Wolfgang wondered if he could have saved Katya. Maybe if they had bumped their timeline up and he reached the detention facility sooner. Maybe if he spent less time talking with Ivan, or less time arguing with the team back in the hotel. If he could’ve gotten to Katya sooner, before the stress and panic overwhelmed her weakened body…
There was no way to know, and there never would be. Katya was a casualty of war—not a war against Russia, or even a war against the anarchist terrorist—Katya was a casualty of war against the darker side of life. The side of life that brought curses like diseases and illness and bad hospitals and no money. That was a war as old as humanity, and it would take many more casualties in Wolfgang’s life alone.
But that didn’t make her loss any easier to bear.
At Minsk, a CIA contact waited for Koslov. The man wore jeans and tennis shoes with a Tampa Bay Lightning hat and a college kid’s backpack. He beckoned to Koslov at the edge of the platform, and the broken scientist turned to Wolfgang. His eyes were bloodshot, framed by dark bags. There was no spirit left in his body. No desire for life. But he nodded at Wolfgang once and said again, “America?”
Wolfgang nodded. “America.”
Koslov looked up at the sky, visible from the roofless outdoor platform. He nodded again, and to Wolfgang’s surprise, he said in broken English, “Katya would have liked America.”
Then Pascha Koslov followed the kid with the backpack, never looking back.
A taxi cab waited for Megan and Wolfgang at the train station, as they expected it to. Edric knew what time the train from Moscow would arrive, and he would have dispatched the cab to pick them up and bring them to whatever private airfield SPIRE’s Gulfstream G550 waited at.
They climbed into the back of the worn car, relieved to find it warm, and sat in silence as the driver wound them through the darkened city, then turned toward the outskirts. Wolfgang stared down at his hands, feeling suddenly exhausted and sad. He could still see the haunted loneliness in Koslov’s eyes. It was a look he would never forget.
What must that feel like . . .
Megan’s gaze was fixated out the window, staring up at the starlit sky with bright eyes that were tired but so alive. So bright.
She has to know. I can’t risk losing her without her knowing how I feel.
Wolfgang ran his tongue across his lips, searching for the words, but he couldn’t think of any.
How do you tell a person that they keep you awake at night? That you wonder what their favorite color is, and that you want to dance with them in some quiet place, far away, under a sky that isn’t so cold and dark? How do you tell a person . . . everything?
“How did you know?” Megan said.
Wolfgang looked up. “Know what?”
“You said Sparrow had cystic fibrosis, and the tag proved it. But the tag was printed in Russian, and we didn’t translate it until later. How did you know?”
Wolfgang winced and looked back at his hands. He wished he’d spoken a little sooner—asked her what her favorite color was, or where she was from, or how she liked her coffee.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Wolfgang swallowed. “My sister has it.”
“You have a sister?”
Wolfgang hesitated and then decided to just tell her. It was a secret he was weary of bearing alone.
“Her name is Collins. She’s ten now and lives in Buffalo.” Wolfgang met Megan’s gaze, fully aware that his eyes were red. “She’s had it since she was a kid. My family . . . well, my parents died. It was kind of a mess. Edric was there, and he offered to help. He told me I could take care of Collins, and get her good medical care, all while having some adventures. I guess that’s how it all started. Me and SPIRE.”
It all just bubbled out before he could stop it. The words tumbled over themselves in a rush. Wolfgang cursed himself, but it was too late now. The lid was off, and he was exposed.
“When was that?” Megan said softly.
Wolfgang sighed. He saw West Virginia again, green and hot in the grip of summer. He saw his mother lying in a corner of their beat-up single-wide, bleeding and bruised. Not moving. He heard Collins crying from the couch, screaming for her mommy. Then he saw the New River Gorge Bridge stretching out over the churning New River, far below. He saw his father standing there in the dark, drunk and screaming.
“I was fifteen. It was six years ago.”
He was at once embarrassed and relieved. He’d told no one the details of that night—he hadn’t even discussed it with Edric, even though Edric was there. He’d not even said the words out loud to himself, and he never would. But maybe telling Megan where he was from and that he had a family once . . . maybe that was enough.
It was enough to ease the pain, at least for now.
Megan put a hand on his, giving it a soft squeeze, and then she smiled.
“Wonderboy, back again!”
Megan and Wolfgang piled into the plane as Edric appeared from the aft cabin. He stood next to the minibar, his face still bruised and battered, but a light in his eyes that Wolfgang hadn’t seen in a while. The interior of the jet was warm, with soft yellow lights and inviting leather seats so comfortable that Wolfgang wanted to crash down and fall asleep right away.
The door shut behind him, and almost immediately the plane taxied to the runway. Wolfgang and Megan settled into seats and strapped themselves in as Edric poured himself a bourbon and turned a megawatt smile on
