Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy)

by Duffy, Sue

  Jordan touched Liesl’s arm. “I’m not going with you,” he whispered. “Don’t tell the Nazi, but I’m going to Cass.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, but slipped back down the hallway.

  Liesl rushed after him, catching up with him at the side door to the church. “Jordan, you can’t leave. It’s not safe. Those people who broke into Cass’s apartment know you, too.”

  Shouldering his backpack, he paused long enough to hug Liesl. “No one came gunning for me. It’s you they need to protect. And it’s Cass who needs me. At least, I hope she does.”

  As he ran out the door, Liesl called after him, “Jordan, be careful!”

  Chapter 32

  Riding the elevator to her mother’s apartment with the four agents, Cass could think of nothing but the conversation she’d just had with Liesl in the lobby. To her, Liesl was still an unknown. Perhaps she would remain one, even after this critical hour in both their lives.

  When Cass arrived at the door, two of the agents remained in the hall, and the other two started to enter the apartment, but she stopped them. “Please wait out here. My mom has no idea what’s happening. You’ll only terrify her. I’ll call if I need you.” The agents hesitated, but did as she asked.

  “Mom!” Cass called as she passed through the living room.

  There was no answer.

  “Mom, where are you?” Cass scolded herself for not coming up right away, for placing her needs before her mother’s. Just then, she heard something heavy drop to the floor. The sound came from the master bedroom. Rushing into the elegant boudoir, Cass found her mother on a step stool in the walk-in closet, where she’d dropped a suitcase to the floor. “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “Leaving. I won’t stay here anymore, whether he comes back or not. I’m through with this. The cheating. The other woman. The place he goes at night. You think there’s nothing going on, but there is. He’s not the same, and I know why.”

  Cass braced herself. “No, you don’t, Mom. You don’t know at all. But I do.”

  Jilly turned slowly and looked accusingly at her daughter. “You’ve been keeping something from me?” she asked, then stepped to the floor. The flowing caftans and lounging pajamas she liked to wear at home had been replaced this day by bulky sweats, top and bottom, that hung in unflattering folds about her slim body.

  “Come sit down, Mom.” Cass led her into the bedroom and patted the down-filled comforter on the king-sized bed. “Right here.”

  As Jilly hesitantly sat down, Cass saw torment in the eyes. She lifted one of her mother’s slender wrists and clutched the hand that used to smooth back the unruly blond ringlets on a little girl’s head. The same hand that used to cup the small chin and nuzzle nose to nose, drawing peals of laughter from her daughter. Cass fastened on the face that once peered from magazine covers across the country. How many other daughters had looked at that face while standing in the grocery checkout line with their mothers and wished for such beauty? But had beauty ever sustained Jillian Kluen?

  Cass looked into the sorrowful eyes and told as much as she knew about Hans’s double life, about the files she’d found in his study, about Liesl, Ava, Evgeny, and why FBI agents were now posted outside the door. When she finished, her mother leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. Cass stroked her back. Then, her face smudged with spent tears and her breath faltering, Jilly asked, “How did I fail him?”

  It struck Cass that her mother’s first reaction wasn’t anger over what her husband had done to her, but fear for what she might have done to him. Cass looked at her mother as if seeing her for the first time, marveling at her sense of selflessness. She embraced her mother and rocked her gently as if she were a child. “Mom, I think God might protect us and lead us out of this.”

  Jilly pulled back and looked at her. “I’ve never heard you speak that way.”

  Cass removed her arms from around her mother and gazed into the delicate silken weave of the comforter. “I’m not sure, Mom, but I believe he’s here. Just like you taught me when I was little. Then we both forgot.”

  Jilly looked at her daughter with swollen eyes, studying her for too long. Cass started to speak, but Jilly stopped her. “Listen to me, Cass. Not everything I taught you was true.”

  Cass looked curiously at the face now drained of color. “Like what?”

  Her mother got up and asked Cass to follow her into the living room. When the two reached the mahogany sofa table, Jilly pointed toward the display of photographs. “What do you see here?” she asked Cass.

  Impatient with the ill timing of whatever lapse in focus this was, Cass looked at her watch instead of the photographs. “Mom, this isn’t the time to reminisce.”

  “Just answer me, Cass.”

  Cass hoped her mother wasn’t suffering some mental lapse brought on by shock. “Okay, Mom. I see photos of you and me at the beach, Grandma and Grandpa teaching you to snow ski when you were little, you and your sisters in a swing.” She looked blankly at Jilly.

  “Did you ever wonder why there were no photographs of your stepfather’s family?”

  But Cass clearly recalled asking Hans about that very thing a couple of years ago. “He told me he didn’t have any pictures. That his mother had kept them all in a big box that his father, in one of his drunken rages, set fire to. Isn’t that true?”

  The answer was a long time coming. “No, Cass. What’s true is this. If you had seen photographs of his family, especially his mother, you would have seen yourself.”

  Something quickened deep inside Cass, as if some detached intelligence within her had recognized the truth before she did.

  “It was the shape of her face,” Jilly said, her eyes now glistening, “her small mouth and strong chin.” Jilly laid a gentle hand on Cass’s shoulder. “Your grandmother’s face.”

  There was no sound or feeling where Cass was at that moment. No up or down, no bearings, no support to grab for. Only swirling images of Hans Kluen and his courtly manners, his pleasant face, soft hugs—and his warnings. Now she knew. He’d asked her to the diner that day to warn her away from those who might hurt … his daughter.

  Cass felt as though she were stroking upward through sluggish waters, struggling to reach the surface. She looked back to the sofa table and her mother, who’d kept such a ponderous secret for so long. Only now did she feel her mother’s hand on her shoulder and turn. The stricken face before her pleaded to be heard, the full-lipped mouth working through words to say. Cass could only wait for them to come.

  Now it was Jilly’s turn to reach for Cass’s hand and lead her to sit and hear a story. On the sofa, Jilly plumped pillows and wedged them behind her daughter. Cass let her.

  “Hans and I were in high school when we fell in love. My family was well-off and nurturing; his was poor and broken. When my father got a seat on the New York Stock Exchange, we moved from the Bronx to Manhattan, and my whole world changed. My family discouraged me from seeing Hans anymore. My father said that such an unfortunate immigrant’s son would never amount to anything. He didn’t know I was already carrying Hans’s child.” Jilly bent her head and stared into her lap, but kept talking.

  “I was desperate. I had to marry right away. So when my father brought Nicholas Rodino home for dinner one night and later encouraged me to snag his rich new client’s eligible son, I saw my chance. I practically seduced Nick, and a month later, we were married.

  “I thought he believed the child was his. But after you were born, he confronted me, demanding the truth. He’d been suspicious from the beginning, he said. But I never told him your father’s name. Later, it didn’t seem to matter to him anymore. He was determined to punish me anyway. I never understood why he stayed with me. Perhaps he loved me a little. I’m certain he loved showing me off, or so he said. And I’m sure he grew fonder of you, though not until he rescued you that night in the water when, well, you know.” Jilly stroked her daughter’s hand. “That kindled his compassion for you.”

  Cass be
gan to fidget. She released her mother’s hand and removed several pillows from behind her, pushing herself deep into a corner of the sofa, just short of a full retreat.

  “It wasn’t until Nick’s funeral that I saw Hans again,” her mother continued. “He was living near Wall Street, where he’d worked for many years, building a war chest, he told me later. He’d married and divorced. After that, he said, he could think of nothing but winning me back—with cash, if that’s what it took.” She looked around the room and smiled. “The luxuries are so nice, and I’ve been terribly spoiled. But I know in my heart, I would have loved Hans if he’d still lived in that sad little flat in the Bronx. I never forgot him through all the years with Nick.”

  It was time for Cass to ask, “How long has Hans known I was his child?”

  “Since our wedding day. And when I told him, well, that was the happiest I’ve ever seen him, before or since. He was positively jubilant. Clapping his hands together and hugging me so hard.” A shimmer of elation stole across Jilly’s face. “But he didn’t want me to tell you about him. Know why?” She shook her head slightly. “He didn’t want you to think badly of me. And he didn’t want to rob Nick, even in death, of his fatherhood, of his place in your life.” She reached to finger a curl falling loosely over her daughter’s forehead. “Do you see Hans a little clearer now?” She pinched the space between her eyes, and tears flowed through her fingers. “Because I do. And I think he may have done this terrible thing for money, to keep me and keep me happy.” She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “No, Mom. I don’t believe that’s all of it.” Cass inched closer to her mother’s crumpled body and hugged her tightly. Then she thought of the files. Maybe there was something else there, something they’d missed. Suddenly, Cass was up and moving. “We have to leave here.”

  “But why? Hans will come back. I’m sure he will.”

  Cass wasn’t sure of that at all. “Mom, we’re going to Southampton.”

  A knock came at the door, which opened slightly. “Ms. Rodino,” a voice called. “It’s Agent Corley. There’s a Mr. Winslow out here. Do you know him?”

  “Jordan!” Cass ran to open the door, and his guileless face smiled down at her. Without so much as a glance at the four agents behind him, she wrapped both arms around his neck and touched her cheek to his.

  “Oh, yeah, this is nice,” he said, returning the embrace.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

  Releasing her embrace but holding tight to her hand, Jordan turned to the agents. “It appears that she knows me. So I guess it’s okay to go in, right?” Though he looked to them for clearance, Cass grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Before closing the door, she thanked the agents for being there. “And,” she added, “I don’t know how close you’re supposed to stick to us, but we’ll be leaving for Long Island in a little while. Better tell Ava Mullins.”

  As the agents swapped confused looks, Cass closed the door. Jordan was greeting Jilly when Cass announced, “Jordan, there’s a lot I have to tell you, but we’ve got to get to the beach house in a hurry. Can you get my car from the garage?”

  As they were discussing the logistics of that, another knock came at the door. “Ms. Rodino, it’s Agent Corley again.”

  Cass went to the door. “Yes?”

  “Ma’am, Agent Mullins wants to talk to you.” He handed Cass his phone.

  “Cass, why Long Island?” Ava asked in a rushed tone.

  It occurred to Cass that things had happened so rapidly since Saturday morning that Ava Mullins might not know much about her and Jordan or the beach house. “I know Jordan and I are strangers to you and—”

  “I know more about you both than you’d be comfortable with, Cass. We also know it was your bloodhound sniffing around that blew this wide open. So tell me what else you think is at the house. And be quick, please.”

  Where are they? Cass wondered, then answered Ava. “Jordan and I didn’t have time to search all the files in Hans’s study. There might be something else there. Something to lead us to these people.”

  “I hope that’s what Hans is doing for us right now. So stay where you are. Get some sleep. If we need to search more files, I’ll send for you. And Cass … don’t leave that apartment!”

  Chapter 33

  Ava clicked off the conversation with Cass to take a call from the tracking boat on the river. “They’ve located the boat. It’s about to dock,” she told Evgeny and directed him through a maze of streets winding north. It was almost nine.

  “The Russian mob is all over this place,” Evgeny informed offhandedly, steering the van into a warehouse district. “You know that, don’t you? The waterfront, the airports. Everyone thinks it’s the Italian mafia that dominates there. Wrong.” He shot down a straightaway running along the river, which they could glimpse intermittently between metal buildings squatted against the wharf. Suddenly, he braked and backed up. “There!” He pointed, stopping the van in the middle of the street.

  In the misty dark, a gauzy orange light lit up the wheelhouse of a boat just turning off the main channel and heading for a dock. “I see it,” Ava said. “Cut your lights and get as close as you can.”

  Evgeny eased the van to the edge of a parking lot that ran between two buildings. “And that must be your boys drifting slowly behind. Not much use, are they?”

  “They’re following orders,” Ava insisted. “To watch and wait.”

  “You wait. I’m moving in.”

  Before Ava could stop him, Evgeny climbed quietly from the van and ran low against the metal shell of a building. He was thankful that the water-rat gangs had seen fit to shoot out a few spotlights, opening a fairly dark corridor between the van and the incoming boat. When he reached a dumpster that reeked of something putrid, he had no choice but to shield his nose and take cover there.

  He pulled his jacket up over his nose and watched a young man hop to the dock and tie down the lines. Evgeny could see the captain at the helm, cast in orange light and turned toward someone behind him. The captain threw up his hands in what appeared to be an angry gesture. He cut the engines and disappeared from view.

  A few moments later, the same man slid open a wooden door and stepped onto the side deck facing the dock and called to the guy just finishing the lines. “Go find us some beer,” he ordered, then looked down the dock toward the parking lot. Seemingly content with his surroundings, he went back inside, and his crewman headed Evgeny’s way, scuffing his shoes along the pavement as he walked. Evgeny had no way of warning Ava. Surely she’d seen or heard the guy coming.

  He watched as the crewman gave no notice to the van parked where he now could see it plainly. But he walked past and kept going, down the street and out of sight. Seconds later, Evgeny heard, “Pssst.” Then again, “Pssst.” He didn’t even have to look. He just waved her on, and Ava slipped up beside him, her weapon drawn.

  Sensing her unspoken question, he held up two fingers for the two men he’d seen on board and whispered, “So far.” They heard voices from inside the open doorway of the boat. The captain and another crewmate emerged, engaged in a dispute. Evgeny was too far away to understand their words, but there was no doubt about the angry tone. Then the crewman hopped off the boat and stormed down the dock, looking once behind him and calling, “It could be days before he calls. You know where to reach me.”

  That’s when Evgeny knew the Architect wasn’t on board. But what about Hans? Could they have deposited him elsewhere before coming in for the night? Where?

  When the captain went inside—leaving the door open, Evgeny was pleased to see—he motioned for Ava to stay as he crept from behind the dumpster. But she grabbed the back of his coat and pulled hard. “No!” she hissed under her breath. “Wait!”

  But he just smiled patronizingly at her, released her hand from his coat, and took off, knowing she’d have to follow. He understood her dilemma. Were the U.S. top cops really going to let a KGB hit ma
n hold the reins in such a critical operation? Could they afford to ignore the things he knew and they didn’t? His Russian contact was feeding him, not them. But then the nagging thought returned. What had led Ava to City Island?

  He heard her behind him but didn’t slow. His own handgun firmly in his grip, he moved with surprising speed for a man his age, then turned to see Ava matching it. He focused on the orange-lit wheelhouse, still empty.

  Careful not to upset the balance of the floating vessel, he stepped gingerly over the gunwale and plastered himself against the side of the boat, listening. No voices.

  He motioned for Ava, who’d just repeated his moves, to stay. It occurred to him that they’d been telling each other to do that all evening, and neither one had. He hoped she’d obey this time. He’d hate to see her take a bullet.

  When he heard music from somewhere below, he knew he’d have only seconds to surprise whoever was there, probably the captain. Even one creak-inducing footstep above would surely summon trouble from below. He looked once more at Ava, then moved inside the cabin. At the door to the steps, he paused and listened again. No movement. Maybe the captain thinks it’s his crewman back with the beer.

  Bingo.

  A voice called up from below. “That was quick. Bring it down here. I’ve got the—”

  The sight of a gun pointed at his face choked back the rest of the man’s words. He dropped the skillet in his hand, slinging hot grease down his pants, which elicited a fury of profanity. Evgeny moved too quickly for the man to recover his defenses, though his hand had shot toward a knife behind him on the galley counter. Evgeny knocked the blade out of the man’s reach and steadied the gun at eye level.

  “Sit down!” Evgeny ordered, shoving a small stool toward the man and looking quickly about the well-appointed salon. The pieces were fitting. Who would suspect this old clunker to harbor such a sleek hideout below deck. Nice move, Architect.