McCall took the scenic route home, driving around the park and then the Village. No one followed him. Of course, there was no point in following him, now that the girl was gone. The truth was that he wanted time to not think. To not be alone in the quiet and consider all that had happened, all that still had to happen.
They had believed her, Olford and the others. They had not followed her, at least not yet. And he knew this about Lily Romanov: She could hide better than any person he had ever known, himself included. If they had trailed her from the moment she left the office, they might have had a chance. But they hadn't, and she was gone.
One down. One to go.
He sighed deeply and pulled the Jaguar into his parking garage. When it was parked and locked, he opened the trunk and brought out the grocery bag. Just an ordinary brown bag, the kind one might use to carry home eggs and bread and cream for breakfast. This particular brown bag, however, was stuffed with half of the Company's petty cash.
In a few weeks, James Simms would move into a new apartment, one suited to the security demands of his new office. Mickey Kostmayer would go there, in secret and alone, and install a rather large safe. Then McCall would visit, also in secret and alone, and deposit the cash in the safe. Ready cash, money that could not be traced and did not have to be accounted for, was absolutely crucial to a smooth-running operation. Cash on hand was critical to the success of the new Control.
Part of the money in Control's safe had been Company funds, skimmed from various operations over the years and set aside for exactly that purpose. Most of those funds had already been transferred to Simms' ownership, in a bank account that was identified only with numbers, not names. They had skimmed a little off the top, Lily and Control, for travel expenses; the rest they had left to Simms, for bribes or get-aways or whatever else he needed. But it wasn't enough, in Control's view, to make his replacement really independent. With the petty cash from the office, Simms had nearly a million dollars at his disposal. If he ran through that, he was on his own.
The newlyweds didn't need the money. Control had his 'investments' hidden all over the globe, most in numbered accounts, and Lily had access to all of them. Whether Control lived or died, she and her child would never want for anything money could buy.
Robert could not work up the energy to argue the morality of essentially hijacking Company funds. So many rules had been broken anyhow, and so many things that had no price had been lost. Take the money or leave it, he decided. And let the good Lord bless their travels.
He trudged wearily to his apartment. Though neither Control nor Lily had ever spent much time there, it seemed empty without them. The city seemed empty without them.
I am empty without them, Robert thought. Go and find your home and fill it with children. Go and find your happy ever after. I wish you all good things. But I will miss you both bitterly.
He put the money, still in the grocery bag, into his own safe. Then he went to make a lonely cup of tea.
Simms called Kostmayer in for a mission briefing late that afternoon. It was perfectly straightforward, a matter in Cyprus again. "I hate Cyprus," Mickey complained. "It sucks every time I go there."
"I know. But you're the expert. You've been there most often when it was hot."
"Yeah. I set foot in the country and it blows up in my face."
Simms nodded absently. "Do the best you can. Call for help if you need it."
Kostmayer grunted. "So what's the deal? Are you gonna be the new boss?"
"That's up to the Directors."
"Yeah. But they've already decided."
Simms nodded, just once. "Probably."
"Nice promotion."
The new likely-Control looked him squarely in the eye. "It's sweet, yes."
"Uh-huh." Mickey stood up. "In that big book of his, where he wrote 'Kostmayer = Cyprus'? Just erase that for me, huh?"
"Do what you can," Simms said again.
Kostmayer sighed. "The names change, but the game stays the same." He grumbled all the way out of the office."
Mickey passed the word casually to his wife; she passed it on to Becky McCall.
Becky visited Control that evening, as she had every second night since his stroke. He'd been somewhat more willing to eat her home cooking than the hospital food.
"I made you some pudding," she said cheerfully, though he rarely answered. "Butterscotch, right?"
He brightened a little. "eel otch?"
"Real Scotch? No. Sorry. It's a new recipe, I've never tried it before. I like the way it came out, but it's awfully sweet."
His single seeing eye lit with interest. "eet?"
"Sweet. Maybe too sweet. Here, try it."
He let her deposit a spoonful of the confection into his mouth. "eet," he confirmed.
"Too sweet?"
"ush ight."
Their careful planning and clever code words turned out to be unnecessary. Director Olford himself came to visit Control again that evening.
It was late, after visiting hours, but of course no one tried to stop the Director. The lights were dim, but Control was not sleeping when Olford walked to his bedside. He looked up with his one eye bright and sharp, the other dull and lifeless. Then he reached for his pen and wrote, 'Come to shoot me in person?'
Olford read the note and chuckled humorlessly. "I would if I could, Control. But your lover won't allow it."
Control's eye narrowed. "Lily," he pronounced with great care and difficulty.
"She came to see us today. She left with half our petty cash and all of our balls."
The patient made a noise that was either a laugh or a snort.
"She says," Olford continued, "that we're to take special care of you for the rest of your life."
"'itch."
"That was my assessment, yes." Olford paced the room slowly, calmly. "Tillman recommended a facility a few hours from here. It's quiet, secure. Very nice, he says. You're going there as soon as they can find you a bed."
There was another grunt.
"I'm not asking your opinion. It's done. But I need to know this, Control. Romanov said that if we followed her rules, she'd keep the files hidden. Can she be trusted?"
When he turned, the old spymaster was glaring at him.
"I know, I know," Olford said. "She took your files and left you helpless on the floor. But will she keep her bargain?"
Control thought about it for a very long moment. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded. Then he looked away.
"Good." He shrugged. "It's not like we had much choice. What about Simms?"
Control turned his face again toward his visitor. "Wha?'
"Simms. If the other Directors approve, and they will, I'm going to give him your job."
Again the old spy thought for a long moment, and again he nodded.
"I thought so. I have to ask, Control, what did you -" He stopped because his portable phone rang. "Excuse me," he said politely before he answered it. "Yes?" He listened for a moment. "Are you certain it's him?" Then, "When did this happen?" He waited for another brief answer. "And you're certain?" Olford shook his head. "Well. Is there any family we need to inform?"
Control picked up his pen and wrote a brief note.
"All right," Olford continued. "Make sure the other Directors are notified. I'll be on the redeye tonight, I'll handle the other details in the morning. Thank you for calling."
He tucked his phone away and turned back to Control. "Unfortunate. It seems that Jason Masur took the afternoon flight back to Washington. He was picked up at the airport by an acquaintance, a Serbian national. And they've had a tragic car accident."
Control blinked. "Oo urvivorsh?"
"No survivors. Very sad. Very sad."
The spy grunted. "'uspect."
"Me?" Olford shook his head. "I suppose I might be a suspect, yes. But fortunately I was here in New York, visiting a sick friend when the accident occurred."
The right side of Control's mouth turned up in a bitter smile. "'ice."
"Yes. Well. I should be on my way. I don't know that I'll see you again, Control. It has been a privilege and an education to work with you."
The piercing blue eye said that Control was not impressed by the brief show of sentiment. He pushed his note toward the Director. "Shimmsh."
"For Simms?"
"Yesh."
Olford picked up the note and read it. "'Good luck. Don't sleep with couriers.' Sound advice, I'm sure." He tucked the note into his pocket. "I was going to ask you, Control, how in the hell a man as intelligent as you got involved in something as stupid as an affair with a courier."
Again Control turned his face away.
"I was going to ask, but I don't need to now. I sat across the table from her today. She played me like a cheap drum. She wasn't afraid of me. She wasn't afraid of any of us. All these very powerful men around the table, and she didn't give a damn. It was very – attractive. Irresistible."
The Director shrugged. "It was a damn stupid thing, Control. But I might have done the same thing."
Control looked back, his mouth twisted in bitterness. "It 'idn't en well."
"No. I guess it didn't."
Olford started out, but stopped at the door.
"What was in my file, Control?"
For a moment, Control studied him. Then he said, "aygo."
"San Diego?"
"Esh."
"I thought so. Miserable bitch never could keep her mouth shut."
Olford thought, as he left the room, that he heard Control chuckle behind him.
Five days later, Lily Romanov stood at the foot of her grave and stared blankly at the headstone.
No, not her grave. Rose Shepherd's grave. There had been no body to bury in it, but they'd given her her own plot and a headstone anyhow. It was beautiful.
There were no weeds on the grave. The grass was neatly trimmed about the gleaming white marker. It was large, with fancy elegant angels carves on its face. There was a miniature bush at each corner, neatly trimmed. Probably covered with roses, come summer.
Lily couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry or throw up.
She heard a car behind her, but didn't bother to look up. She was only feet from the road; cars came and went, doors opened and closed. Suddenly there was a voice at her elbow. "Excuse me, Miss?"
Lily jumped and spun. A sheriff's deputy stood five feet away, his feet wide, his weight balanced,. He'd been startled by her turn; his right hand rested on his gun, still in its holster.
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "You startled me."
"Yes, ma'am, sorry about that." His hand came up from the gun, rested on his hip. "That your car over there?" He gestured towards the edge of the road, where his patrol car was parked behind her rental.
The woman nodded. "It's a rental. Avis. I have all the paperwork and everything in the car, if you want to see it."
The deputy shook his head. "That's okay. It's just we don't see many out-of-state plates around here. You lost?"
With a little start, Lily realized that she recognized the man. He was about her age, maybe a little younger. Motts, his name badge said. Jeff Motts? She frowned, concentrating. No, Jeff was a little older than her. His younger brother was George. Unless this was Henry, who was younger still …
He was still staring at her with official, patient concern.
"I'm not lost," she answered. "At least, I don't think so." She pointed back up the road. "North there, I can get back in the freeway?"
"Yes, ma'am." He didn't want to come right out and ask what this stranger was doing in his part of the county; she wasn't doing anything illegal. But he wasn't leaving until he got an answer, either.
Lily wondered if he thought he recognized her, too.
"I'm on my way to Atlanta," she explained. "My brother's getting married this weekend. But I started feeling a little queasy, I thought I'd better stop and get some air. This was such a pretty little cemetery … I'm not trespassing, am I? I didn't mean to."
"No, no, you're fine," the deputy assured her. Lily could see him relax, mostly satisfied with her explanation. "Long drive, to Atlanta."
She smirked. "He just made up his mind on Monday. I tried to get a flight, but everything was booked or they wanted a thousand dollars for tickets."
The deputy nodded back. "You haven't been drinking or anything, have you?"
Lily shook her head. "No, I'm, uh …" She brushed her hand over her lower belly, over her jacket, and shrugged.
Motts – she was pretty sure this was George – was suddenly visibly sympathetic. "Animal crackers."
"Hmmm?"
"You need animal crackers. My wife swears by them. Soda crackers are too salty. Animal crackers now, and ginger snaps later, when you get a sour stomach."
She grinned self-consciously. "I'll remember that. How many children do you have?"
"Four. Daughters. God help me."
"You could keep trying."
"Oh, sure. Then I could have five or six daughters. I never get in the bathroom as it is."
Behind them, the deputy's car radio crackled for a status report. "I gotta go," he said reluctantly. "I hope you feel better."
"Thank you."
Motts walked back to his car. "Miss?" he called. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
Lily smiled warmly at him, nodded. "Thank you," she said again.
She watched as he did an illegal u-turn and drove back the two blocks to the center of town. Then he made another turn, parked in front of the diner, and went in.
Lily turned back to the grave marker. Same old town. Same old people. She shouldn't have come here. Someone might recognize her, might at least ask questions. She was supposed to be disappearing, not re-appearing from the grave.
No. Angelic headstone aside, this town had forgotten all about Rose Shepherd and her short, cruel little life.
She still felt queasy. She walked slowly, making a casual circuit of the graveyard. Family names on old headstones; she knew them all. New graves in the baby section; John Szerinski and his wife Elizabeth (no doubt the former Beth Marzic) had lost twins last month, stillborn. Lily's hand fell to her belly again, unconsciously protective. You stay put, little one, she urged mentally. You stay, you grow. I'll try not to give you too many bumps to contend with.
She wasn't sure that her stress or grief could cause a miscarriage, but she was damn well sure that all those hormones wouldn't do her child any good. Try to stay calm, she counseled herself. Stay positive.
Okay, I'm pretty positive that the one love of my life is going to die and you will never know your father. So I brought you back to the town where the most horrible events of my life happened. Just to ramp up the misery a little. Next stop, Nicaragua.
No, she wasn't going there. And she knew herself well enough to know why she was in Black River. She was immunizing herself against grief, against despair. Reminding herself of what she'd been through, what she'd survived, so that in case Andrew died she'd know where her strength was.
That, and maybe in some impossibly naïve was she was looking for closure here.
Lily shook her head. What'd you expect, a written apology and a parade? They don't even know what happened to you.
Still, she mused, strolling back towards Rose's gleaming white headstone, it's a nice marker. They didn't have to do that.
"Hey, lady?"
Lily spun, and then looked down. A child stood at her elbow, a badly startled girl of perhaps eight or nine. She was holding out a box of animal crackers, Barnum's in the circus box. The girl swallowed uncertainly. "My dad said to give these to you."
"I'm sorry I startled you," Lily said. "You startled me."
"Sorry. Here."
Lily took the box gently. "Thank you," she said warmly. She opened the box, and the inner wax liner, and offered one to the child.
The girl thought about it, then took one and examined it. "Zebra," she announced.
Lily took out her own cracker. "Tiger," she countered, biting its head off. "What's your name?"
"Sarah Rose Mott," the girl replied briskly. "You okay? You look all white."
"Fine," Lily answered faintly. She gestured, moved to a sunny bench, and sat down.
The girl took another cracker. "Monkey," she said. "They're my favorite. The Sarah is for my Grandma Sarah," she chatted on, as if she hadn't interrupted herself, "but the Rose is for her." She gestured towards the white headstone.
"Oh." Lily felt as if her head were suddenly full of air, light and breezy and unable to form a coherent thought.
"My dad went to school with her, and my mom, too. My dad says she was the smartest girl he ever knew."
Lily took a cracker and slowly bit its head off.
"She died when she was ten years old," Sarah informed her, over still another circus animal. "In a big fire. There used to be a gas station. David Balas says they only found little pieces of bone to bury. They couldn't tell who was who, they just had to bury them all together. He's awful cute."
"David is?" Lily asked. The child's rambling had given her a moment to catch her breath, and had given her something to ground her.
"Uh-huh. He's in fifth grade."
"Older men. Always a good choice."
The girl looked sidelong at her to see if she was teasing. "You're funny."
"Hmm." Lily selected a cracker. "Monkey. Here, you have it."
"Thanks." The girl nibbled tidily at its tail. "Are you gonna have a baby? My mom eats these when she's gonna have a baby."
"So I hear." Lily picked out another cracker, a lion.
"Uh-huh," Sarah went on, ignoring the non-answer, "these at first, and then those nasty ginger snaps. They're yucky. I'll be ten next year. I hope I don't die, too."
The woman sat up straight. "What?"
Sarah sighed, exasperated at having to explain herself. "Rose died when she was ten," she repeated patiently. "I'm named for her. So I think I might die when I'm ten, too."
"Oh." Lily took a deep breath. "I don't think it works that way."
"But it might."
"I think that since Rose is your second name, you get to multiply the years. Ten times ten."
"A hundred years?" the girl mused. "I never thought about it that way." She shook her head, and in a remarkably adult voice announced, "I'm going to have to change my plans."
Lily nodded, pleased. They ate crackers slowly, in companionable silence, for several minutes.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" Sarah asked.
The woman considered. "I don't know. I've never met one. Do you?"
"Sometimes I think she's still here," the girl answered. Her voice dropped. "Sometimes I think she watches me, because I was named for her. And then when I don't know the answer in school or I screw up or something, I think she gets mad because I'm so dumb."
Lily caught her breath, and grasped the front of the bench with both hands. She wanted sharply to grab the child and hug her as tightly as she could – but that would only scare her to death. Poor thing, poor little thing, she thought miserably. She rocked slightly, considering her answer. "I don't think that's her," she finally said, carefully. "I think that's just you putting yourself down and I think you should stop it. If you knew all the answers all the time, you wouldn't need to go to school, now would you?"
The girl sniffed. "No," she finally agreed, grudgingly. "But I still think she's here."
"Maybe," Lily answered. "But I don't think she watches to see what you do wrong. I think she watches over you."
"Huh?"
Lily stalled for another tiger. "Did you ever … were you ever about to do something, and at the last minute a little voice inside your head said, 'you'll get hurt' or 'you'll get in trouble' so you didn't do it?"
"Oh, like the time Missy Schwermer dared us to jump off the top of the jungle gym? And I didn't do it and she called me a chicken, but Gina Balas did and she cracked her head open?"
Lily nodded. "She David's sister?"
"Huh? No, his cousin. But yeah, there was like a little voice then."
"Well, maybe that was Rose, trying to keep you safe."
"You think so?" Sarah asked eagerly. "Like a guardian angel?"
"Well, maybe."
"Wow."
Lily made a swift mental course correction. "But she can only do so much, you know. You've got to listen to that little voice, and you've got to think and pay attention to what's around you. And know when to ask for help."
"You really think she's watching over me?"
"If I had died young," Lily said gently, "and I had someone named for me, I wouldn't care if they did all their homework or if they flunked a math quiz. I'd just want them to be safe and happy, like I never got a chance to be. Wouldn't you?"
The girl chewed thoughtfully. "Wow. I've got a guardian angel."
Lily shifted. "It might be better if you didn't tell anybody."
"Well, yeah." Sarah looked at her as if she were crazy. "But still, wow." She peered into the circus wagon box. The last animal crackers were gone. "I gotta go," she announced suddenly. She stood and ran to the edge of the cemetery.
Lily stood and walked slowly back to Rose's grave. She hadn't expected any closure here, hadn't expected to find peace, but there it was. She was surprised at herself, and pleased with the way she'd handled the girl. Her hand strayed again to where her own child rested, a great many of her smaller fears suddenly at rest. "Maybe we'll be all right after all, little love."
"Hey." This time the girl actually tugged at her sleeve. Lily turned, and Sarah studied her face for a long, long minute. "You're her, aren't you." There was no question in her tone.
Lily took a deep breath. She couldn't lie to the child, not now, but she couldn't tell her the truth, either. What would a guardian angel say? "You are going to have such a good life," Lily promised her warmly. "Stay safe, and use your head, and the whole world will be full of wonderful things for you." She touched the stunned child's cheek, kissed her on the forehead. Then she turned and walked back to her car.
"Will I ever see you again?" Sarah called after her.
Lily turned, smiled, shook her head. No, she would never come back here. She would never need to.
She got in the car and drove on to the rest of her life.
Sarah Rose Motts turned slowly, confidently, and walked joyfully on the rest of hers.