Марк Будро

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From the moment in which Wilson told me that I needed somebody from the White House - which was the moment I decided to contact Mark - on I knew that meeting him would be hard. It would be the ultimate test for my sanity, if I can still keep myself under control, and if I'm still strong enough to face this all out.
I knew it would be painful, for him and for me.

But standing here, in his house, no: in their house is a horrible challenge. I'm surrounded by pictures on the walls, showing Audrey, with him, showing them in their holidays or together with Heller and his campaign team... even a large print of their wedding picture.

I came here and it was no mistake. No matter how hard it is to face this.

As he opened up the front door, he nearly fainted, when he saw me. He wanted to slam the door in my face, but I got my boot in and forced him to open up. He would run away, I'm sure, if he didn't have that ankle monitor that keeps him here, under house arrest.

He is afraid of me. He has every reason to.

Chloe, Belcheck and even Wilson told me that I look horrible ever since my stay in Russia. It left traces. I guess that's the impression that I give Mark as well.
His whole is body is shaking, as he is yielding backwards, away from me, into the house, while I silently close the front door behind me and start walking over to him, just as fast as he yields back. I try not to give the pictures on the wall too much attention, even though they're screaming loud at me, telling me to snatch a peek on Audrey back in her good days.

He's still yielding back. Soon he'll be in the living room.

Where do you wanna go, Mark?, I ask him, silently.

I can run away, he stammers, the police will come in a few minutes and they'll find me.

You won't run, I say, but I stop walking for a moment. He stops, too. If you leave this house you'll be thrown into prison and I guess that's not what you want. I'll just disappear and nobody would ever believe you if you tell them you've been running from me.

They would believe me, his voice is shaking as he says it.

No, they won't. We both know that. Nobody believes a person under house arrest who runs away. I can keep coming back every other night.

He knows that he has no way out.

Have you come to kill me?

I shake my head. Finally, I allow myself to look around, see some more of the pictures of Audrey which are all around.

Have you come to take revenge on me?, he asks, as if he was fearing I'd start to torture him. What a tempting thought.

Again, I shake my head, saying no, I came to talk to you.

He doesn't believe me. Talk? About what?

My simple presence is making him nervous. That I'm taking a picture of Audrey from a nearby bureau into my hand to show him that I have all the time in the world makes him even more nervous.
She has been 'dead' for half a year now. He still has pictures of her, everywhere around here. I guess he really mourns her. Most of the other things are packed into boxes which are piled up in the hallway.
Are you moving away from here?

Yes. His eyes are glued to the picture of Audrey that I have in my hands. It's an official picture of her, taken on her first work day at DoD. I've seen that one many times already.
I can't hold the house any longer, he adds.

It's a mighty big house, in one of the noblest city parts of Washington D.C.. So here he and Audrey lived. I can't help but look around. It suits her. It's like the one where she lived with Paul, years ago. I'm not so sure if I could have ever given her something like that.
Now that he's under house arrest Mark doesn't have much of an income any more to finance such luxury.

As I walk past him, into the living room, I can sense his fear. Are you expecting me to harm you?, I ask him.

He's even afraid to answer and say 'yes', what he probably thinks.

I won't.

Really?

Is it that hard to believe? He's still standing by the door to the living room, afraid to come in. I walk back over to him and when I get closer, I notice a slight smell of alcohol around him. Shall I really pity him? For losing his job and his beloved wife? No way.
I would have every right to. I lean my arm against the door frame, standing right next to him, looking into his eyes. You would not survive one single night at the places where I've been in the past half year. Russia. The place he wanted to send me to.

He swallows hard, gasping I did it for Audrey.

You did it for yourself, Mark, I hiss at him, not for her. You just did it to make sure I wouldn't take her away from you.

He answers nothing. There is no answer needed. We both know that I'm right. Finally, I push myself away from the doorframe and walk back into the living room. Have a seat, Mark, I order him, pointing at the couch.

Reluctantly, he comes over and sits down. I sit down at the piano stool, nearby. This is Audrey's grand piano. She loved to play it. I spent quite some evenings listening. Don't think back. Don't. Don't look at it, it'll just make you remember things out of your past that'd make you weak right now.

Silence entered the room. I don't quite know how to begin. What I'm about to tell him is massive. He hates me and nevertheless I'll be asking him to do something big for me.

What would you do if she was still alive?

He sadly shakes his head. Let's not go down that road, Jack, he begins, I would have never given her up without a fight.

He's not getting my point. He thinks that this is about who Audrey would have chosen, him or me. That answer is even subsidiary to me.
I have to tell him the whole story. No excuses, no omissions, no sugarcoating. Otherwise he probably won't understand.

When the Russians got me, Mark, they brought me first to Moscow and then to another prison somewhere inland, I didn't know where, I begin, resting my elbows on my knees, they sentenced me to life and threw me into a dark, windowless cell. Every now and then the guards came and took me out of there. Trust me, I have a lot of enemies in this world. They sold me to them, either letting them question me or just look away for a few hours and let them do whatever they wanted.
It is damn hard to remember all that. I have to tell Mark the whole story. I'm gonna do it for Audrey. I have to share the worst memories that I have with a person I hate. But he has to understand me: that I'm credible. That my story is no lie.
They held some kind of an auction and the three highest bidders even were allowed to transfer me into their jurisdiction for a limited period of time. The only restriction they had was not to kill me.

Why would the Russians do that?, Mark asks.

For a moment I look up, over to him. It was not the Russian government. Just the people from this prison. Corrupt ones. Just imagine how much we'd sometimes be willing to pay to get a valuable prisoner into our hands, I sigh. He looks disturbed. Disgusted. He's frozen stiff, sitting there, hearing me talk about Russia, because he feels like he's the cause of it.
First I was taken to Sengala. A few years ago, when there was this crisis with Sengala, I was also involved in fighting one of their groups. They took revenge that way... believe me, they did everything but kill me. When they brought me back to Russia I was barely alive any more. They waited until I recovered at least a bit and then the Chinese got me into their hands. I got sent to a Chinese prison. They started to torture me but I didn't even know what for, since they weren't asking any questions.
I take a deep breath and look into Mark's eyes. After a while I found out that Audrey was there. They were just torturing me to make her give up classified information.

You are lying!, Mark interrupts me. This is all too much for him to hear.

I have no reason to lie to you, Mark.

He's sitting there, in a mood that is somewhere between wanting to strangle me for saying things like that and between starting to cry, because beneath the protest, he believes me.

The things I've seen there get me into trouble ever since, Mark, I continue, People in our government knew about this for months and they decided to do nothing. They were holding her ever since London. She's alive. We tried to make a getaway from that Chinese prison, but we failed and got parted. We were both running when they closed in on us. I tried to lure them away from her and they fell for it but captured me back. I don't know if they caught Audrey again, too or if she managed to get out.

He slips over, to the end of the sofa which is closer to me, worriedly asking and where is she now?

I don't know, I breathe. It's just as loud as a whisper. He does believe me.

You lost her!, he cries, hysterically, blaming me.

I did everything I could!, I shout back at him, but he's already got to my sore spot. I've blamed my self for the past five weeks for losing her.

It was not enough!, he shouts back at me. Blind rage has washed away his fear of me.

I jump up from where I sit, rush the two yards over to him, harshly grab his throat with my left hand and push him back down into the upholstery. You have no idea of what you're still able to do after getting drugged and electrocuted, when people give you second and third degree burns by pressing red-hot glowing metal sticks onto your skin, I'm seething with anger, but I don't even know anger at who: him? The Chinese? Or simply myself for failing to stay with Audrey back there, while I'm still explaining my excuse?
If I would have gone with her, I would have only slowed her down. I sent her away and then I set the Chinese guards on the wrong track by letting them follow me.

I have to let go of him.
I ease the grab around his neck and go the few steps back over to the piano stool, sitting down again.

The silence is back. I don't wanna go on. But this time it's Mark, who asks me, How did you get out?

I didn't really get out, I sigh. The Chinese kept questioning me, after Audrey was gone. Three full days they asked me where she went. They wouldn't have asked me that if they had captured her again. This is so hard to say: but then the questioning stopped. They put me back on a train to Russia. The guards sold me again a few weeks later, but friends of mine were behind it. They tricked them and that's how I got free.

After all, I wonder: Mark never doubted my story. He's the only one so far.
I guess it's the story that leaves a chance for the thing that he hopes for most: that Audrey is alive. It's so much easier to adjust to an awkward story if it gives you a possibility for peace in your heart.

He still loves her, I can see that. Although I hate it, it's good in the end. For Audrey. That's why there are pictures of her, everywhere around here, that's why everything is already packed into boxes, ready to go, except for her grand piano, that's why he's sitting here now, listening to me.

I need your help, Mark, I say. I never though I'd say these words. I'm doing it for you, Audrey! Only for you! I don't like this man, he's a bootlicker who got into highest spheres only because of loving you.

How?, he asks.

Here, I tell him, and slide the flash drive over the desk, have a look at this evidence.

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