“She saw my mom,” I say, because, really, it’s the only thing that matters. “She saw my mom and then my mom died. I have to go.”
Alexei and Rosie are loading the cars, both the one we got at the station and the one we found in the garage. We won’t come back here, I know. No matter what happens today, tomorrow we’ll move on. We have one shot.
When Megan comes up, I’m half-afraid of what she’s going to say. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” I brace myself for another you-don’t-have-to-do-this pep talk. Only Rosie seems to think this is an excellent idea.
But when Megan turns back to me I don’t quite recognize the worry in her eyes.
“Alexei’s going to have to give his real name,” Megan says, and the words knock me off guard. “He’ll have to give them his real name and then maybe—maybe—they’ll let him in. He can’t hide in there. He’s going to be on the grid. And you’re going to be with him.”
I wasn’t expecting this particular argument, and maybe that’s why I stand for a moment, totally unsure what to say.
“I have to go,” I reply, because it’s a reflex now.
“They might not let you in anyway,” Megan says. “I mean, if the place is as legendary as Alexei says, then we don’t know what to expect. But I’m gonna see if I can hack in and make it seem like you’ve got clearance. That is, if their systems are hackable. I mean, that place looks pretty analog, but I’m gonna try. Don’t worry. About getting in, I mean.”
I’ve never heard Megan talk so fast or look so worried. I know she hasn’t even gotten to the good part.
“But, Grace …” she starts slowly. “If Karina is … I mean, since she’s in there, there’s a chance she might be …”
“It’s okay, Megan,” I say, taking pity on her. “I’m fluent in crazy.”
“That’s not what I mean. It’s just … she could be one of them—the royal family or the Society or whoever is behind this. Or she could be in there because of them. We don’t know. But we do know that your mom came here and then she died, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. That’s why I’m saying one more time that you don’t have to go in there.”
I look across the yard at where Alexei stands, waiting by the car. “That’s why I’m saying that I do.”
The car is older than we are. By a lot. I imagine the CIA probably stashed it here about the same time the Berlin Wall came down. But it’s ours now, and we’re grateful to have it.
Alexei is silent as he drives. The stick shift is rusty and the gears grind as we crest the hill and look down at the stark gray building that lies in the small valley.
He’s stoic and calm, utterly competent in all that he does. Even this—driving a car that’s twice as old as he is, down a beat-up road, on his way to confront the woman he used to love—seems natural for him. I almost wish he’d mess up, skip a beat. Times like this it would be nice to have proof that he is human.
But we both stay quiet as we reach the valley and drive toward the chain-link fences.
The guards meet us in the road. We’re still thirty feet from the gates, and these guys are excited. I guess they don’t see a lot of action. Today is special, I can tell. They’re going to replay this interaction for years, or so it seems, as Alexei slowly cranks down the dirty window on the driver’s side of the car.
“Zdravstvujtye,” Alexei says.
The guards rattle off something in Russian, the words like a blur I can’t even start to understand, but I nod and smile and try to act like it’s also my mother tongue.
Alexei makes a terse reply, but I tell myself that doesn’t mean much. Everything sounds terse in Russian.
Then one of the guards snaps something, hand outstretched, and I know he’s asking for our papers, our IDs. I know this is the point of no return. I could tell Alexei to turn around. We can still pretend we’re just a couple of kids out for a drive, lost and looking for a thrill.
We can still turn back.
Alexei looks at me, our gazes lock, and I know what this is costing him. I also know he’s not here for himself or his mother. He’s here for me.
The guard grunts something and holds his hand out again, so I nod at Alexei.
Alexei hands him his passport. It’s a black one, but these guys don’t know the significance of that, that Alexei is important, protected. They just look at each other as if they’re not quite sure what to do.
They stop arguing after a minute and just stare at us.
Alexei rattles something off—I’m pretty sure it’s the Russian equivalent of Well, what are you waiting for? But the guards just snicker. One of them leans down, rests an elbow in the open window, and eyes the two of us. When he speaks again, I don’t have to be fluent in Russian to know what he’s saying.
I know exactly what I’m doing as I pull a wad of cash out of my pocket and shove it in the guard’s direction.
He straightens and counts it, smiles as he hands Alexei back his passport, then waves at his friends to let us in.
“Do I want to know how much that just cost us?” Alexei asks under his breath as we drive through the gates.