They are standing in the living room speaking softly to each other.
“Who are they?” My words slice through the quiet room.
“Acquaintances,” my father answers.
“What were they doing here?”
“Sophia, it’s nothing—”
“Nothing does not look like that!” I shout.
My father has always told me—Shouting undermines credibility, Sophia. I breathe through my nose. “What were they doing here?” I ask with a seething calm.
My father’s nose twitches, like the bulls in Pamplona before the running starts. “Do you remember a few years back, we were visiting the Musée d’Orsay? You asked if we could go to St. Petersburg to see the Hermitage and—”
“You said no because you had a dangerous job there before I was born, and afterward, returning to St. Petersburg became impossible.”
“It wasn’t just a dangerous job, Sophia. It changed everything.”
“Okay, fine, so that was in St. Petersburg twenty years ago—”
“Nineteen years ago,” he exhales, “I was assigned to St. Petersburg to become acquainted with the SVR—the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. I found someone to talk to, who eventually defected with more weapons intelligence than we could have ever hoped to acquire—”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I recently contacted Andrews to express my concern that St. Petersburg might have been compromised.”
“So that was Andrews?” I motion in the direction the cars left.
“Andrews is in the Ukraine—those were some colleagues.”
“So, you’re not doing analysis?” I say accusingly.
“Everything I do is analysis, Sophia. I’m a regional specialist.”
“You’re a case officer,” I say bitingly. “Stop pretending.”
“Sophia, I’m not CIA—”
“Kent,” my mother snaps.
My father has always instructed me using vague terms, never disclosing specific details, and never revealing more than necessary.
This method has never bothered me before. Why does it bother me so much now?
“I know there’s more.” I concentrate on my father. “I deserve to an explanation!”
“I understand you might feel that way, honey, but my priority is to keep you safe—”
“Safe? You think I’m safe in Waterford? Someone was following me!”
Immediately, I regret the words. It is like the room is deprived of oxygen.
“Why do you say that?” asks my father in an edged tone, standing.
I shouldn’t have said it. It takes all my composure to remain calm, because if my father thinks I’m worried, he’ll worry, and he can’t worry about me. Not now.
My palms are clammy. “I thought someone, I mean, he wasn’t, but it felt as if someone was following me a while ago. Aksel thought the same thing—”
“Aksel was there?” he interjects.
“It was nothing,” I say quickly. “The guy was wearing a hood, so I couldn’t see his face, and he was walking straight at me, like he was aiming for me, except I was imagining it. I do that still, sometimes.” My eyes study the rug. “I imagine I see him walking toward me.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, my father begins to pace. Does he struggle talking about this as much as I do?
I glance at my mother. She is standing rigid beside the sofa, watching us.
It occurs to me how much freedom I’ve had in Waterford. They would never let me live this way if they weren’t sure that it’s over.
Collecting my thoughts, I look at my father calmly. “He was just a guy in Waterford, not paying attention, who almost bumped into me.”
My father stops pacing. “You’ve seen no one suspicious since?”
“No.”
He nods to my hip, to my phone. “You’ll call me if you do?”
“Yes.”
“Then, Sophia, stop worrying. My concern that there might be some loose ends to tie up doesn’t affect our lives here. This case is only chatter over a wire. Specific words popping up among terror cells we haven’t heard in a long time. Anyone with knowledge about the St. Petersburg job is secure.”
Secure. I have a prickly sensation on the back of my neck that “secure” means dead—and that “loose ends to tie up” means kill.
He continues, “We know terror groups are discussing certain weapons, but it’s nothing more than their own speculation and aspirations. Nothing new.”
“ADMs?”
He closes his mouth scrupulously.
I stare brazenly at him, pushing harder. “If Andrews told you to retire, shouldn’t you follow orders and pass these loose ends on to someone else?”
“Sophia, you must understand that I’ll continually be approached for information or asked to analyze data. I’ve been around a long time. Bureaucracy, I guarantee, I’ll never escape,” he says wryly.
My father sits down beside my mother on the sofa. He looks tired.
“This fight against extremism is a war against an enemy that is both