Smoke and Mirrors (28 page)

Brad looks at his brother, then at C. “These ‘subjects’, where did you find them?”

C meets Brad’s gaze. “Some were orphans. Others were the children of unwed mothers. And a few were our own flesh and blood.”

Brad’s jaw looks like a sprung trap. His tendons are bulging, and I figure his teeth are going to crack. I touch his arm and ask the question for him. “Did Brad’s father give Mikhail to the program? Is that why his mother killed herself? Is that why you’ve always taken an interest in him? Why you’ve made certain Mikhail had a fighting chance?”

C straightens his coat, brushing the lapels over his scarf. “Glad to see my tearing out papers in his file didn’t stop you guessing the truth. Not quite though. Two agents raised Brad until he was seven. His father was not killed in Russia. His mother did not commit suicide. And he is, as you guessed, not Mikhail’s half-brother.”

This time, Mikhail looks like he’s gonna blow. They’re standing side by side staring at him, and then it all clicks.

“You’re their father, aren’t you?” I gasp, and C sighs, his eyes answer enough. “You had fraternal twin boys and agreed to make them ‘subjects’ in your bloody game. You let them think,” I pause, not really knowing what Mikhail’s life has been like. “You let
them
think their father was tortured and killed; that Brad’s mother shot herself?”

C frowns at my choice of words. “I did what I thought was right. You boys never wanted for anything. In fact,” he continues, “if you think about it, nothing has really happened to you. You didn’t lose your father, and you’ve both became outstandingly productive British agents. By your own choices, I might add. Now, I have to be back in London; so if you don’t mind, I’ll need someone to drive me to the airport.”

We all look at him incredulously. “Fine,” he says, as if thinking that would be the case all along, “I’ll call a taxi. Parker, may I use my mobile?”

I hand it back to him after looking to Brad for help. He offers me nothing but a blank stare.

A few seconds later, C clicks end.

“Does Alasdair know?” I wonder.

“Not that Brad has a twin. He knows about the program, but doesn’t know specific names.”

Brad’s hands shake. “Did you have Ivan kill Nigel and Sammy because Nigel found out about Mikhail or the program?”

C’s eyes grow hard. “That was Ivan’s doing. He guessed Sam’s father and Nigel weren’t who they claimed to be. He was behind the hit on Vasiliv too. I’m glad you got him and that bastard, Roberts. We had begun to think something was up with him. Jared, his DIF, had informed me that Roberts wasn’t accounting for all his time, and his debriefings were garnering us less and less Intel. Actually, Parker, you helped us figure that out.”

I must look puzzled, because he taps his nose. “The scent thing. One of the officers from Scotland Yard picked up a few cigarettes by a phone booth around the corner from the church. They were Russian. Sobranies. We discovered Roberts smoked them. He was the one who switched the fuel in the car that killed Sammy and Nigel. Anything else?”

Brad’s pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger, hoping to force back tears.

Mikhail says. “Who was our mother?”

C smiles. “My only real love. A concert pianist who spoke five languages. A woman I would gladly have grown old with. Unfortunately, she died from complications that arose during your birth. It was a very bad time for me.”

The light from an incoming taxi shines through the snowy windowpane.

C moves for the door as he pulls on his leather gloves.

“Did Agent Roberts know Brad and Mikhail were related?” I ask.

“He only saw Brad that one time, outside the church. I don’t think it ever even occurred to him that they resembled one another. That’s the main reason I was certain Brad died.” He looks at his sons. “A compliment to you both.”

I feel sick. C is being too blithe about the whole thing. But time stops for no woman’s angst, so I say, “Where did the money go that you had Jack transfer?”

C seems pleased I’ve finally figured out Jack was working for him all along.
We’ll make it another ‘Jack Kingston’ funeral.
“Most of it went to the treasury to help pay for military and clandestine endeavors and part of it went to buy back the estate sold to The National Trust.” He shoots a glance Brad’s way. “A nice gesture on behalf of Nigel and Samantha, but one you really weren’t allowed to make. Not that you knew you couldn’t or shouldn’t have sold it, Brad. It was never really yours.”

“That’s stealing,” Brad says, his emotions finally suppressed.

C clicks his tongue. “What were we going to do with drug money? Give it back to the addicts who paid for a fix? Give it back to the Colombians so it could be squandered by another set of inept leaders? You’re a fool if you think it should have gone anywhere else.”

He pauses, hand on the door, as if recalling the photos in Jack’s apartment. “Jack always had a soft spot for ill-treated women. That’s why he poisoned Stephen’s drink. He couldn’t abide by what the man had willingly done to his wife. But Stephen was obviously too edgy to drink, or maybe he had a few more brain cells than I gave him credit for. Obviously Jack never thought Brad would drink a margarita.” He smiles, obviously pleased his son’s pick of poison is whisky. “But he didn’t count on you licking the salt off your hand.”

He gestures the rolling of time. “The gun accident was just that. Although, Brad, he did have a thing for you. I never would have gone to those lengths to disparage someone’s character. At least not someone I liked. You know, his favorite line was, ‘If wishes were horses then straight men would ride’. ”

The horn sounds, so I can’t stop to comfort Brad. “You let Jack kill Stephen and Raul, but you didn’t mean for Brad to get shot, did you?”

C looks at his son, the one he all but raised. “I never intended for Raul to die either. He would have been more useful alive. I think when Jack assumed Brad had died at Raul’s hands, he veered from the plan.

“You see, what started off as a way to stop arms and drug dealing, ended up as something else altogether. When we learned that Alberto held a huge portion of stock in the BP oil fields and that Raul owned the land the oil pipes needed to cross, it became a different game. That’s when the boys from the Department of Energy became the people to please.

“It was decided that if Alberto died, the British government could gain control of the entire oil supply. But that still meant possible terrorist attacks from EPIC. Therefore, we had to neutralize that possibility. By paying off Raul with taxes using the money we ‘inherited’ from Alberto, he would keep his men from attacking the oil lines. And what with the Middle East fiasco, Britain will have a supply of low risk oil at bargain basement prices. There is somewhere between £1.5 and £3 billion worth of oil there for the taking. Even if Colombia gets 99% of the oil value, the UK will make money on the deal and have a supply that will free us from dependency on the Middle East. It is a surprisingly good turn of events.”

Brad’s eyes flare. “It was SIS that had Raul change the plans and abduct Francesca and Parker?”

C raises an eyebrow and the two look more alike than I’d ever thought possible. “Parker did just fine. That’s why I picked her.”

“She could have died. The fuckers who killed Alberto were aiming at her too.”

“Yes, but they didn’t get her, did they? I made sure someone was watching her back the whole time.” He turns to me, “Do you remember the portion of your debriefing when you mentioned the sniper in the woods?”

“Yes.” Then I snort, my anger dissipating somewhat. “My very own ‘Felix Leiter’.”

C looks pleased. “The CIA has a vested interest in helping Colombia quell as much terrorist activity as possible. It’s part of the initiative started under Clinton’s term. Anyway, when they met with me shortly before you left for Sardinia, we made certain Enrique would be in place to help you. That way, if everything went as planned, they could issue a joint statement with the Colombian president and our government, taking credit for the demise of EPIC.”

A glimmer of a smile appears in Brad’s eyes. “I told her he could be trusted.”

“Because I let him ‘give himself away’ to you.” C isn’t too old to want the credit.

The second blast of the taxi’s horn stops us reminiscing. “When we were at the restaurant in Italy, Brad got poisoned and you had to improvise, is that when you sent Jack in?” I ask.

“Brad wasn’t supposed to get shot or poisoned, just pinned down until the briefcase and Stephen could be whisked away. I didn’t want it to get out that there was only a tracer sample in that case.” He smiles at our surprised faces. “The rumor about the uranium heist in Northern Scotland was just that, a rumor. But we needed Raul to believe he had the real thing. In the end, that became the least of my worries.”

He looks directly at me. “You always did manage to stick your nose in further than you should. Almost caught me with my trousers down on that op; took some quick thinking to pull them up. Jack was already down there to help with the uranium situation. Probably should have been a field agent himself. Anyway, I figured he could nip into Raul’s lair, steal the funds and disappear. Later, we’d announce the tech teams had been able to restore all the monies, and Raul would still have been in our pocket.” He sighs. “But then you recognized Jack.”

“It was his mouth. That and his walk.” Suddenly I remember something else Jack said. “Jack said ‘C’ not ‘See’. He was going to tell me – tell us all about your plans – but his gun.” I pause, nearly at a loss for words. “No one can think that many moves ahead.”

“It’s a game, like any other, Parker. But occasionally, playing too many games all at once has its consequences. Though, I’m a damn good player.” He looks to Brad’s brother. But Mikhail is drinking himself into oblivion, and Brad is ash white, the revelations just too much for him to process, and so neither man answers.

C winks at me like we’re watching a vaudeville act. “Take good care of him for me, won’t you?”

I nod, quiet at last.

“Boys.” He turns on his heel leaving a little patch of melting snow on the faded rug.

Brad and Mikhail make no effort to stop him.

The door closes, and I hear C’s steps crunch toward the taxi. Then it hits me. It can’t be a coincidence. It never was. I race for the door and make it just as he’s getting in.

“I’m a part of it, aren’t I? Only they never seemed very interested in me, my parents that is. I had foreign nannies who refused to let me speak English. I learned archery, was coached to be super competitive –”

“Yes,” C says before shutting the car door.

My world is spinning. Once I thought I knew who I was, knew why I was the way I was. But now?

Oh, God. What the hell is real?

The taxi pulls away, and then stops, red lights casting a bloody glare on the snow. C opens the door and walks back to me. “I want you to know I love them both. But I love Brad the most because he’s exactly like her. It’s why he probably won’t return to SIS even though he can. And it’s why Mikhail will continue after he’s taken some time off.” He brushes a snowflake from his nose and smiles down at me.

“I don’t think you’ll miss us either, Dr. Brothers. And I’m quite sure you’ll make life interesting wherever you two go.” He kisses me on the forehead and leaves for good.

I stand there in numb shock until Brad comes out and scoops me into his bear-like embrace. I think he knows what C’s told me. Knows I’m in the quicksand with him.

Wishing I’d had some of the vodka, I drop my head to his shoulder, exhausted. “Jack was the one who told you about my rape, wasn’t he?”

I feel Brad’s mouth hot against my temple. “It was wrong of me not to tell you – well, tell you appropriately, that is.” He pauses, “It’s not an excuse, mind you. But it is a big part of why I couldn’t get my head around you doing this job. From the start, I was already terrified something could happen to you again. I couldn’t bear it –
can’t
bear the thought of someone hurting you.”

Without telling me, I know his thoughts have turned once more to Sammy and Nigel.

“Is that why you faked your death, why you didn’t let me help?” With everything topsy-turvy, I need to know something is certain. I want to know if he is going to leave me again.

He nods, mouth grim, but there’s an inconsistent flash in his gaze. “I panicked after what you said and figured you’d be safer at your old job in London.”

“You figured wrong,” I mumble.

His tongue touches the edge of my ear, and I hear him chuckle. “I’m very glad you didn’t shoot to kill today.”

“Yes, you are,” I murmur against his parting lips. “But if you ever try something like that again, it won’t be an illusion.”

Holy freaking shit!
I thump his chest, my body suddenly rigid.
An illusion!

“What is it?” He’s glancing around, his hands protective as hell.

“A loose manhole cover!” I shout; my feet and hands are doing crazy things as I try to make him understand.

He turns fast, heading back toward the daycare center, mumbling about latent shock.

“No, listen.” I finally manage to drop to the ground and clutch frantically at his jacket. “I
tripped
over a loose manhole cover outside of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

For a second, he’s lost in the growing swirls of snow and my bizarre statement. Then, he shakes his head slowly from side to side. “That cunning bastard,” he says at last. And a smile of infinite possibilities lights his darkened face. “I’m going to fucking kill him, when I finally find them.”

Then, because hope is as much an aphrodisiac as any, and we both know you can’t kill a dead man, his mouth crashes into mine. There’s a warm spot glowing inside me despite my alcohol deprivation.

Between his fiery kisses, I manage to ask, “What were you going to say back in the warehouse?”

His mouth moves toward my cold ear and bites it softly. “The same thing you told me the day I left – that I love you.” Then he chuckles, adding, “That I was lost from the moment you stuck that bloody needle in me.”

I lift my head, relieved beyond words, and look squarely into his smoky eyes. “It’s about fucking time.”