by Tia Siren
“No questions asked?”
“No. A few people recognized me, but nobody of any importance who could have stopped me.”
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“Lots of times. But make the most of it. I'll soon have an enormous belly and you won't want to come near me.”
“You're wrong there. You'll be so sexy; I won't be able to keep my hands off you.”
“Where are we going first? I mean, we have the whole world see,” Octavia said.
“I have a surprise for my budding writer. All I'm saying is that we're going to London.”
“Not England; it rains all the time. Can't you take me somewhere warm?”
“Just believe me, you'll enjoy yourself there.”
“All right. I'll bow to your superior knowledge. Now can the captain's assistant get a kiss?”
“And who will you write your first novel about?”
“A man who is good looking and charming and who any woman could love without fear.”
“Me?”
She laughed. “Of course you.”
When the boat pulled into the Thames Estuary, Slava was weary. Octavia had gone to bed some three hours earlier, but he was determined to make it to Milby Marina in London before dawn. In the dark, one of the busiest rivers in the world was a tricky place to navigate, but despite fatigue, Slava kept his concentration.
Two hours later, the yacht was safely tied to the dock in London's most exclusive harbor. Slava climbed out of the captain's chair and went on deck to get some fresh air. He was disappointed to see that his yacht wasn't the biggest there. He consoled himself with the feeling it was, at least, the third biggest in one of the world’s richest cities.
The fresh air did him good, and he was soon ready to sleep. He hadn't had much time to think about what he and Octavia had done, but he was convinced they had done the right thing. In the bedroom, he quickly undressed. When he slipped into bed, he cuddled up to Octavia, who let out a little hello and promptly fell asleep again. When Slava put his hand on her swollen belly, he knew everything was going to be all right, and he drifted into a deep sleep.
“So, here we are in London,” Octavia said as she poured herself some coffee. “What have you got planned for me?” she asked, eager to know what secret Slava had been keeping from her.
“It's twelve o'clock. Let me get a shower and then we'll be on our way.”
“Okay. I'm coming to watch you in the shower. Will you...you know...?”
“If you want me to,” he said eagerly.
*****
“Slava, please tell me where we are going. We've been driving for hours.”
The man from the luxury limousine for hire company had told Slava he would send his finest limo and driver. It seemed he had kept his promise. They were sitting in a top-of-the-line Mercedes with leather seats, a TV, and mini bar. As Slava sipped his iced water, Octavia eye's drank in the English countryside.
“It's very green, isn't it? Quite beautiful. Unlike anything I've seen back in the States.”
“Or in Russia. I suppose it's all the water that falls from the sky. Look at that green field there; it really is bright green,” Slava replied.
After two hours they arrived at their destination. Octavia was extremely puzzled; they were in a village in the middle of nowhere. The driver pulled up, got out, and opened the door for Octavia.
“Slava, if you don't tell me where we are, I'm going to divorce you.” It just slipped out—a joke—but nonetheless, Slava heard it and took it as a hint of what their status really should be.
“We've come to look at a museum.”
“You dragged me all the way here for some stuffy old museum?” she said.
“No, not some stuffy old museum. Here, read the sign.”
“Jane Austen Museum,” Octavia read out loud. Then she suddenly realized: It was the home of one of the greatest writers of romantic fiction to have ever lived. “Oh, Slava, thank you. How thoughtful of you. I'm ashamed of myself for being so grumpy.” When she began to weep with joy, Slava took her in his arms and held her tightly.
“For you, my dear. May you become the Jane Austen of our time. Come on. Let's go and see what we can learn.”
They learned that they were in the village of Chawton in the County of Hampshire. They also found out that Jane Austen had spent the last eight years of her life in the house and had written three novels there. They spent two hours reading everything they could and soaking in the atmosphere. Slava observed Octavia as she looked around the tiny rooms. It was as if she were in a trance, lost in a world she dreamed of. He only hoped he could provide her with a life where she could relax, be calm, and have the clarity of thought to do what she wanted to do: write.
“That was fantastic,” she exclaimed as they got back into the limousine.
“Yes. We've got a lot of history in this country,” the driver said. “Next time you should go to Stratford upon Avon, the home of William Shakespeare.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” she said, still entranced by the world of Jane Austen.
Slava didn't like the look of the man lurking next to Serene when they arrived back at Milby Marina. He put a protective arm around Octavia and hurried her onto the boat.
“I'll be back in a minute,” he said. He walked back down the gangplank and up to the man.
“Who are you?” he asked directly in Russian.
“I'm Vasiliev Moltov. I have a message from your father.”
“How the hell did you find us here?”
“It's not difficult these days to track a boat of this nature, “ he said, pointing at Serene. “With all the signals it transmits, you were easy to find.”
“And what do you want?”
“I work for a man called General Toporov, head of the State Security Service of Russia. I'm the bureau chief in London.”
“You mean you're a spy.”
“Whatever you want to call it. I work on behalf of the Russian people to ensure a fair world and the safety of our nation.”
Brainwashed was the word that came to Slava's mind. “So answer my question: What do you want?”
“Your father is worried about you.”
“Then tell him I am fine and leave me alone.”
“It's not quite that simple. Your father has asked me to take the woman you are with and send her back to the US.”
Slava laughed. “You are certainly going to have to kill me before you can do that. She is in a delicate state, and if you so much as put one hand on her I will rip you into pieces, here and now.”
“Please calm yourself,” Moltov said, slightly worried that Slava was more than a match for him. “What do they say in English? Ah, yes, don't shoot the messenger. Your father has asked me to return the president's daughter to the US. If you don't comply, I will relay that back to your father and await further instructions.” His eyes narrowed as he thought carefully about what he was going to say next. “But your father is very disappointed that you have chosen to run off with an American, and especially one of such note. Your father has little regard for Americans, as indeed do I. They are trashy, loud, and lack sophistication. Given that, it's no surprise that she is pregnant out of wedlock.”
When Slava's fist slammed into Moltov's mouth, he saw a tooth fly out and plop down into the water below the pontoon they were standing on. Moltov sank to his knees, rolled his eyes, and passed out. Octavia, curious to know what Slava was doing, came on deck and looked at the man lying on the ground.
“Slava, what on earth?”
“He's come on behalf of my father. He wanted to send you back to the US. He was rude, so I knocked him out. I think I must have hit him very hard. Indeed, he's lost a tooth.”
“Oh my God,” Octavia cried. “They're going to split us up. I can feel it. They want me back in America and you back in Moscow. I'll never see you again. I'm going to call my father and tell him where we are. He'll get someone here to protect us.”
Slava we
nt back onto the boat and took her in his arms “No. They'll take you from me. I couldn't bear that. We'll leave and go somewhere else.”
“But, Slava, if they found us here, they will find us any other place. At least my father can keep us safe.”
“Okay, but I want to speak to him as well.”
Octavia opened her laptop and dialed the number. The president’s secretary answered. “June, it's Octavia. Can I speak to my father?”
“Octavia, where are you? Everyone's so worried.”
“I'm fine. Obviously our secret service isn't as fast as the Russians at finding me. I'm safe and well.”
“I'll get him. Please wait.”
When Octavia's father came onto the screen, he looked ashen, and Octavia instantly knew that she had caused him a lot of anxiety. “Hi, Dad. Listen, I'm—”
“Octavia, for god's sake, where are you? Your mother is having a nervous breakdown, and me too come to that.”
“I'm fine. I just want to talk to you, if you'll let me.”
“Okay, baby, talk. You know we love you more than anything in the world and only want the best for you.”
“I know, and I love you guys too. This is Slava. Do you remember him?”
Slava shuffled along the sofa and into the president's view. “Hello, Mr. President.”
The president seemed as if he was going to explode into a rage, but he took a deep breath and controlled himself. “Yes, of course, Slava, I remember you. I would be grateful if you would please bring my daughter home safely. I could send a few armed men to get her, but none of us want that. Just bring her home, please.”
“Sir, I love your daughter and she loves me.” Slava was resolute, and it seemed he had no fear of who he was addressing. “I have all the respect in the world for you, but Octavia and I have made a decision. Neither of us wants to continue our studies. We are bored stupid by them. We each have a dream that we intend to follow. We ask your blessing in doing so.”
Again, the president drew a breath. “I understand. Maybe if we had all talked about this in the first place, we would have been able to work something out. I am first and foremost worried about her safety. It's a dangerous world, and somebody could quite easily kidnap her. I ask you to think of the consequences of that.”
“Sir, I have, and I understand.”
Octavia decided to intervene when she noticed her father's voice change. It had taken on a more conciliatory tone, one he used when he wanted to reach an agreement.
“Dad, what we are saying is give us a chance. Both of us have enough money, and we have a home. I don't want to be part of the political world. I'm artistic, and I want to write. Slava wants to sail and design yachts. We're not dropping out. We're just following what we really want to do.” She paused and decided she would tell him. “I'm having a baby, Dad. You and Mom are going to be grandparents.”
The president was torn between congratulating her and flying into a rage. “That's great, honey,” he said. “Listen, how about we make a compromise. Come home with Slava, just for a few days if you like. Come and talk to us. Tell us what you want, and I promise I'll support you in any way I can.”
“No tricks?” Octavia asked.
“None at all. Come home, talk to us, and, if you want, go off again on your boat. But one thing I will not budge on is the security aspect. We'll talk about that at the time, though.”
Octavia looked at Slava, and he nodded. “Okay, sir. Octavia will come home for a few days, and I'll join her when I can.”
When the president had gone, Octavia turned to Slava, angry. “What do you mean? I'm not going anywhere without you.”
“Listen to me. My father will have you killed. I am convinced of it after the visit we had. The last thing he wants is to see is me marry an American. He hates Americans and everything they stand for.”
“Jesus. Do you really think he'd—” She stopped mid-sentence when he nodded. “And how the hell would he kill me? You heard Dad; he wants to help us with security. Your father would never get near us.”
“Did you see how they murdered Andrey Yevchenko? They put poison in a cup of tea. Or what about Yuri Davydov? They stuck the poisonous umbrella into his ass when he was walking across London Bridge. There are so many examples where good people have been murdered and nobody noticed the killer.” He looked at her, at distress in her eyes, and decided then and there that he was going resolve the situation. “Listen, I want you to go back to your parents. They are good people; they will let you do as you want once it all has been discussed. I'm going to St. Petersburg.”
“No. You mustn't. What if I never see you again?” Octavia said, now more worried than ever.
“I need a few days there. I will have my father returned to Russia in disgrace, and then we will be able to get on with our lives.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
*****
Slava sat in an office overlooking the River Neva in St. Petersburg and looked at the young man in front of him.
“Slava, it's so good to see you. We haven't seen each other since graduation day at school. How are you?”
“Igor, I am very well. There are things happening in my life now that are so fantastic; I can't begin to tell you.”
“You must. How about dinner this evening?” Igor asked. Igor Krasnoyarsk had been born on the same day in the same year as Slava. They had gone to school together and had been inseparable friends. As often happened, their lives took them separate ways. Igor went to work as a trainee journalist in St. Petersburg, and Slava went to university in Moscow.
“You know why I'm here, don't you, Igor?” Slava said in a somber tone of voice. Igor was just five feet five, but he was handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes.
“Yes. It's time, isn't it?”
Slava nodded. “Yes, it's time. The day has arrived, as I knew it always would. He has to be stopped. My mother is exhausted by his regular beatings, everyone who works for him is afraid of him, and now he has turned on me.”
“Okay. I understand,” Igor said as he stroked his stubble. “How do you want to proceed?”
Slava laughed. “You're the investigative journalist. I thought you might tell me. But as you ask, here are the names and addresses of five people who can bear witness against him.”
“Do you think they would testify against him? Wouldn't they be scared?” Igor asked.
“They will be scared, but they are old now and have little to lose. I will provide them with all with the necessary security. And besides, the State Security Service won't protect my father once the accusations come out. They'll drop him like a piece of hot coal.”
“All right. I'll go and interview them all. What about other evidence?”
“I have a weapon, which the witnesses say was used at the time, and I have a shirt.”
“A shirt?”
“Yes. The one worn at the time. It's got blood on it.”
“Great. How did you come across these articles?”
“They were sent to me by an old woman named Petrova Abdulova. I also have the letter she wrote at the time.” Slava placed a bag on Igor's desk. “All the things you need are inside the bag. I know you will do me proud, Igor. Thank you for your friendship over the years, and I do hope our paths will cross a bit more often than they have in the last couple of years.”
“Let's chat about old times this evening. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven.”
*****
“Octavia, oh, Octavia” her mother cried as the bulletproof limousine dropped her outside the White House. “What have you been up to? We were worried sick about you. Promise me never to run away like that again.”
Octavia didn't say anything. She looked at her mother, the First Lady, a woman of average height and above average looks. A brunette, not a hair out of place. She had married Octavia's father when she was just nineteen. She was more popular than her husband among the public, because she was always on TV to raise funds for children. “Your father has cance
led all his appointments this afternoon. We're going to sit down and have a nice chat.”
Octavia hoped the “nice chat” didn't turn into a monolog lecture. She went up to their apartment and into her room. It was predominately white and full of cuddly toys that well-wishers had sent her at various points during her life. The journey from London had tired her, and she undressed, had a shower, and slipped under the sheets. She woke when her mother called her at around three p.m.
“Octavia,” her father exclaimed. “It’s so lovely to see you. Come here.” He took his daughter in his arms and hugged her. She was surprised by how warm he was toward her. They were in the sitting room in the Presidential Suit in the White House. It wasn't a large room; it was cozy. There was a large round window in one wall and double doors in another that lead to the rest of the suit. There were two sofas opposite each other and a glass table between them. Octavia's father sat next to her mother with Octavia across from them.
“Your mother and I are so happy you are having a baby. We're really proud of you, and we want to tell you we will give you all the support you need throughout your pregnancy. If you think Slava will be a good father and you love him, we will support both of you equally.” He looked at his wife, who nodded in agreement. “Where we do have a concern is with you traveling around unprotected.”
“Mom, Dad,” Octavia began, “I hate Harvard and law. I want to be a writer. I want it so much that I was prepared to run away from you. Slava and I have found a way to make our dreams happen. He wants to sail, and I want to write. That's what we'll do, live on his boat and follow our dreams.”
“All right, if that's what you want. But what about your baby? He or she will have to go to school one day,” the president said.
“Of course, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we have our plan, and we're going to follow it.”
“Okay then. Now that we understand what you want, we can support you. Why didn't you tell us you were so unhappy at Harvard?” her mother asked.
