from the Slovak Consulate. Our position is too exposed; we are too close to the city center—
From the west, a woosh-woosh-woosh of chopper blades torpedoes the air; a rush of wind swirls above us, and our burned clothes flap around our bodies.
A Black Hawk descends.
Behind us, breaking through the gates of the St. Regis, are three armored vans—either Abramovich’s men, every policeman in Istanbul, or both. They start shooting aggressively before they are even within range.
A soldier inside the helicopter covers us, firing stun grenades from a shoulder-mounted mortar. The grenades land in bright violet blasts.
A second airman hops out of the chopper and runs toward us. Strafing fire whistles above us, trying to hit the chopper. The airman reaches us, throws two smoke grenades over his shoulder, and yells, “Now!”
Under cover of the smoke grenade, he leads us to the chopper.
Aksel heaves Todd into the helicopter, and two soldiers pull him up onto a stretcher.
When a medic reaches his hand down to pull me inside, I take it. Aksel leaps in behind me. In less than six seconds, we are in the air, above the smoke.
Once we have cleared the airspace over Istanbul, a squadron of fighter jets appear on all four sides of the helicopter—an F-18 escort.
An hour later, we land at a NATO base in Kosovo. We climb down from the helicopter. We don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone. We follow our escort to an MN-2 transport.
As we ascend the ramp into the plane, someone rushes up behind me and clutches my shoulders; I whirl around, collapsing against her.
“Mom,” I cry.
CHAPTER 63
During takeoff, we sit quietly in a row on the bench seat. I hold my stomach, bracing myself against the queasy feeling that accompanies a rapid ascent. As we reach fifteen thousand feet, the pilot eases the MN-2 straight, tapering off the climb.
Aksel drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into him.
I’ve forgotten how perfectly his jaw meets the bottom of his cheek, the smooth, light bronze color of his skin, his translucent green eyes, but most importantly, how, tucked into the crook of his shoulder, I feel safe. For the first time since I left Waterford.
Aksel brushes my hair back from my cheek and stares at me. I must look ragged. My bandages need to be redressed; the lidocaine jelly applied to our burns will wear off soon. Aksel has a thick bandage on the side of his neck, and like mine, the tops of his hands and forearms are covered in gauze.
“You okay?” His deep, quiet voice is so full of concern that I stop fighting it. As I curl into Aksel’s chest, tears pour out of me in a wave of visceral pain.
When I wake hours later, the sky is a black vault of glittering stars. The airmen onboard are asleep. The MN-2 is a reconfigured Soviet cargo plane used by NATO to transport medical supplies. There is a bank of seats on either side and a running platform down the center.
Aksel’s arm is taut around my lower back. My head is on his shoulder. He hands me a box of cranberry juice. “You need to drink,” he says kindly. “It’s all that’s on board.”
I drink all the juice, so he hands me another box and I drink that too. Finished, he wraps a wool NATO blanket across my body, and I lay my head back onto his shoulder.
The events of the last forty-eight hours whirl inside me; memories both vivid and blurry, both happening at a distance and convulsing inside my chest.
Trying to concentrate on anything other than the overwhelming abyss of emptiness my father’s absence has created—I look at Aksel, biting my bottom lip. “Aksel, how are you here?”
Aksel stares darkly down the interior of the plane before looking back at me. “After you left Waterford, I was so angry. I flew out to see my grandfather, to see if he knew anything. But, as I was leaving Dulles, walking through the terminal in a big crowd of people, someone pushed an earbud into my hand. I didn’t see who it was, but I clipped it in anyway and listened to the instructions. Fifteen minutes later, I was boarding a flight to Amsterdam.”
I stare at him inquiringly.
“I was sitting down in my seat, and a low voice in my ear grunted, ‘You can take that out now.’ I turned and”—Aksel smirks—“it was Todd.”