandra Charles. My full name, for the first time. And I finally let the Post attach a picture to my online profile. Added one to Twitter, too. Sure, life as a journalist might be easier as a faceless Alex. But I’m ready to tackle it as me.

  I walk over to the built-in shelves. My gaze settles on the framed wedding picture of Miles and me. Still there. The last visible reminder of our old life together. I reach for it, remove it from the shelf. It’s not nearly as hard as I always thought it would be. There’s a quick pang of sadness. Of nostalgia, really. It was a tim
e in my life that was happy, but it’s in the past. I’m ready to move on.

  I put the framed article in its place and nod approvingly. Looks a hell of a lot better, I have to say.

  My eyes drift to the picture of my mom. Rumor around the journalism community is that I’m a shoo-in for a Pulitzer. My ultimate goal, for so long.

  Black women do win journalism Pulitzers.

  But now that I’m on the cusp of it, I realize it matters a lot less than I thought it did. My mom would be more proud of the story than the award. That I found the truth, exposed it. Informed people, protected people. Made a difference.

  Those are the things that brought me to journalism in the first place. That’s why I’m in this career. That’s what makes me proud. It was far more rewarding to see Langston West in handcuffs than it was to see my byline on the front page.

  I still wish my mom had seen her own byline on a story like this. But I’ve stopped worrying that deep down she secretly blamed me for missing out. After watching Jill and her kids, I find that my perspective has changed. Jill would have sacrificed anything for those kids. Because they were what mattered most to her. And I was what mattered most to my mom. I don’t doubt that for a minute.

  I scan the rest of the room. It looks so different than it did a couple of weeks ago. So much better. Gone are the neutrals, all the décor I agreed to in an attempt to compromise. I’ve replaced them with things that are me. A sunny yellow rug, teal throw pillows, fresh lilies in a vase. There’s a stack of travel books on the table in the center of the room. I booked flights last week: three weeks in Southeast Asia. I can’t wait.

  There are many different paths to happiness. I’m finding mine. And I know one thing for sure: Miles isn’t part of it. I don’t need a spouse who brings me down.

  I check my watch, then grab my bag and keys. Time to go. As I open the door, I take one last look around the loft—this loft that finally feels like mine—and smile. Life has never felt so damn perfect.

  * * *

  —

  Thirty minutes later I’m at the Lincoln Memorial. Sitting on the steps, looking out over the Reflecting Pool. Jill’s on one side of me. Natalia’s just sat down on the other. It’s a beautiful day. The sun’s sparkling on water, tourists are milling about. Jill’s plainclothes security detail is hovering nearby somewhere, blending into the crowd.

  The Post had offered to cover a detail for me, too. At least for a short time. I declined. I’m sure I’d have thought differently if the threat was to someone I loved. It’s one thing to accept risk to myself; it’s another to accept it on behalf of someone else. In fact, if they’d have attacked someone I loved instead of me, I might have let the story go. I might have stayed quiet. I might never have found the truth.

  I’d reached out to thank Natalia when it was all over and done with. Sent her a message on ClandestineTips. Thank you again for all you did.

  Thank YOU, she’d written back. For sharing the truth. And for protecting my identity.

  We made plans to meet here at the memorial, just before she flies back home to Moscow. It’s a place she said she’d always wanted to visit. A place I knew would be teeming with oblivious tourists, where I could comfortably hide behind dark glasses and a hat. My picture hasn’t been bandied about nearly as much as my name, but I don’t want to take any chances, meeting in public with my source.

  I look over and smile at her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” She leans forward to look at Jill. “And nice to see you.”

  “It’s really good to see you, Natalia,” Jill says.

  “How are your kids?” Natalia asks.

  “They’re doing really well.”

  She smiles. “I’m glad.”

  I can’t help but think of her own kids. Those two little boys in the picture.

  “Have you heard anything from your own?” Jill asks. We’re clearly on the same wavelength.

  “No.” She stares out at the Reflecting Pool. It takes her several moments before she speaks again. “I just hope they’re happy. And safe. That’s what matters in the long run, isn’t it?”

  “You seem at peace,” Jill says.

  “I’m getting there. This is a process, you know?”

  I know. Or at least it is for me. Finding my own peace.

  “It wasn’t our government,” I say. I hope it didn’t come across like an I told you so. “It was some people gone rogue.”

  “I see that now. And I’m pleased with your government’s response. My own government would have done things differently.”

  I turn the words over in my mind, and I can feel Jill’s eyes on me. Beau has been begging to meet with Natalia ever since the story broke. Hell, even before it broke. She could be an asset, Alex, he said. We could have a penetration deep in the Russian intelligence services. He told me they need it more than ever. That they’re desperate. That after the Falcon debacle, all of the Agency’s sources have been thrown into question.

  I know he’s right. She’d be an excellent source. She’s willing to betray her country to do what’s right. And her access is unparalleled.

  “You know, you could continue to make a difference,” Jill says cautiously.

  Natalia replies almost instantly. “I’m not going to work for your government.”

  There’s a beat of silence. I look down at my hands. I’d agreed to let Jill handle this part; it was the deal we reached with Beau.

  “Maybe you don’t need to look at it like that,” Jill says. “Maybe you just look at it as doing the right thing. If there’s ever information you feel needs to get into different hands, or if there’s any critical information we need to ask for—”

  “I don’t want any part of this. It’s dangerous. I’m not going to be in Moscow, meeting with a CIA officer.”

  Jill and I exchange a glance, and then she speaks again. “Well, here’s the thing. You wouldn’t have to. We have technology—covert communications—that would allow you to communicate remotely. Discreetly.”

  “I know what COVCOM is. And I know you’re not just going to send me on my way with it. I would have to be vetted.”

  “You’ve proven yourself. What you’ve done, what you’ve given us, you’ve gone above and beyond.”

  It’s true; I heard the conversation between Jill and Beau. Natalia gave us sensitive information. The kind that could have given her country blackmail, and leverage. She put herself in a precarious position, because they’d never forgive those actions. She didn’t have to intervene in that house. She could have let Falcon take us out and just reached out to another journalist. She saved our lives and risked her own in the process.

  The only thing that’s missing, really, is a polygraph. And a polygraph would be pointless; she works counterintelligence for the SVR. She knows how to beat a poly.

  “So you’re saying…” She trails off.

  “We’re willing to make an exception. This is highly unusual. But extreme circumstances call for extreme measures.”

  She’s quiet. “Your COVCOM, it’s not exactly the best. I know it’s been used to uncover other sources—”

  “We have a new system. Best system we’ve ever created. It’s secure. No one’s penetrated it. It’s only gone out to our absolute most trusted sources, the ones in the most sensitive positions, with the very best access to information, the most important sources. You’ll get one of those, Natalia.”

  “You’re speaking like a CIA officer.”

  She smiles. “Former officer. But we’ve talked to a colleague. He’s nearby, actually.”

  Natalia looks around, spooked. She doesn’t spot Beau, but I know he’s just a few steps up and over, COVCOM system in hand, waiting. Ready to deliver it and provide a quick training before she flies back to Moscow.

  “No pressure, Natalia. We understand if you don�
��t want to. But we also think you could be of great service to…well, to the world. A check on abuse of power. A back channel to help ensure stability between Russia and the U.S. You could truly make a difference.”

  She looks conflicted.

  “We can discuss compensation—”

  “I don’t want to be paid.”

  Jill holds up her hands. “Okay.”

  Way in the distance, I can see a pair of ducks floating toward the center of the Reflecting Pool.

  “So I’d just hold on to it. I don’t have to do anything. But if I ever have information…”

  “If you ever have information, you can get it directly to the CIA. No more anonymous tips to a reporter.” She smiles.

  “And what will you ask of me?”

  “You’ll never be required to share more than you’re comfortable sharing.”

  I watch Jill with a sense of awe. She’s damn good at this. She looks completely in her element, and she looks happy. She told me before Natalia arrived that she was excited to do this, recruit a source, a critical one at that. She said it felt like a last hurrah, and a way to atone for what she did wrong all those years ago. One last thrill before returning to normal life—something she said she now realizes she wants more than anything. And the CIA’s letting her; so far there’s no appetite for punishing her. The Agency agrees she’s the best positioned to attempt this recruitment, given how skittish Natalia is.

  “Natalia, you once said you didn’t think there was any such thing as having it all. But maybe you can. Maybe this is a way to continue leading the life you’re comfortable leading—but doing the right thing at the same time.”

  She raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

  “For me, it was about changing my perspective,” Jill says. “Letting go of how I thought my life would look. It took almost losing it all to realize that I actually have it all.”

  I feel compelled to talk. “You know, a different perspective was what I needed, too. My mom used to say there are many different paths to happiness. I really think that’s true. For the first time since I lost her, I feel content. I want you to find your path, Natalia.”