CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

I grip the side of the table and slide down to my knees. For a second I think I am going to pass out on the floor. I don’t, completely, but I want to get outside. Is it possible to feel claustrophobic in a 3,000,000 square foot building?

“Thanks Mr. Getman,” Josh says taking the thick manila envelope, and then he realizes I’m in trouble and looks down at me. I shoot him a pleading look and whisper, “I don’t feel good. I need some air.”

Reading my face. He hurriedly gathers our things and I pull my self up to a standing position. My knees feel like rubber. Josh explains to Mr. G. “We really need to get going. If it’s okay, we can find our way out.”

“Eh, sure son…”

Supporting me with one hand, he shakes Mr. Getman’s hand as they exchange words. I have no clue what they’re saying; my ears are ringing like they always do after attending a school dance. After a hurried goodbye, Josh hustles me down the stairs, taking the same path we took earlier. I vaguely recall the sound of our footsteps on the marble floors echoing through the vast building. Outside, he literally propels me across the small lot and into the Mustang, fastening my seatbelt for me as if I were a child. I sit there praying whatever is happening to me will pass quickly while Josh puts up the covetable top in record time. He drives us through the bright lights of DC in heavy traffic without a uttering a word. Good. I don’t feel like talking right now. After learning that Mom and my grandparents were Russian traitors and that my grandparents were murdered, I just want to shut down for a while. I muse over bits and pieces of what we uncovered. Then I review in my head what just took place at the LOC, in my bathroom the other morning, and my past fainting episodes that started after Mom died. The scar on my temple throbs. Oh God. Is there something seriously wrong with my head? I blink as if waking from a long road trip to find out we have arrived at our destination, my street. Josh pulls the Mustang behind Pop’s Chevy van, turns off the key and sits behind the steering wheel. The dash clock says 12:45. In my peripheral vision, I can see Josh watching me. Why do I keep spacing out? After Josh stuffed me into the Mustang, I remember very little about the drive. It feels as if I was teleported home.

Josh takes the keys out of the ignition and hands them to me.

I lift my hand, take the keys and find my voice. “Wow, we’re here already?” Turning in my seat, I stare through the shadows at Josh. “I guess you were afraid to let me drive.”

“Yeah, you okay now?”

“Yeah, other than being really tired.” In addition, I have a headache.

Josh sits forward and looks up at our house through the windshield. It looks like you’re father’s still up.”

I turn my head and look at my house. Every window is ablaze. I picture Agent Brody and Pop inside, waiting for us to return. Then it occurs to me that we have to face them. I turn to Josh and say, “Oh my gosh, we have to tell Pop about everything we learned.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes!” I shake my head. “Josh, he’s going to freak.” I hear my cell go off and feel around the floorboard. “Josh! Where’s my purse?”

“Backseat. Cookie, maybe you should take some time to wrap your brain around everything. If you want, I’ll come by in the morning before school and we can talk to him together.”

Turning, I reach between the seats and pull my purse forward. My backpack is on the seat next to Josh’s book bag. Out the back window, the whole neighborhood is asleep. The Mazda is parked across the street in the fire zone. I’m sure they have notified Pop and Ivan that we are home and that is why Pop is calling. He wonders why we aren’t coming inside. Nothing around me seems real any more. It’s hard to explain why. I sit forward with my purse on my lap. I dig in my purse for my cell and find it as it goes off again and then makes the mechanical jingle, sending the call to my messages. I listen to the message. It’s Pop. I close my cell and drop it in my purse.

Josh looks at the Mazda. “The troops calling for an update?”

“Yeah. It’s too late to get into it with them tonight.” Besides, I think I’m in a state of shock. I’m still feeling weird so I can’t say that my brain is fully firing on all cylinders. Josh opens his door and the overhead light comes on. I don’t move. I stare out the windshield, playing with the purple circle holding my car and house keys.

Josh shuts his door and says, “Cookie, the way you feel is normal. It’s symptomatic due to residual information over load. You have the right to feel anyway you do. Heck, you’re the victim of a cruel act committed on your grandparents by a nut job with the KGB.”

Josh sounds like a doctor talking to a mental patient and hearing this makes me angry, at my own weakness. I sigh. “I’ve got to stop acting like a victim!” I mull over what Josh said, and after a second or two I add, “Most of the time, I feel like I’m in a dreamlike state—that started the day of my mother’s funeral. I was a total basket case. I thought that I saw Mom standing in the crowd and sort of freaked out.” I pause.

Josh doesn’t say anything. He listens.

I stare at nothing and keep talking. “Everyone on the planet saw the pictures in the papers of me spazing out. While the priest gave the eulogy, I listened to him talk about how Mom would be welcomed and loved in Heaven.” I drop my eyes and stare key chain in my hands. “Josh, I don’t know if I even believe in Heaven any more. I stood in the snow staring at her casket draped in Don Juan roses—they were her favorite.” I sniff. “It’s weird. I remember the smell of the rich sweet scent of the roses floating on the cold crisp winter air that day.”

Josh places his hand gently on my shoulder. “Don’t you suppose your cherished memories of watching her tend to her rose garden mixed with the pungent fragrance of the roses on her casket might’ve brought up the image in your mind?”

I shrug. “I suppose the funeral had a haunting effect on me. The whole cemetery scene was surreal. I have nightmares about it. It was my first. Anyway, when I saw Mom standing in front of me I actually thought she was real…I think I called out her name. That part is fuzzy.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I must have said it loud enough for a number of people to hear because all eyes were on me. Why? What did I say?”

“I couldn’t make out everything, but it sounded like you were speaking in Russian.”

“I was speaking in Russian.”

“Mr. B put his arm around your shoulders and was leading you away, you kept shouting. You said, help me I’m in something, something. It sounded like a Russian city maybe?”

I frown. “Huh. I think I was having a breakdown. Anyway, that was the moment I began to doubt if Mom was dead. And what was really weird, I still have visions of her in my room, here and there in our house. I’ve even seen her around town in places we went to as a family. She appears for a second or two then she’s gone.” I look over at Josh. “You think I’m crazy don’t you.”

“Hallucinations are just psychological—somewhat normal––brought on by the traumatic loss of your mom. Given time they should stop.”

I wish. My grief counselor and a few reporters who snuck into Oak Lawn for her burial called me “delusional” in the papers and on the news. I stare at out the side window and say, “Who was she, Josh? My mother, who was she really?” I see movement and look at the front of the house.  The drapes part and Pop, waves. I guess he can see us inside the Mustang. “Let’s go inside and get this over with.”

“Want to call Ivan first? I’m curious to find out if they apprehended Valentine.” Josh pauses. “Um, you call. You have a secure number for him?”

I nod and fish around in my purse for his card. “You call.” I hand him Ivan’s card. “We’re supposed to use the bottom number.”

While Josh talks to Ivan and gives him a few details about our “so called” investigation, I stare out the windshield and think about my mother’s life. She’d call and say she couldn’t come home and all of her excuses were of course work related. It wasn’t like she was hiding anything. When she was home, she never completely stopped working. I hated when she’d make time in her busy schedule to do something with us then the phone would ring and she’d have to leave. I felt like we were not as important as her job. I mentally picture her sitting at the roll top desk…

“All Brody would say is he’s coming over here now,” Josh says, breaking into my thoughts. He reaches over and retrieves the envelope with Valentine’s note from the glove compartment. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about it.

I blink. “He’s coming over now?” I check my watch. “But it’s so late. Plus it’s a school night.” Actually, I thought he was already inside. Guess not. I look at Josh. He looks stunned. “That sounded really lame. I know we have to discuss everything right now.” So much for sleep.

We gather our things and get out of the Mustang. I lock up and Josh walks next to me on the walkway to the front stoop. He says, “I think it will help if Ivan is here when we tell them what we found out.”

I nod and unlock the front door and we go inside. The house is quiet except for a faint clicking noise. Josh sets our bags next to the stairwell. Then he opens his cell and punches a number. Josh whispers, “I hope Ivan can help us piece together Eva’s past.” He puts his cell to his ear and stops walking, so do I. I check my messages. There are no new ones. I drop my phone in my purse and drop it next to my backpack. I stand near Josh and whisper, “Who are you calling now?”

Josh looks at me. “I’m checking in with my folks.”

When Josh finishes telling his mom where he is and hangs up, I unlock and relock the front door. Then I punch in the security code and announce, “The security system is working like new.”

Josh checks it out. “They don’t mess around.”

We head down the hall and find Pop hammering away on his computer in the den. He takes off his readers, but before we’re able to speak, the doorbell rings and Josh leaves to let Ivan in. Meanwhile, I give Pop a little hug and then start explaining (in a nutshell) what we found out about Mom and Boris. The color drains out of Pop’s face and I sort of freak out. I get in his face. “Did you take your meds Pop?”

He doesn’t say anything. His lips are pressed together in a thin line on his pale face.

I hear voices and swing around. Josh and Ivan are standing just inside the den’s door. Ivan looks grim but a lot more laid back dressed in a navy blue cotton polo shirt, chino slacks and topsiders. Agent Brody steps over to the desk. “Um, is something’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know,” I say with a shaky voice. I reach over and pat Pop on his cheeks. “Pop, talk to us!”

Pop unclasps his lips and says, “I’m okay. I took my pill. I’m just in shock about your news.” Pop rises up out of the chair and sways a little. Pop is a big man. Josh, Ivan, and I help him down the hall and lay him on the living room couch to recover. I’m shocked that he didn’t fight us off. “Stay with him while get a cool damp washcloth.” I dash inside the downstairs bath. I fold the cloth and lay it on Pop’s forehead. His eyes are shut tight.

He smiles faintly and says, “Thanks love. I just need a second to gather myself.”

I turn around and whisper, “I don’t think it’s an emergency, but I’m going to call his doctor anyway.” I go to the den, find the number on Pop’s rolodex, and leave a message with his service. I close the den door. I skirt past Ivan who is talking to someone in a low voice on his cell as he enters the kitchen. I return to the living room and the doorbell rings again. I glance toward the door. “Who the heck is visiting at this hour?” I say quietly and look at Josh. “Do you mind seeing who it is while I check on Pop?”

Josh whispers. “Sure. Ivan called one of his agents. It probably them. Want us in hang out in the kitchen?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit,” I say softly. “Oh. There are cold drinks in the refrigerator, help yourselves to whatever you like.” I take a side step toward the living room.

“Wait. What about the alarm?”

I don’t even hesitate to tell Josh the code to disengage the alarm, and then tiptoe across the floor. If I can’t trust Josh, who can I trust? A few more names buzz around in my head. Pop, Agent Brody, all of the O’Dells. This gives me hope that I am not alone.

I stare down at Pop stretched out with one arm thrown over his big chest. The other arm is on the floor somewhere between the coffee table and the front of the couch. I kneel down next to him and flip the cloth over to the cool side. The corners of his lips curl up and I’m relived. I sigh, letting out the pent of air in my lungs and lean close to his ear to whisper softly, “Pop? You asleep?”

“No.”

He removes the damp washcloth from his forehead and his eyes flutter open. He runs a hand over his face, and then folds the damp washcloth into a square.

“My gosh you scared me to death.” I hug his shoulders gently and then sit back a little and study his face. Every light in the living room is on so I can clearly see that the color is back in his cheeks. Thank God. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I scoot in beside him on the couch and he lifts his head and looks at me.

“I’m okay, just taken aback a bit,” he says, scooting up on the arm of the couch to give me room.

I smile sorrowfully. “Sorry I freaked you out talking about Mom.”

Pop’s green eyes open wider. “Shocking!”

“Tell me about it.”

Pop sits all the way up, feet on the floor. We sit there side by side. Behind us is hushed voices and footsteps on the hall’s wooden floor. We rise up off the couch to glace through the opening. One of Ivan’s people from the surveillance van is with Josh, I can’t remember his name right now. He looks our way and waves. Then heads follows Josh to the kitchen.

“What’s going on in my kitchen?”

“A lot.” That’s all I’m saying for now. I’m not going to be the one who sends him over the edge again.

Pop just nods his head and dabs at his eyes with the washcloth. He stares off into space and we’re both silent for a few minuets. “Shocking!” Pop repeats louder this time, and stomps his feet on the floor causing the coffee table’s glass top to rattle. I jump. He lets out a long weary breath then sits digging his fingertips into his wide forehead leaving white fleshy tracks. He’s starting to look all freaked out again.

“I know Pop,” I say, sitting forward. I take one of his big hands in both of mine. His hand is soft, warm and damp. I rest my head on his beefy shoulder.

“Ah. At least now we know a lot more about what was going on with your Mum.” He tosses the washcloth and it lands on the coffee table’s glass top. I snuggle next to him and gently clasp his hand. I have to keep him calm. I’m afraid if he starts yelling I will cause his blood pressure to go up. He rests his head on the top of mine. He is breathing hard, but normal. We sit there like that for a long minute. I will sit here all night if it means Pop will be okay. I wonder if he’ll have a fit when his doctor calls us back.

Pop sighs and I lift my head and look at him. He pulls his hand from mine and slaps both hands down on his thighs. He rises up off the couch. He has this strange strained look on his face that reminds me of the way Mel Gibson looked as Wallace in Braveheart, when he was preparing himself mentally for battle.

I get up too. “Pop, what are you going to do?”

He looks at me intently, bushy red eyebrows scrunched together. “Get to the bottom of this,” he says heroically. “I promised to help you and a Blakely always fulfills his promise.”

I mentally finish his proverb, even if it’s to their death! I always hated that one.

Pop puts his hands on my shoulders. “How are you doing love? Really?”

“Me? I’m fine.” I lie.

Suddenly the television blares loudly, as if the kitchen door just opened. Agent Brody appears at the opening to the living room and stops short when he sees us standing face to face.

Pop waves him over. Then he steps out from between the couch and the coffee table determinedly yanking at his trousers by the waste band.

Ivan rests his hands on his hips. He looks at me then back at Pop. “Christopher, how’s it going?”

Pop says,  “Right as rain.” He takes a step and sways a little to the right as if he were getting his sea legs. Ivan reach out to steady him but he holds up his hands to show that he’s okay.

The Agent from the van call Ivan’s name and Ivan goes back into the kitchen.

Pop smiles and offers me his arm. I smile back and snake my arm into the crook of his elbow. Arm and arm we walk toward the kitchen. Pop ducks into the den and grabs his empty coffee cup off his desk. I lean through the door and whisper, “Um, Pop, you sure you’re up to talking about this tonight?”

“Hell yes! Let’s get to the bottom of this bloody mess!”