Chapter 24
It was going to be another hot, bright, glorious day.
Davey and I made our tenth and final lap around the track, and slowed from our slow run to a fast walk as we began to cool down. Both of us were wearing the red and gold sweat suits of ASU, as we normally did on our morning run. There were a few other students around, but most of them stayed far away from us.
“It’s going to be hot, today.” Davey said in Russian. It had been four weeks since the last time we spoke English, just before getting on the plane that brought us here, to
Now though, a young man no older than us, wearing the uniform of the
You’d almost think we were all spies or something.
“Who is doing the guest lecture today?” I asked Davey as I stretched out while we turned back towards the ‘dormitory’ we American students shared. It was more like an Army barracks, a piss-poor one at that. Whoever said communists didn’t know anything about making a buck got it wrong, considering the outrageous amount we’d paid for ‘lodging’ in a barracks the Army would consider sub-standard.
“A man named Verakov.” Davey said with a shrug. “I heard he is some sort of economist or something. Professor Vernon wasn’t sure.”
“Another lecture about the great triumphs of the working people.” I said with a little eye roll. He laughed at the comment and shook his head.
“They do beat the drum a lot.” Davey said in what was probably a mangled translation of an American expression. We were studying ‘conversational’ Russian, and learning just how much even our education was lacking when it came to sounding like a native.
“Verakov.” I said with a frown as we neared the barracks. “Didn’t we meet him at that party two weeks ago? He’s older, in his sixth decade.”
“Yes, I think we did.” Davey said with a frown for whoever was watching or listening. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. We had indeed met our target two weeks ago, and the man had not taken his eyes off of Davey for the rest of the night. Two days later we noticed a few new faces in the entourage that followed us whenever we left campus. We entered the building where most of our fellow students were just getting up, endured the cold showers since hot water never seemed to work, and quickly got dressed for the day. One lesson learned early on was to make sure our clothes were firmly locked up. Brad Wilson had lost three pairs of jeans because he didn’t lock his locker.
Our American Professor met us in the dining hall where we were subjected to food that was about the same as could be expected in any cafeteria, and took the regulatory head count along with one of his Russian colleagues. After Jennifer Armstrong had managed to sneak out one night with a young comrade, they were extra careful about making sure we were all where we were supposed to be.
The morning propaganda began after breakfast with a course in ‘Reading Russian Literature’. Naturally all the material we were reading dealt with Marxism/Leninism, as currently defined by the Communist Party of the
It had created a slight rift between us and the other American students who sometimes sniggered at the material we were given to read, but it set what we thought might be the right image. We had to be careful to not go overboard with the whole thing, but to keep it believable. Obviously we were well-watched as a group here on campus, but whether anyone took really detailed notes on us we weren’t sure of yet.
“Today we have a special guest who will be able to answer a few of the questions posed by comrade Jones and comrade Breckenridge.” Professor Natasha Borisnaya Karesova said proudly. She was a tall woman, with brown hair and a well-connected father. On the first day of class she had proudly told us that he worked at the KGB. Professor Vernon had warned us that her father didn’t just work there, but was very senior in that organization’s structure. “I am honored to welcome to my classroom, Deputy Assistant Mikhail Markovich Verakov.”
Davey barely hid the smile that flittered onto his face as we clapped for the man who entered the room. He was old, in his sixties and looked older yet. Verakov had straight, white hair that oddly enough reminded me of Davey’s hair as he grew older in the last timeline. Almost, looking at this man, I could believe he was Davey’s real father. The only thing was, I knew for a fact that Davey was the son of David Jones Sr. There could never be any doubt of that in my mind.
“I understand this class has asked questions on how the Five-Year plan handles consumer products.” Verakov said, in Russian of course. His eyes were latched onto Davey already, and the entire time he spoke, his eyes never wandered far from my husband, even when others were asking questions. His answers, truth to tell, were not very illuminating, and certainly nothing important enough that the
“Comrade Jones, can you give me a moment of your time, please?” Verakov asked politely, and several other students paused to look at Davey before pushing past him. “You may remember, we met several weeks ago.”
“I remember, sir.” Davey said politely. Verakov’s gaze flickered in recognition that I was standing behind and slightly to the right of Davey.
“This would be your friend, Brian Breckenridge.” Verakov stated, more than asked. “I understand the two of you often come as a pair.”
“True.” Davey said while trying not to laugh at the double entendre of those words. The slight flutter of Verakov’s lips made me wonder if maybe he’d intended them that way. Every time I’d seen the man so far, his eyes had looked haunted, but now, there was something else there. “What can we do for you, sir?”
“Please, call me Mikhail.” The older man said politely. “I was curious. Where are you from?”
“I attend
“No, no, I know which school you attend, but where were you born?” Verakov asked.
“I was born in
“I know where this
“Seriously?” Davey said in a tone that expressed disbelief.
“Yes, yes, in January of 1967.” The man said in a very sad tone.
“Ya Tojhe!” Davey exclaimed excitedly, ‘me too’.
“Come, we will eat lunch together.” Verakov said and he paused with a look towards me. “Your comrade as well.”
“Uh…” That came out in English from Davey and he looked at me with a slightly worried expression. Maybe he should have become an actor, because he even had me fooled.
“Do not worry, it will be okay with those who might worry.” Verakov said in a kindly, almost fatherly way. “Come, both of you, I believe you will enjoy this lunch.”
It was barely an hour and a half after breakfast, and nowhere near lunch time, but we followed the man out of the building and into a waiting car. There was a uniformed driver to hold the door open for us, and we both got slightly nervous looks on our faces as we joined the man in the back seat.
“One of the privileges of serving the Rodina.” He said with a soft sigh as the vehicle drove off. “Tell me of your parents, David Davidovich.”
Davey talked, in Russian, talking about his parents, his father’s early career as a preacher, now abandoned in favor of business. Their constant moving when he was younger, his sister, and so on until he talked about being advanced in schooling so that we finished high school at sixteen. Verakov rarely interrupted, and I realized we were outside
“We are outside
“We aren’t supposed to leave
“You are authorized for today.” Verakov said firmly. “We will be in my dacha soon, in the foothills, where we will eat lunch. Tell me Brian Emmetovich, what about your family? Were you born in
“Yes, even the same hospital as Davey, but a week later.” I answered, and now it was my turn to tell my life’s story. He nodded politely, but clearly was not as interested in me as he was in Davey. Several times his hand lifted, as if to touch Davey, but he put it back down in his lap until we pulled up in front of a medium-sized house, more like a cabin or lodge, in a wooded area.
After the driver opened the door, we followed him inside the dacha. It was fairly spacious, and well-made. The wood walls were covered in pictures, and the furniture looked comfortable, if slightly worn. He showed us into what looked like a living room, with a fireplace, empty in the heat of summer, and we sat on a couch while he sat near us in an armchair.
“My wife, Ilianya.” He said with a wave of a hand to a picture on the mantle of the fireplace. “She passed away several years ago. Dmitry was heartbroken, as was I.”
“My condolences.” Davey said softly in Russian.
“You speak Russian well, for someone not born Russian.” Verakov complimented Davey who blushed at the praise.
“You said your son was born in
“My wife and I never journeyed to the
“Then how…” Davey started to ask, but Verakov stood up and went to the picture of his wife, looking at it fondly.
“No matter how we tried, we never did have children.” Verakov began his story in a sad tone. “During the Great War, I worked in a factory at
“No matter my excuses, I was unfaithful to my wife.” He sounded like he truly regretted that. “I love her, loved her, very much, but that was not enough to keep me from straying. Mina was a lovely girl, and she was ambitious. When she found I would not leave my wife for her, she helped her brother defect to the
“Children?” Davey asked. “I thought you said you had a son.”
“She died in your
“He’s a handsome man.” Davey said cautiously while I looked over his shoulder at the picture.
“He looks like you Davey.” I said with what I hoped sounded like genuine surprise.
“Yes, I believe were he alive today he would look much like you.” Verakov said with a look of anticipation in his eyes, and a look of pain.
“If he were alive?” Davey asked.
“He died in an accident over a year ago.” Verakov’s eyes were slightly wet. “The doctors tried, but could not save him.”
“It’s amazing how much he looks like me.” Davey said.
“Yes.” Verakov agreed again. “I think there is a reason for that.”
“My parents…” Davey began cautiously. “When I was twelve, I believed I was…what is the word? Adopted.”
Verakov had to correct him on the word he used, or at least the correct tense, but Davey just nodded.
“Yes, adopted.” Davey continued. “They are both shorter than I was at that age, and have dark hair and dark eyes. I look very little like them. They showed me my birth papers, showing I was their son.”
“Papers like that can be forged.” Verakov said flatly. “When I saw you, it was like looking at my Dmitry again. You have a smile much like him.”
“But I’m not exactly like him.” Davey said as he looked at the picture. “We look similar, but not the same.”
“Not all twins look exactly alike.” Verakov answered. “There is a way we can tell with much more certainty.”
“You think I’m…how would they have done that?” Davey asked.
“Mayhap the woman you know as mother did give birth, but the child died during or right after birth.” Verakov said slowly. “That is very possible, and Mina died after giving birth to two boys, fraternal twins. She wanted her children to live in the
“Who’s her brother?” Davey asked. “I don’t know any Russians in
“You would know him as Mr. Rush, father of your friend, Trevor.” Verakov said and we looked at him with mock surprise. He smiled at us. “Yes, since I first saw you I have been asking many questions, and our intelligence services have found many answers very quickly. I know much about you, David, and your… friend next to you. Do you know why your CIA refused your application to work there?”
“No.” Davey whispered with wide eyes.
“It is because the two of you are… to be polite, involved.” Verakov said without showing any discomfort. “It is not something appreciated in the Rodina, either, but for those with enough rank, their children are often allowed their own… pleasures. I do not… approve, but we do not shun you because of that. We would not have known if your government had not found out and rejected you for their service.”
“You know our government would be interested in knowing that you were able to find this out.” I said with narrowed eyes and he smiled at me.
“Yes, they would.” He said with a shrug. “You may tell them, if you wish, as long as you agree to some things.”
“What things?” Davey asked suspiciously.
“What do you think of a government that would hide a son from his father?” Verakov asked.
“We don’t know if I’m the other son.” Davey stated flatly.
“I will have a doctor here soon who will give us a preliminary test first.” Verakov said with a wave of his hand. “It will at least tell us if it is possible that we are related. A more detailed test will be taken later. All I ask is that you agree to take the first test. If it proves we cannot be related, you will be free to go.”
“You mean to test the type of his blood.” I said calmly.
“Yes.” Verakov replied.
“What if it says we might be related?” Davey asked.
“Your classes here end in two weeks.” Verakov stated.
“That is correct.” Davey confirmed.
“The test will take at least three weeks.” Verakov said. “If the first says it is possible, I will ask you to stay until the second test is done. Please understand, I am an old man. If you are my second son, stolen from me on the day you were born, you are all the family I have left.”
“I already have a family.” Davey said flatly. “They love me. Do you expect me to turn my back on them?”
“No.” Verakov said stonily. “But, they are only your family because you were stolen from me!”
“If I am your son.” Davey insisted.
“If.” Verakov allowed. “Please, as I said. I am an old man. My family is gone. If you are indeed my second son, I would like to get to know you.”
“What about Brian?” Davey asked defensively.
“As long as you visit with me, he is welcome.” Verakov said. “Do not… flaunt yourselves and no one will say anything or do anything to either of you.”
“I almost wish I could be your son.” Davey said softly as he looked at the picture of Dmitry again. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. No, I do not think I am your son.”
“We will see.” Verakov said firmly. “Now, are you hungry? Let me show you my home.”
In the
After lunch was when a doctor came, with a syringe. Davey barely winced as the man took two samples of blood before doing the same with Verakov. Ten minutes later, he and Verakov were holding a hushed discussion just out of earshot. It wasn’t long before Verakov escorted the doctor over to where I sat with Davey, looking out the windows of the living room at the woods behind the house.
“Your blood type is within expected range of Comrade Verakov’s.” The doctor said in a thick accent that I recognized now as being Ukrainian. His words were really unnecessary because for the first time since we’d met him, Verakov was smiling. An American wouldn’t recognize it quite as a smile, but for a Russian he might as well have been grinning from ear to ear. “It is possible the two of you are related. Your samples will be taken to a facility in
“Thank you, comrade doctor.” Davey said with barely a nod of his head. Verakov himself escorted the middle-aged man out while Davey shared a look with me. My lover reached out and touched the back of my hand, quickly tapping out a message in Morse code.
When we had known exactly what type of game the Agency wanted us to play here, we had thought of ways to communicate that couldn’t be overheard by microphones, caught by camera, or intercepted and read. In the end, we’d come up with tapping out messages with fingers against skin, hidden from view. It wasn’t perfect, and long messages took a while, but at least we could ‘talk’ without others hearing.
‘Do we?’ Davey asked in his tapping. Four letters with the interrogative quite clear from the look on his face.
“You pick.” I tapped back quickly as Verakov reentered the room. My eyes told Davey, even as our hands separated that I would support him in whatever decision he made. A little voice inside of me was saying that Davey was having doubts about trying to fool this man. Not likely because we couldn’t do it, but rather because he was a nice man who had been given a series of hard blows by fate. I knew Davey, and his conscious had to be tearing him up inside.
“If you wish to have another doctor confirm this, I can make sure it is arranged.” Verakov said calmly to Davey as we looked up at him.
“I…I can’t believe this is happening.” Davey said quietly. “It is hard to believe. How do you know it is not a trick? Maybe… maybe the CIA is trying to trick you, or both of us.”
“They would not be interested in the likes of me.” Verakov said with a snort. “I know nothing of military secrets. My work is in determining what our factories can produce, and not even our military factories. What does the West care how many cars we can make, or how many radios, or how many cooking pans for our wives to use?”
“You would be surprised how important those things can be.” Davey said with a sigh, but Verakov shook his head.
“No, it is not likely.” Verakov said with a look at me. “The Americans do not trust boys like you. They believe our evil agents will seduce you and use you for our own evil designs.”
The look on his face as he said that, and the tone of his voice is what caused both Davey and I to laugh slightly. Verakov’s smile reappeared on his face, little more than the edges of his lips quirking up, but combined with the look in his eyes, it was easy to understand he was feeling happy. That caused a slight feeling of guilt but I pushed that aside. No matter my feelings about doing this, no matter whether it was a waste of time or not, we were expected to perform a duty here, and I would perform that duty well.
“What happens now?” Davey asked in a quiet voice. “Do you expect me to call you father?”
“No.” Verakov said as he sat down in his armchair again. “Now, I believe, you should return to University. You have both missed most of your classes today. I would expect my son, and his friend, to earn good marks in class. You have the weekend off. I know your group was planning several tours, and to see the ballet. If you do not mind, instead you will come here. Until we have the results of the final test, we will learn about each other.”
“What about after?” Davey asked. “We’re supposed to leave in a few weeks.”
“After your classes are done, you will be invited to stay with me.” Verakov said calmly. “We have missed eighteen years and have much to catch up on.”
“What if I want to go back to the
“Yes, you were born there, and raised there, but you are also Russian.” The man said sternly. He was tense, but relaxed slightly as he took a deep breath. “You are an adult. From you was stolen the opportunity to know your brother. He would have liked you. I suspected he was like you, you know, preferring boys to girls, but he never said anything.”
“My parents don’t really know, either.” Davey said with a rueful chuckle. “They keep asking when I’m going to date a girl.”
“Ah, I see.” Verakov said slowly. “You will never have to hide anything from me. I am lucky to have this chance to know you, and would rather know you as you are instead of as my dreams would make you. Just knowing you will be enough for me. That is all I ask. Spend time with me, allow me to get to know you, and you me. If, after some time has passed, you wish to return, you will be able to return to the
“I–I can do that much.” Davey said with a sigh. “Brian?”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.” I said to him and Verakov nodded.
“I will look forward to getting to know you too.” Verakov said. “I confess I am confused. I always thought among your kind one of you had to be the woman and one the man, but you both look fine young men.”
“Oh god, how do we talk about this in Russian?” Davey asked in English as he laughed quietly.
“Very, very carefully.” I answered him in the same language before shifting back to Russian. “I think we will all have a lot to learn.”
Poor Professor Vernon was fit to be tied when we arrived back on the
“What is going on here?” He screamed in Russian. “Where have you been? Who was in that car?”
“We were invited to visit a relative.” Davey said calmly and the man stopped his ranting to stare at Davey.
“Who are you related to?” He asked in English.
“Apparently to Comrade Verakov.” Davey answered with a shake of his head. We left the good Professor standing there, gaping with a mouth wide open as we entered the barracks that we called home here. There were a lot of questions from our fellow students, but we managed to brush them off while working on the ‘assignments’ that we had missed.
We tapped out a rather long discussion, our longest yet that night. Davey shared my concerns about the old man. He, like me, felt bad for deceiving him, but was not deterred. If he was younger, had not lived at least part of one lifetime already, he would have been facing a bigger moral quandary, but he had learned some simple truths that most people learned as they got older.
Very rarely were opponents, or enemies, ‘bad’ people. They are merely people, human beings with good traits, and bad traits. Their actions can be bad, or evil even, but those actions do not necessarily make the individual themselves ‘bad’. Davey’s father was a prime example.
His molesting his daughter was an act of evil. That alone did not make him a bad person. In a timeline where that was prevented, Davey’s father ended up being one of the best Presidents in
Davey could understand that Verakov might be a nice old man, worthy of sympathy, and maybe even respect for the things he had achieved in life. Still, by his actions, he was a person contributing to a bad system of government. His contributions propped up a government that abused its own people, and threatened the liberties of people all over the world.
Men who held certain beliefs in what a government should, and should not be for its people founded the
Davey and I both understood these core principles, and knew that the Soviet system of government was wrong. That was why it had to fail, as history had already determined it time and again. Making sure that it happened again in this timeline was a worthy goal, even if it meant deceiving a nice old man who had suffered great loss already.
Classes the next day were interesting in several ways. Our fellow American students were still burning up with curiosity about what had happened with us the day before. The Soviet Professors treated Davey, and me to a lesser extent, with a little more respect. How much did they know? What had they been told? Or were they just reacting to us leaving and returning in a government vehicle?
Thursday afternoon, Professor Karesova invited us to attend a meeting of the campus Party with her. Professor Vernon’s eyebrows shot through his fading hairline when he was told we would be attending with her. The meeting itself reminded me more of a Bible Study than anything else. An older man ‘preached’ about the historic dialectic and its inevitable victory over capitalism. Davey and I received several side-long looks from those there, mostly faculty, but remained silent for the most part. We did remember to thank Karesova for inviting us afterwards though.
On Friday, we’d no sooner walked out of our last classroom than a young man in Soviet uniform met us. He was very polite in inviting us to follow him, and he led us to a waiting vehicle much like the one we’d ridden in earlier in the week. He even held the door open for us as we got inside. There was no one waiting inside for us, but the young soldier got into the driver’s seat and quickly sped off campus.
Neither of us relaxed until we passed the monument we’d seen last time, and were certain we were heading for Verakov’s dacha. I wasn’t sure about Davey, but this whole spy business was just a little bit hard on my nerves. When it was all over, I was going to make sure we never did anything like this again.
This story brought to you by a lot of hard editing from Emoe, and
beta-reading by Trebs.
Feedback,
an Author's Lifeblood
