I Know You Love Him
Chapter 8: Affection and Love
My fault.
Your face was bruised and bloody. Your nose looked as though it had been broken at least once. You had several swollen, purple fingers that had probably been bent back during interrogation. There were deep circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. I could count your ribs, even through the heavy, rough-hewn clothing they had given you, and your skin was hanging off your bones. These things, I had expected. I had certainly not relished observing them, but I had braced myself for the shock of your physical state. What I was not ready for was the look I saw in your eyes.
Oh God, I thought. Rina, what did you say to them, what did they make you do, what did make you confess? Please be faking, please be fortifying yourself somewhere deep inside where even I can't see. They can't have broken you. You are never broken. You can't be broken. This is all my fault – why did I trust Alexander Khashinau? You were not made to be this way. I'll get you I'll get you out I'll get you out.
"You're looking well, my sister."
Your laughter quickly turned into painful spasm of coughing, and I cursed myself silently as you cursed me aloud: "Bitch."
I started the stream of inane babble I had memorized earlier. "Irina, they can't keep you here forever. Soon they will realize you could never be a traitor, and this will all be over..."
I don't remember the rest. As I spoke, I crossed my arms, desperately tapping out Morse code with the two fingers of my left hand. Freelance. You, me, Cuvee, Khashinau. Say the codeword "sting" to Cuvee and he will begin leaking you blueprints, terrain mappings, bit by bit. We'll pick you up outside the compound. Memorize the sewers. Memorize the minefield configuration. How long will you need?
You nodded absently to something stupid I was saying, but your eyes, and mind, were concentrated on my tapping fingers. When I stopped tapping, I kept talking, slower now, and you crossed your arms, taking your turn to respond. I prayed none of the guards watching on the monitors were observant enough to notice.
A year. A year? I tried not to show surprise as you continued. I need to convince them I've given up, that I'm broken. I need to memorize these plans flawlessly, and I can't do it quickly in a place like this. Give me a year from today. I'll be out of the compound by midnight. Pick me up then.
I almost nodded, and then caught myself. "... and you will be honored as the hero you are. Your name will be cleared, Irina. I know it."
I took in the irony of your twisted smile, feeling as though a fist had closed over my heart. Unfair unfair unfair after everything you did and everything you sacrificed and then these bastards accuse you of treason unfair unfair unfair –
I paused in my mental tirade as I saw your fingers tap out another word, in response to my last spoken statement. I had to bite my lip to keep my reaction in check, as I sounded it out in my head: B – U – L –L – S – H – I ...
"Your time is up."
I turned and told the guard what he could do with himself. He gave me a leer and said that he could think of someone better to do that with. His beady-eyed gaze flicked back and forth between you on one side of the bars, and me, on the other. I resisted the urge to break his neck, knowing his death would only cause more trouble for you. I hoped I would have an opportunity to kill him at a later date. I turned back to you, knowing there was nothing left to say, except "Goodbye." Something in my throat kept the word from coming out. Though I saw no blame in your eyes, no malice towards me, the phrase kept repeating in my head: My fault my fault my fault. God, I thought, I haven't felt this terrible since we were children. Since the day our parents sent you away.
My eyes moved back down to your hand, and I stiffened infinitesimally, drawing in my breath, knowing the risk your were taking by doing this in the guard's presence, even as dimwitted as he was. Quickly you spelled out love you.
Poor Irina. Your time in prison must have made you delusional. Or else, your time as Laura Bristow had made you disturbingly sentimental. Still, I found myself dangerously, foolishly, tapping out my response.
Love you too.
I never did manage to say "Goodbye."
* * * *
"I should have told you. Immediately." Alexander was giving me his 'either-genuinely-compassionate-or-a-very-good- imitation' look. It was an expression I'd gotten sick of after the first time I saw it. And after seeing you, I even felt a little guilty about the extremely enjoyable night I had just spent with him.
Told me? No? You think? Damn straight, you should of told me, you son a ...
I shrugged as I gave him a look of stone. "We need to start planning – "
"Katya, listen," he sighed. What was with this new need to explain himself to me? It's not as though I'd ever asked. I just let him know when I was pissed. "I was worried about your reaction to this ... but not for the reasons you think!" He said, as he saw my eyes glint coldly at him. No doubt, they called to his mind the light reflecting off the knife I had put to his throat yesterday. "I know you do not take actions rashly, but when it comes to Irina ... well, anyone can see how close you two are, even after years apart. I feared you would do something desperate, something that would ultimately land you in a cell next to hers. I hope you can believe that I do not relish that idea. Still, I should have trusted you to judge the situation wisely enough for yourself. All right? I admit it, I should have told you. I'm ... sorry."
I looked away. If he expected me to forgive him or something ... still, I needed him. His help to get you out of Kashmir. To set up our freelance organization. To stay one step ahead of the KGB.
I softened myself just a little bit as I met his gaze again. I have to admit, he looked contrite. But I had seen men look contrite before. Actions impressed me more than appearances. And after all, he had brought me here to see you. "What's done is done. I don't want to dwell on it. What I want is to focus is freeing my sister, and establishing our organization." He looked at me and nodded, knowing that was the closest I would come to accepting his apology. I will say that he worked very hard to help me free you. You know, Irina, I really wish you hadn't had to shoot him.
When we got you out, you looked even worse, but the spark in your eyes, your exhilaration at having outwitted your jailers – that was all I needed to see to know you were going to be all right. We almost triggered a land mine on the way out, but we made it. Cuvee had sent Alexander and I 'on assignment,' and had arranged for fairly comfortable living arrangements for us in the city of Tai Pei. We were supposed to wait until you "recovered" before starting to build up our organization. Of course, you wanted to get going as soon as your feet touched ground in the city, but I forced you to take it easy for a while, at least physically. With the help of both men, we managed to stay ahead of the KGB as we established ties to organized crime, accumulated wealth, and gained a well-deserved reputation for our fiercely efficient professionalism. By the time they had discovered us, the Soviet Union was already dead. Besides your obsession with obtaining Rambaldi artifacts – which you still have not explained to my satisfaction, do you know how sick I am of hearing you say "Truth Takes time?" – we dealt in the usual: weapons, extortion, blackmail ... except now what we were doing was not officially sanctioned, and hence was morally unjust. I have to laugh, looking back on how patriotic we used to be. They had brainwashed us, propagandized us, but when it wore off, all I could think was, how could I have been so stupid? I know you felt the same. You had bled out your soul for mother Russia, drop by excruciating drop, and you had been repaid with torture, imprisonment, and the label of 'traitor.' You could not go back to the life you had forged in America, and you could not pretend to have any remaining loyalty to your country. Like you, I have no delusions of goodness – I know what I am: a selfish, amoral creature. But that doesn't mean I am incapable of love, or sacrifice. I always take care of my own. And I know that, at least in this, you and I are the same. That is why you killed him. Alexander. Khashinau, I mean. I know why you had to. He never made any pretenses about being loyal to us above and beyond all other, selfish concerns. When we began our work, you gravitated toward the position of leader naturally, and he didn't seem to mind much. In fact, he told me that he had obtained more than his fill of experience as "upper-level management" back home, and had no desire to reprise the role in an unofficial capacity. Still, I think a part of him was resentful, having to take direction from a woman, however politely or charmingly you sometimes chose to phrase your orders. The fact that he liked you, and continued to be intimate with me, did not deter him from dreaming up plans for his own organization, one that could potentially challenge yours someday, if he could keep possession of "The Bible," and convince our contacts that he was the one they should come to, not you. Even knowing all this as I do, a small part of me still wishes you had not done it. In our world, he is – he was – what I would call a good man. He was not unnecessarily cruel, he did not delight in makings others suffer; he was not unfeeling. He showed what little compassion he could towards my niece, your daughter, not knowing what you would chose to do when Cuvee told you to "put a bullet" in your child. I remember when you told me about killing him. First, you told me about your "plan" to turn yourself in. After attempting to verify your sanity several times at the top of my lungs, and through a few half-hearted kicks to your head, I resigned myself to the fact that you were determined to go through with this. I winced mentally as you broached the next subject. "Katya. About Khashinau –" "Rina, I am no fool. You did what you had to do. I understand." "You didn't ... love him ... did you?" "What?" I had been contemplating my fingernails. My head snapped up. "Oh ... I," I tried a laugh, decided it wasn't working for me, and gave up. "No, no. No. I just had a bit of a soft spot for him is all. I mean, after all these, I certainly grew ... attached. But love? No." You looked at me thoughtfully "I am still sorry I had to do it." You smiled slightly. "He never did, um, sleep with me, you know." "Oh well, thanks for that." I said dryly. "Hey, it wasn't for lack of trying. Err, I mean flirting," you amended hastily, as I gave you a dagger-eyed look. "He was genuinely loyal to you, Katya, in that way." I shook my head, trying to clear it. We are what we are. Nothing more, nothing less. "Be careful, Irina. I will be watching. If your plan should fail, you know where to find me, should you need an extraction." We had discussed the details of this earlier. You wrapped me in one of your rare, bone-crushing hugs. With any luck, I thought, you will soon be able to give one of these to Sydney. As for your husband, well, that is an entirely different matter. I don't think I could wish you enough luck in regards to that. "Are you sure you aren't upset with me about Khashinau?" "If I were, don't you think you would know it?" I smirked as I returned your hug. "Get out of here already. I'll keep things in order for you," I said, referring to our organization. At that time, what I controlled was almost an organization in itself, but it was still tied to all your operations. I realized I would need to strengthen the old bonds if I wanted to keep things running smoothly while you were gone. No worries there. I was always up for a challenge. And really, I am fine about Alexander. I mean Khashinau. Affection is affection. It is not love. I am not like you, Irina. I have never been in love with a man. And don't you even try to deny it. I am your sister, Rina. How could I not know the truth?
Chapter 8: Affection and Love
My fault.
Your face was bruised and bloody. Your nose looked as though it had been broken at least once. You had several swollen, purple fingers that had probably been bent back during interrogation. There were deep circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. I could count your ribs, even through the heavy, rough-hewn clothing they had given you, and your skin was hanging off your bones. These things, I had expected. I had certainly not relished observing them, but I had braced myself for the shock of your physical state. What I was not ready for was the look I saw in your eyes.
Oh God, I thought. Rina, what did you say to them, what did they make you do, what did make you confess? Please be faking, please be fortifying yourself somewhere deep inside where even I can't see. They can't have broken you. You are never broken. You can't be broken. This is all my fault – why did I trust Alexander Khashinau? You were not made to be this way. I'll get you I'll get you out I'll get you out.
"You're looking well, my sister."
Your laughter quickly turned into painful spasm of coughing, and I cursed myself silently as you cursed me aloud: "Bitch."
I started the stream of inane babble I had memorized earlier. "Irina, they can't keep you here forever. Soon they will realize you could never be a traitor, and this will all be over..."
I don't remember the rest. As I spoke, I crossed my arms, desperately tapping out Morse code with the two fingers of my left hand. Freelance. You, me, Cuvee, Khashinau. Say the codeword "sting" to Cuvee and he will begin leaking you blueprints, terrain mappings, bit by bit. We'll pick you up outside the compound. Memorize the sewers. Memorize the minefield configuration. How long will you need?
You nodded absently to something stupid I was saying, but your eyes, and mind, were concentrated on my tapping fingers. When I stopped tapping, I kept talking, slower now, and you crossed your arms, taking your turn to respond. I prayed none of the guards watching on the monitors were observant enough to notice.
A year. A year? I tried not to show surprise as you continued. I need to convince them I've given up, that I'm broken. I need to memorize these plans flawlessly, and I can't do it quickly in a place like this. Give me a year from today. I'll be out of the compound by midnight. Pick me up then.
I almost nodded, and then caught myself. "... and you will be honored as the hero you are. Your name will be cleared, Irina. I know it."
I took in the irony of your twisted smile, feeling as though a fist had closed over my heart. Unfair unfair unfair after everything you did and everything you sacrificed and then these bastards accuse you of treason unfair unfair unfair –
I paused in my mental tirade as I saw your fingers tap out another word, in response to my last spoken statement. I had to bite my lip to keep my reaction in check, as I sounded it out in my head: B – U – L –L – S – H – I ...
"Your time is up."
I turned and told the guard what he could do with himself. He gave me a leer and said that he could think of someone better to do that with. His beady-eyed gaze flicked back and forth between you on one side of the bars, and me, on the other. I resisted the urge to break his neck, knowing his death would only cause more trouble for you. I hoped I would have an opportunity to kill him at a later date. I turned back to you, knowing there was nothing left to say, except "Goodbye." Something in my throat kept the word from coming out. Though I saw no blame in your eyes, no malice towards me, the phrase kept repeating in my head: My fault my fault my fault. God, I thought, I haven't felt this terrible since we were children. Since the day our parents sent you away.
My eyes moved back down to your hand, and I stiffened infinitesimally, drawing in my breath, knowing the risk your were taking by doing this in the guard's presence, even as dimwitted as he was. Quickly you spelled out love you.
Poor Irina. Your time in prison must have made you delusional. Or else, your time as Laura Bristow had made you disturbingly sentimental. Still, I found myself dangerously, foolishly, tapping out my response.
Love you too.
I never did manage to say "Goodbye."
* * * *
"I should have told you. Immediately." Alexander was giving me his 'either-genuinely-compassionate-or-a-very-good- imitation' look. It was an expression I'd gotten sick of after the first time I saw it. And after seeing you, I even felt a little guilty about the extremely enjoyable night I had just spent with him.
Told me? No? You think? Damn straight, you should of told me, you son a ...
I shrugged as I gave him a look of stone. "We need to start planning – "
"Katya, listen," he sighed. What was with this new need to explain himself to me? It's not as though I'd ever asked. I just let him know when I was pissed. "I was worried about your reaction to this ... but not for the reasons you think!" He said, as he saw my eyes glint coldly at him. No doubt, they called to his mind the light reflecting off the knife I had put to his throat yesterday. "I know you do not take actions rashly, but when it comes to Irina ... well, anyone can see how close you two are, even after years apart. I feared you would do something desperate, something that would ultimately land you in a cell next to hers. I hope you can believe that I do not relish that idea. Still, I should have trusted you to judge the situation wisely enough for yourself. All right? I admit it, I should have told you. I'm ... sorry."
I looked away. If he expected me to forgive him or something ... still, I needed him. His help to get you out of Kashmir. To set up our freelance organization. To stay one step ahead of the KGB.
I softened myself just a little bit as I met his gaze again. I have to admit, he looked contrite. But I had seen men look contrite before. Actions impressed me more than appearances. And after all, he had brought me here to see you. "What's done is done. I don't want to dwell on it. What I want is to focus is freeing my sister, and establishing our organization." He looked at me and nodded, knowing that was the closest I would come to accepting his apology. I will say that he worked very hard to help me free you. You know, Irina, I really wish you hadn't had to shoot him.
When we got you out, you looked even worse, but the spark in your eyes, your exhilaration at having outwitted your jailers – that was all I needed to see to know you were going to be all right. We almost triggered a land mine on the way out, but we made it. Cuvee had sent Alexander and I 'on assignment,' and had arranged for fairly comfortable living arrangements for us in the city of Tai Pei. We were supposed to wait until you "recovered" before starting to build up our organization. Of course, you wanted to get going as soon as your feet touched ground in the city, but I forced you to take it easy for a while, at least physically. With the help of both men, we managed to stay ahead of the KGB as we established ties to organized crime, accumulated wealth, and gained a well-deserved reputation for our fiercely efficient professionalism. By the time they had discovered us, the Soviet Union was already dead. Besides your obsession with obtaining Rambaldi artifacts – which you still have not explained to my satisfaction, do you know how sick I am of hearing you say "Truth Takes time?" – we dealt in the usual: weapons, extortion, blackmail ... except now what we were doing was not officially sanctioned, and hence was morally unjust. I have to laugh, looking back on how patriotic we used to be. They had brainwashed us, propagandized us, but when it wore off, all I could think was, how could I have been so stupid? I know you felt the same. You had bled out your soul for mother Russia, drop by excruciating drop, and you had been repaid with torture, imprisonment, and the label of 'traitor.' You could not go back to the life you had forged in America, and you could not pretend to have any remaining loyalty to your country. Like you, I have no delusions of goodness – I know what I am: a selfish, amoral creature. But that doesn't mean I am incapable of love, or sacrifice. I always take care of my own. And I know that, at least in this, you and I are the same. That is why you killed him. Alexander. Khashinau, I mean. I know why you had to. He never made any pretenses about being loyal to us above and beyond all other, selfish concerns. When we began our work, you gravitated toward the position of leader naturally, and he didn't seem to mind much. In fact, he told me that he had obtained more than his fill of experience as "upper-level management" back home, and had no desire to reprise the role in an unofficial capacity. Still, I think a part of him was resentful, having to take direction from a woman, however politely or charmingly you sometimes chose to phrase your orders. The fact that he liked you, and continued to be intimate with me, did not deter him from dreaming up plans for his own organization, one that could potentially challenge yours someday, if he could keep possession of "The Bible," and convince our contacts that he was the one they should come to, not you. Even knowing all this as I do, a small part of me still wishes you had not done it. In our world, he is – he was – what I would call a good man. He was not unnecessarily cruel, he did not delight in makings others suffer; he was not unfeeling. He showed what little compassion he could towards my niece, your daughter, not knowing what you would chose to do when Cuvee told you to "put a bullet" in your child. I remember when you told me about killing him. First, you told me about your "plan" to turn yourself in. After attempting to verify your sanity several times at the top of my lungs, and through a few half-hearted kicks to your head, I resigned myself to the fact that you were determined to go through with this. I winced mentally as you broached the next subject. "Katya. About Khashinau –" "Rina, I am no fool. You did what you had to do. I understand." "You didn't ... love him ... did you?" "What?" I had been contemplating my fingernails. My head snapped up. "Oh ... I," I tried a laugh, decided it wasn't working for me, and gave up. "No, no. No. I just had a bit of a soft spot for him is all. I mean, after all these, I certainly grew ... attached. But love? No." You looked at me thoughtfully "I am still sorry I had to do it." You smiled slightly. "He never did, um, sleep with me, you know." "Oh well, thanks for that." I said dryly. "Hey, it wasn't for lack of trying. Err, I mean flirting," you amended hastily, as I gave you a dagger-eyed look. "He was genuinely loyal to you, Katya, in that way." I shook my head, trying to clear it. We are what we are. Nothing more, nothing less. "Be careful, Irina. I will be watching. If your plan should fail, you know where to find me, should you need an extraction." We had discussed the details of this earlier. You wrapped me in one of your rare, bone-crushing hugs. With any luck, I thought, you will soon be able to give one of these to Sydney. As for your husband, well, that is an entirely different matter. I don't think I could wish you enough luck in regards to that. "Are you sure you aren't upset with me about Khashinau?" "If I were, don't you think you would know it?" I smirked as I returned your hug. "Get out of here already. I'll keep things in order for you," I said, referring to our organization. At that time, what I controlled was almost an organization in itself, but it was still tied to all your operations. I realized I would need to strengthen the old bonds if I wanted to keep things running smoothly while you were gone. No worries there. I was always up for a challenge. And really, I am fine about Alexander. I mean Khashinau. Affection is affection. It is not love. I am not like you, Irina. I have never been in love with a man. And don't you even try to deny it. I am your sister, Rina. How could I not know the truth?