May 17, 1980
Lunchtime had once been one of Jack's favorite times of the day; Irina had worked close enough to the university that they could meet up, free from any family duties or friends, to talk or visit or, sometimes, simply to enjoy a few minutes of blessed silence together while they ate.
But now (thanks to him, he thought, the idea vanishing as soon as it surfaced), Irina had been reassigned to the heart of the KGB building itself. With Valentina in school, and Oleg busy, Jack now found himself with a hole in the middle of his day, one that was difficult to fill. He could remember a time when solitude had been the rule, not the exception, but it seemed very distant now.
Jack set himself up on a bench on campus; the students, their minds full and their faces gaunt from exam preparation, paid him no mind. They sprawled on benches and sidewalks, leaned against trees, all of them with eyes for nothing but their notebooks. Now that the temperature was finally warm, it was pleasant to eat outside. He took his sandwich from his bag, concentrated on nothing more abstract than the clouds in the sky, and started to eat.
"Pleasant day for it," said Arvin Sloane.
Jack nodded, not even turning his head as Sloane sat down on the other end of the bench. His brain seemed to have stopped operating, at least at anything resembling a normal speed. The facts clicked into place one by one:
Arvin Sloane is in Moscow.
Arvin Sloane is here to see me.
I know Arvin Sloane from our work together at the CIA.
I work for the CIA.
My work for the CIA is about to change.
The CIA wants something from me.
If it were something small, they wouldn't have sent Sloane.
Sloane, obviously understanding Jack's shock and in no hurry, unfolded the day's Pravda and studied it carefully. Jack knew he could match Sloane's calm, and that it would probably be best to do so. "You're looking well," he said. It was true. Sloane was as small and dark and quick as ever, but he had a polish to him that hadn't existed in the old days. He looked as though he ate more often, slept better.
"Emily takes good care of me," Sloane said fondly. "I married her, you know."
"Congratulations."
"Your own marriage seems successful. A fine young daughter, a beautiful wife, and a job very well done."
Jack finally turned his head toward Sloane; out in public like this, surrounded by students too engrossed in finals-cramming to listen, they were probably better hidden than they would've been in any clandestine hideout. "I've given you everything you asked for."
"I just said you'd done your job well, Jack. No need to be defensive - or indiscreet." Sloane smiled easily. His suit was Soviet-issue, ill-fitting and dark; how long had he been in Moscow? "You gave us what we needed, every step of the way. And now your work is over."
The words made perfect sense, even if it was odd to hear Arvin Sloane speaking Russian instead of English. Jack's work was over. Jack's work was his marriage, his family, his life -
He rewrapped his sandwich in its greasy paper and folded it back in the bag, then rose and walked back toward his office, as though he'd never spoken to the man on he bench, as though he didn't know that man at all.
**
Sloane didn't make another appearance until late the next night, when Jack was taking the Metro home from an evening of vodka and cards at Oleg's house. One minute, Jack was wondering if Irina would give him hell for coming home at this hour; the next, Sloane was taking the seat next to him in an otherwise unoccupied car. He wore the same cheap suit.
Jack considered his next words very carefully; finally, he decided honesty would do. He'd always trusted Arvin, as much as he trusted anyone. And not even the KGB's paranoia extended to bugging every method of mass transport in Moscow. "I thought maybe I had dreamed you."
Arvin smiled. "I know my appearance came as a shock. I'm sorry. This news would have been difficult no matter how we approached it. I thought at least it might help if it came from a friend."
The train car rattled from side to side in its rush beneath the city. Jack put one hand on the seat in front of him, to steady himself. "This news. You mean, the end of my assignment." The words came out quite easily.
"The work you've done here - it's astonishing, Jack. Nobody will ever forget what you've accomplished. You gave us more information about Rambaldi, and about the Soviets' progress on his work, than every other source we have put together. Then you were instrumental in convincing the Soviets that the Rambaldi information was worthless after all. Two days ago, posing as a rogue agent, I traded nuclear secrets - false, of course - for the Soviets' entire store of Rambaldi devices and documents. They think they've gotten something for nothing; in fact, the reverse is true." Arvin leaned back in his plastic seat, even more self-satisfied than before. "Even if we never do figure out the Rambaldi technologies, we've humiliated the Russians on a scale we've rarely accomplished before. You've made a lot of people very happy."
Valentina's face smiled up at her father, holding up a piece of bread for him to bite from. Irina's hands wrapped around her husband's, pulling him close for a kiss in the center of Arbat Street.
"My work's done, then," Jack said. "I'm glad to have helped. But there's no need for us to talk again."
Arvin tilted his head, studying Jack intently. "We have certain arrangements to make."
"Based on what you just told me, I think no more arrangements are necessary." Fortunately, this was his stop; Arvin didn't try to prevent him from going.
When he got home, Irina was already asleep. Jack lay carefully beside her in the bed, not moving, not making a sound. When she breathed out, he breathed in, matching her rhythm, wondering if he could draw in all of her, her scent and her spirit, along with her breath. He wondered if she could breathe him in, too.
**
When Arvin appeared again, three days later, Jack was ready. No sooner had Arvin fallen into step with him in Gorky Park than Jack said, "We need to talk about this."
"Of course." This time, weirdly, Arvin seemed to be the one distracted. "Don't you usually bring your daughter here in the afternoons? Where is she?"
"Valentina is playing at a friend's house today. How did you know that I bring her here?"
"You mentioned it in several letters." When Jack shot him a look, Arvin held his hands out in mock apology. "I'm the agency's point man on Rambaldi. That means I have a number of duties -- including playing the role of Aunt Claudette. Tried hard to age my handwriting. How did I pull it off?"
"Brilliantly." Wonderful, Jack thought. Just when I thought this situation could not become more surreal.
Arvin glanced at him sideways as they walked beneath a broad canopy of trees. In the distance, teenagers played some game that involved much laughing. "You wrote about Irina often. I realize how deeply you believe that you love her, Jack. I hadn't counted on that, years ago, when I suggested that you do this."
"I do love my wife," Jack said. "And I love my daughter. I'm not leaving them."
"I know this is hard, but - yes, Jack, you are."
"Do NOT force me to expose you." Jack turned around and used every inch of height he had over Arvin, looming above him; not even Arvin could keep himself from looking shocked. "If you think I can't find a way to turn you in to the KGB and cover my own ass, you're a fool."
"I'm not a fool. But neither are you. And when you've had more time to consider this, you'll see reason."
Jack tried to see reason; to him, it took different shapes. "I've been in Moscow for eight years. I'm married to a KGB agent. Surely there's other work the CIA could find for me to do here."
"Irina Derevko's career is ruined. She'll be chained to a desk for the rest of her working life, processing documentation. The end of her utility is the end of your utility in Moscow." The truth of it hurt as much as the fact that it made Jack's suggestion worthless.
"She's better than that."
"I don't doubt it."
"She's the woman in the Rambaldi prophecy." Jack had spent most of the past seven years trying not to think about that prophecy; he'd done almost as good a job of that as he had of believing in Aunt Claudette. "How can you not want an agent with her?"
Arvin sighed. "Jack, we've been studying Rambaldi as intensely as the Soviets have, all this time. But we've had the benefit of some pieces of evidence they never found. Everyone's very certain of this: Irina Derevko is NOT the woman from the prophecy."
"You can't know that."
"We do know it. I wouldn't say anything like that unless I was absolutely certain, and I am."
This had to be a joke. If not Arvin Sloane's, then some great, cosmic joke played by whatever it was that passed for God. Destiny and fate and a thousand things Jack had never believed in had led him halfway around the world - to the wrong woman. Who was the right woman, after all.
After a long silence, Jack said, "Let me go."
Arvin's dark eyes blinked slowly at him, like a lizard's. "You know that can't happen. I understand you, Jack, but I'm your friend. There are people in Washington who won't understand you. They'll only know that a CIA agent's gone rogue, that he's married to a KGB officer -"
The explanation trailed off there; Jack didn't need any more. That scenario ended with a pistol shot aimed at Jack's own head; he had a healthy, accurate respect for his own skill in self-protection, but not even he could watch his back every moment of every day. Perhaps he would shield Irina and Valentina from knowing that he had ever betrayed them - but Jack could not bring himself to condemn one or both of them to witnessing his murder. God, Valentina was only five - she'd never get over that. Jack closed his eyes.
"This doesn't have to happen right away," Arvin said. "We've got a week, maybe two. I was thinking -- a trip back to America, to bury your aunt? We could get the paperwork through in a hurry. Then we'd send word that John Leary had a car accident. Or an aneurysm? Something quick and painless. Irina and Valentina would never have to know any differently."
Worst of all was the realization that Arvin's offer genuinely counted as mercy.
"I appreciate that you've worked on this scenario. I understand what you're trying to give me." Jack drew upon every capacity for self-control he possessed; what he was trying now would never work if his emotions spoke louder than his words. "I want to suggest another option."
"Very well. I'm open to suggestions, though I can't swear our superiors will be."
"Extract us all. Irina, Valentina, and me. We vacation at the Crimean Sea every August; you could arrange something then."
"I expected better from you. Think of the risks."
"Think of the benefits. Irina is a fully trained KGB agent. She knows names, profiles and details on a scale that nobody on the outside could ever match. Besides the intel she could give us, she's a bright, capable operative in her own right. We could use her. We should use her."
To Arvin's credit, he didn't immediately dismiss the idea. However, he didn't seem enthused. "Irina Derevko is a loyal agent of the Soviet Union."
"Irina does not give a damn about the Soviet Union," Jack snapped. "She became an agent so that she could have some position in society, some chances to use her intelligence, maybe even a shot at seeing the world. The KGB has taken all of that from her, now. We could give that back and get a lot in return." Arvin just stared at him, and Jack forced himself to take a deep breath. "I'm not pretending to be objective about this. But I think that, if you can be objective about it, you'll see that there's a lot to what I'm saying."
"Even if I accept your argument about Irina - which I haven't yet - how can you justify Valentina?"
Jack laughed, the sound of it as startling to him as it had to be to Arvin. Instead of answering the question, he said, "So, you and Emily don't have children yet."
"Spare me your lectures about the depthless nature of parental love. I understand what you mean, better than you'll ever realize. You don't have to have a daughter to grasp these things."
"Then you should know that Irina's cooperation would depend upon her having her daughter close, and safe. Do you have any idea what the KGB is capable of doing to a child, to gain a parent's obedience?" Jack had, once or twice, considered what would happen to Valentina if his cover were blown. He had not been able to bear considering it any more often than that.
Arvin stared up at him, his slender frame almost lost in his ill-fitting suit. He looked foreign, Jack thought irritably; he stood out in this park as though he were in the center of a spotlight. Then Jack remembered that he was foreign too, technically speaking.
At last, Arvin said, "There's one major flaw in your plan, you know. One significant variable you haven't accounted for."
"Irina's reaction to the truth." Jack kept his face impassive. "That variable affects me more than it affects you. Personally, no, I can't say what she'll do or how she'll feel, when she learns - who I am, and what I've done. But professionally and politically? I think she'd welcome the chance to use her talents for a country that would appreciate and utilize them."
"I forgot what a cool customer you are."
The phrase - "cool customer," in English - was the first thing that had reminded Jack of home, in a good way, in a very long time. He'd heard that phrase in detective movies, cheap black-and-white ones that showed as the second-billed movie at a drive-in double feature. What would Irina and Valentina make of a drive-in movie?
When Arvin had spoken of Emily, he'd been warmer and more relaxed than Jack had ever seen him - which was saying something, considering that he'd been making contact with a long-buried agent in the heart of Moscow. Arvin knew what it was to have a happy marriage. Maybe an emotional appeal wouldn't be a bad idea, now that his main points had been made. "Irina and Valentina - they deserve a better life than I've been able to give them here. Valentina could have dancing lessons. A bedroom of her own, a backyard with a swingset. And Irina - I could finally take her on all those trips she's wanted to take. You know, she's always wanted to see New Mexico."
"New Mexico?" Arvin stared at him. "Why New Mexico?"
Jack had been there once without her; in his memories, it now seemed as though she'd been by his side. She'd made him retell it so many times that he couldn't envision the place without seeing her there, long hair swept back in a ponytail, her white skin turning golden beneath a blazing sun. "It caught her imagination. I don't know why."
"I doubt that." Arvin was frowning now, anxious and uneasy for no reason Jack could name.
The emotional appeal had been a mistake after all. Jack backtracked as best he could. "My scenario is still superior to yours, not just from my perspective, but from the CIA's as well. I think that, if you discuss this fully, you'll see that most of the existing objections are only prejudice. And the benefits are very real."
Arvin patted Jack on the shoulder; the movement was awkward, unlike the friends they'd once been - and, Jack realized, might be again. "I'll try. I can't promise you more than that, but I'll try."
Jack smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. "Arvin - thank you."
Arvin nodded and began walking away. Without turning his head, just loudly enough to be heard, he said, "Say nothing to Irina. Not until I give the word."
For eight years he'd kept his silence; at first, Jack was irritated by the idea that he might need further reminders on this issue. But then he realized that, no matter how difficult the past eight years of secrecy had sometimes been - the next few days would be the worst.
**
Go back to the last chapter.