CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

The kitchen is sparking clean and smells like freshly brewed French roasted coffee and bleach. Pop is sitting in the kitchen nook staring out the kitchen window, sipping coffee. Ivan isn’t with him.

“Um, Pop?”

“Yes?” He says, without taking his eyes away from the window.

“What are you looking at?”

“Beggar, he’s acting so cute.” Pop holds up his hand, curling his finger. “You have to see this.”

Josh and I stroll over to the backdoor and peer out at the backyard. “Good lord, how many times a day do you feed that cat…his belly is huge!”

Beggar cat is sleeping on a little rug on his back with all four paws in the air. Josh asks, “Is that the same cat?”

“The little fella was too thin.”

We sit across from Pop and he briefly explains that Ivan was called away. “But he left something.” Pop hands me a packet that was on the bench seat.

I open it and scan the pages. “It’s a typed report about how I discovered Mom’s throw on the floor of our suite when we got back from sunrise skiing ya da ya da.” I place the report on the table. “They don’t say anything about the yucky smell....” I catch myself. I can’t remember if I told Pop about Mom’s throw. My brain doesn’t seem to be working lately. I keep forgetting stuff. I curl my eyes at Pop.

He is staring at me over the rim of his favorite coffee mug.

“Uh. It doesn’t matter what the lab found. The feds won’t tell us squat!”  

Josh flicks me a look and reaches for the report. “Mind if I read it Mr. B?”

“Help yourself.” Pop swallows down the last of his coffee and passes me his empty mug. “Mind fetching your tired old Pop another cup of joe?”

I slide out of the bench and top off Pop’s mug. I offer some to Josh and he passes. “Anything else? Pepsi, juice?”

Josh looks up from the report. “I’m good.”

I set return the pot in its spot and slide in next to Josh.

“In any case, after Josh reads the report, I’d like for the three of us can calmly discuss what it says.”

 

I fold my hand on the table. “I’m just thankful they’re not upset at me for concealing evidence or whatever.”

Without looking up from the report, Josh says, “In order to be convicted, you needed to have willfully concealed the evidence and successfully destroy it. If you fail in your attempt to destroy the evidence then it’s not a crime, but if you do destroy the evidence in some way then you may be convicted.”

I touch my chest. “I wanted to make sure Mom’s throw was safe.”

“There you go. That’s your story.”

Pop looks thoughtful. “I vaguely remember one of the Austrian policemen asking about Eva’s personal effects.”

I get up and check on Beggar. “He’s still sound asleep.”

Josh flips to the next page. “Ah, they mention the note…” he stops reading and checks my reaction to the last page that mentions the note from Valentine.

Pop says calmly. “Ivan told me that the note that was tossed into the Mustang that says ‘Eva is still alive’ is authentic. However, they don’t have any intelligent to back up the fact. The note is from a KGB assassin who likes to play games with his victims. So what’s the point?” Josh puts the report down and Pop slides it back in the envelope and clamps down the flap.

Suddenly thirsty from all the yapping, I get up and go to the fridge for bottled water then lean against the counter next to the sink sipping. I recall the scar carved into Agent Smith’s face. I’m ready to fight back. I roll my eyes and stroll over to the table determined to convince him that I will never stop searching for the truth about my mother but Josh decides to spill more about his conversation with his dad. I rest my hand on his shoulder. “Pop, why not at least explore the possibility that Mom is alive?”

Pop sets down his mug with a clunk, and looks up at me with eyes that reveal a slew of emotions. Josh intervenes. “I understand your skepticism Mr. B, but why would the President get involved if the case was closed?

“Why say no.”

“I never said no. I’m game, but I’m not getting my hopes up only to have them crushed like glass.”

 “Look, what I’m about to say is unofficial, but Dad said I could tell you guys because it’s promising.”

“What is it?”

“Well, when the President canned Agent Werthoust and ordered a new investigation with Ivan as Special Agent in Charge she also sent a team over to Austria to meet with their government officials concerning the unprofessional handling of evidence.”

“And.”

“It took some time and a strong arm, but Ivan was resolute. He had the FBI and the Austrian FCI strips your suite clean to look for new evidence.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

Pop rubs his chin. “Eye, that’s why an officer with a strong German accent called here. Said he was at the Alpine as ordered by the American President. He was looking for Ivan.” Pop looks guilty. “I told him I was Ivan.”

I almost choke on my next sip of water.

Josh and I share a look.

Pop bites his lip. “Hey. The chap was quite cheeky with me. Anyway, he blabbed that before he could authorize one tiny spec to leave Austria their chief insisted that they’re first sending the whole kit and caboodle to the National Forensic Laboratory Information System (NFLIS) for testing.”

I make a face. “Way to go Pop, but how’s that going to help? After all this time, other people stayed in the suite and––”

“I mentioned that fact as well. The official told me that the resort hasn’t rented the suite since last Christmas. The house cleaning staff claims it’s haunted. They won’t go near the door because the air inside is so cold they can see their breath.”

I look at Josh. “So they think our old suite is haunted.”

“Haunted. Pop grumbles. He stares down at his mug. “The media is going to have a field day with that.”

“Great.” I sip my water mentally picking out my next disguise.

 “Yeah, because they think the murder is still out there!” I’m sure this is the last thing Pop wants to hear. Especially after dealing with my nightmares and depression… My hand automatically goes to the tender scar on my temple. I wince.

I hit my head nine years ago why does it still hurt.

Josh sits back looking thoughtful. “It’s normal that people are uneasy.” His cell vibrates on the table and he flips it open.

I ask unexpectedly, “Hey Pop. Now do you remember that strange guy with the birthmark that rode in the elevator with us the day I bumped my head on that stump?”

Josh looks up from his cell and watches us.

Pop looks at me as if to say, what does that have to do with anything?

“That was years ago love.”

“It’s important––and relevant.”

Pop shakes his head. “Lass, you couldn’t have been more than eight years old. You were an only child. You invented imaginary friends. Perhaps what your counselor told us is true. That––in your child’s mind––this bookie man in the elevator was just a dream.”

I open my mouth to protest Pop’s words but nothing comes out. Suddenly I feel foolish and embarrassed to believe the old coot “Valentine” or whom ever I saw, in the elevator at the Alpine Chalet Resort in Schladming, Austria––a million years ago and a million miles away.

Pop frowns. “Cookie. What would make you remember some guy in the elevator?”

“It’s dumb...forget it…”

Embarrassed, I glance over at Josh. He has his head down again, writing in the little notebook. What is he doing...writing my memoirs?

“I need a decaf topper,” Pop says, and slides out of the bench snatching up his coffee mug.

I turn my head and stare out the window. Is Fredik Koshechka, the KGB guy Ivan thinks is stalking me here in Washington, D.C? It’s absurd to think that he was the same guy in the rental car and taxi…

The table wobbles as Pop returns. In the light, I see how weary he looks and wonder what is really going through his mind. You never know what people are really thinking. Even your own parent. I prop my elbow on the table and force a smile.

Josh finishes whatever he was writing, puts his pen down, and finally looks up from his notebook. “Sorry about that,” he says, looking solicitous as he closes his cell and places it on the counter top.

I drop my eyes to his notebook. “What cha writing for so long?”

“My dad was texting me. I wanted to write everything down.”

Josh narrows his eyes. “Bottom line. The Criminal Investigators in Austria and Agent Werthoust’s team were grossly negligent in working a crime scene.” He flips to the next page.

“They flat out boggled the case.”

“Don’t worry. Ivan appointed the top professionals and people they trust to head it up the various law enforcement and forensics teams.”

“Oh my gosh. Did they find something?”

“Well, there’s no way Dad can know all of the circumstances since he wasn’t there when it all went down. Nevertheless he’s furious that suite four-o-six wasn’t sealed off the second Mrs. B was reported missing––”

Pop looks doubtful. “At times my wife could be a very mystifying woman—for lack of a better word.”

I’m thinking that’s an understatement.

“But I loved and trusted her explicitly.”

“The government not so much.”

Josh reads from his notes, “From what we know, Eva apparently worked undercover decrypting high-level stuff. Months would go by without hearing from her. Why would they consider her absence unusual, knowing that she might show up any minuet? That’s their excuse for not treating the suite as a crime scene.”

Pop rubs his face with his beefy hands. “Agent Werthoust was her handler…it was his job to know her whereabouts. “Josh, the FBI came here and went through everything!”

“Eva was in the garden club with Barbara O'Dell––”

I know where Pop’s going with this. “They even dug up the yard and ruined Mom’s beautiful garden. We had to replace her prize hybrids with ordinary rose bushes.”

Josh nods his head. “I heard about that at home via a conversation my Mom was having with the Garden Club.” Josh looks from me to Pop. “Dad thinks that it’s possible that someone intentionally overlooked something…to cover up their blunder or––”

“Sounds like the bumbling idiots overlooked a lot of things!” Pop stands up abruptly, sloshing coffee sloshes on the floor.

Oh boy, here it comes. I rip off a handful of paper towels and clean up the coffee. “Um...Pop, calm down. Just listen. Josh is helping us.” I toss the paper towels in the trashcan and look at Josh. “Josh tell us everything your know.” I yank open the junk drawer, take out a pocket Bible and place my hand on it. “We swear on this Bible we won’t blab it.” I shoot a look at Pop.

He’s locked eyes with Josh.

“I trust you guys.” Josh says then hesitates.

“Well lad, quit stalling. Let’s hear what you discovered.”

“Be right back.” Josh looks perplexed as he leaves––I guess to retrieve the fax from the den.

Pop goes out on the back porch.

I return the bible to the drawer. My stomach feels like a stone.

A few minuets later, Josh comes back in the kitchen with several sheets of paper. “Okay, Dad faxed the crime lab report on the throw—”

Josh’s cell phone goes off and he flips it open. “Sorry, this could be important.” He hands Pop the report and says, “It’s my dad.”

Josh steps out back and I get up and slid in next to Pop. We scan the report. I gasp. “Holy sh– they found chloroform on Mom’s throw!” I clamp my hand over my mouth. Oh.my.god.

“Yeah. I read that part in the den.”

Josh is standing over me. Done with his phone call. I lift my chin and look up at him. “It’s apparent. Mom was kidnapped. Not killed.”

Pop passes him the faxed report. “Where does this lead?”

“Dad says they’ll keep us informed.”

Pop mutters sarcastically, “Where have I heard that before?”

I shiver in the silent kitchen while Josh studies the forensics list some more. I feel the bench rise up as Pop scoots out of the kitchen nook. He squeezes my hand. “You okay sweetheart?”

“My mind keeps playing a jerky film of Mom being suffocated by Valentine in our suit at the Alpine like an old Alfred Hitchcock episode. He carries her out of the room and down the resorts’ stairs to a waiting car behind the building.”

“The black car. Dad’s got a man looking into it.”

 “Yes!” I blink and smile.  “It’s just so scary, you know... um, to think that a country would force you to come back against your will… Josh. They have to find her.” I swallow hard to gain control of my emotions.

 

 

Josh waits to see if I’m going to say more. When I don’t he looks toward the little TV Pop is wheeling back inside. “Need a hand?”

I shift around. I need to move.

Pop just shakes his head full of red curls as he places the cart at the end of the kitchen island where he always does. He straightens and runs his beefy hands over his face then he looks at me with a strange expression. He’s thinking the same thing, what if Mom is alive.

“Coffee?” Pop asks moving to the island, and picks up a full pot of black java.

“No thanks.” Josh consults his watch. “Dad reminded me that they’re going to do a press conference on Char’s incident on channel nine. Mind if we watch it?”

I get up a little wobbly on my feet. I almost forgot all about what has become to be known as “The Char Incident”. Things are happening too fast and not fast enough. I reach for the remote about to turn on the TV.

 “Let’s watch it on the wide screen in the living room,” Pop tells us refilling his coffee mug. He heads out the swinging door as if on the way to watch his favorite team. Josh is on his heels, he grabs my arm and pulls me along.

“Wait.” I dig my heels in and he faces me. “Josh, how can Pop not be blowing his top over the chloroform?”

“He’s determined to get to the bottom of this.”

My mouth drops open as Josh pushes me toward the door.

“Come on. Let’s see what we the media are saying about us.”

He nudges me out the still swinging kitchen door. On the way, I check the Cuckoo clock. It’s 8:13.

Josh and I sit side by side on the edge of the couch cushions. Pop is perched in his favorite chair in our brightly lit living room surfing for the local stations. His fists are clenched on the arms. The thought of Mom being held against her will is eating him up inside.

Pop groans. “Josh. What bloody channel did you say?”

“Nine,” Josh answers, flicking me a knowing look.

I rest my chin in my hands. “Uh! Why hasn’t Ivan called? Even more. When will my life be normal again?”

“What be normal?”

I focus on the TV screen. I point at a black smashed Lexus being towed away and shout, “There!”

Off to the side Char and Billy are talking to a policeman. Brook and Zak are standing a few feet away on the sidewalk. Brook has her arm around Zak, who appears to be crying. It is pouring rain. Everyone is drenched. We stare in wonder at the big HD wide screen as if watching the horrifying accident scene. I flick glance to see Pop’s reaction. However, he saw this earlier.

Pop whistles. “Lordy, what was the cause of all that?”

“From what I could tell,” Josh says, “Char and Billy got into a heated discussion and this was the result.”

Pop asks, “Did Char tell you anything Cookie?”

I shake my head. “No. But it must be majorly serious for Char to freak out like that.”

A policeman walks over to speak to Brook and Zak. Brook shakes her head as she speaks. Unfortunately, the background noise muddles her words. The cameraman wipes the lens then zooms in as a reporter, holding a huge umbrella over his head, approaches Char and Billy. I drop my hands to my sides and sit forward.

Char’s smudged black eye make-up makes her huge wild eyes look like a rabid raccoon. Her spiky hair completely flattened by the rain like a dark shiny helmet. Her lips are pressed together so tightly that I fear her face is going to crack.

Josh whispers, “Char doesn’t look so good.”

“Yeah.” I whisper back staring at my former bff.

The Channel 9 correspondent says, “The MPD conference will start momentarily.” Then she hastily reads the latest headlines off the teleprompter while video news clips flick across the screen. “Okay folks. We have a raw video of the Georgetown High School scene just in from our crew there earlier.”

Pop lift his arm and points. “Isn’t that’s Char’s stepfather getting out of that truck?”

I gasp. “Holy cow. Mr. Kruger.”

A rain soaked angry looking man wearing a muscle shirt and baggy pleated pants stumbles and bumps into students as he makes his way over to Char and Billy. He pushes the reporter out of the way and grabs Char’s arm, hauling her away. Several police officers respond immediately. They handcuff him and drag him over to a squad car. The camera focuses on his a red face as two uniformed officers stuff him in the back seat and shut the door. He presses his face against the window.

A shiver runs through my body. I haven’t seen Char’s stepfather in a couple of years, but I will never forget his bulging bloodshot eyes.

“Who’s the suit?” I ask, signifying the nice looking gray haired man talking to Coach Daniels under the awing at the front of the school.

“That’s the D.A. Patrick Johnson,” Josh says.

“District Attorney. Wow.” I frown and lean back against the cushions mulling over what I just saw. The station goes to a commercial. Pop mutes the sound and slurps his coffee. After a while I ask, So, why is the D.A. involved in a school brawl?”

“Because Senator Brennan’s son is involved,” Josh informs me. “He’s a minor, plus the District Attorney has to make  sure he has the bare facts to feed to the media.” Josh leans closer and whispers. “Or it could be because you’re involved and he knows about your stalker.”

“Great.” Pop flicks me a deliberate look and I roll my eyes.

The news comes back on and Pop ups the volume. The camera operator pans out wide showing students inside their cars, trying to leave the parking lot. My heart skips a beat. Not in a good way. Sean Palmer is sitting in a brand new candy apple red VW Cruiser. Then the camera zooms in on the driver’s side window. I squint and see a blond head in the driver’s seat.

“That bas—”

I jumps up and grab the remote, flipping off the TV “Well...enough of that!”

“Wait!” Pop says, pointing at the black screen. “Wasn’t that Sean in that red car?”

“Pop, please, I don’t want to see any more.” I turn to Josh and cross my eyes. “Can we please discuss the forensic report on Mom’s throw. Moreover, why Ivan hasn’t called? I mean, did your dad even tell you where he is?”

“Sure. He’s working.” Josh takes out his little notebook. “The blanket is made of 100% Peruvian Highland Wool. The biological particles found were—”

Pop murmurs, “Eva always used the best.”

Josh pauses a second, to see if Pop is going to say anymore. Pop rolls his hand and Josh goes on. “—skin particles, saliva, Calvin Cline Eternity perfume, DNA and hair from at least four different human heads…fabric softener, detergent residue, coffee, and last but not least, traces of chloroform and vinyl ether.” Josh takes a long breath and continues. “The medical professionals in the United Sates don’t use ether as an anesthesia any more, mainly because it’s highly flammable. But it is still commonly used as a sedative in other parts of the world, predominantly––” He looks up his gaze going from me to Pop and back.

Excited, I stand up. “Russia?”

Josh nods.

I slam my fist in my hand. “I knew it! So, vinyl ether is stinky chemically odor I smelled.”

“Yep. Vinyl ether has a distinct odor if kept in a sealed environment Make sense if the 'throw' was zipped up in your backpack the whole time.”

“Yes. Since Christmas. I just took it out a few days ago. I’d forgotten all about it.” I look at Pop. He looks stunned. I kneel down next to his chair. “Something told me to picked it up and put it in my backpack.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went back downstairs to tell Pop that Mom wasn’t in our suite. We looked everywhere and showed her picture to a lot of people. No one had seen her. Desperate, we reported her missing. Mrs. Milinski immediate organized a search force.”

“After about an hour or so, we gave up looking,” Pop interjects. “We were getting no where. Mrs. Milinski pulled some strings and the authorities showed up it.”

“It was utter chaos in the lobby. They hauled us into the elevator and locked us in our suite for what seems like forever. Then Agent Werthoust came. He told us the bad news. After that, I don’t know what I did. All I recall is blurry faces and muted voices coming and going. The phone rang constantly. I just sat staring out at the snow. Praying Mom would show up. After they said we had to fly home, I remember grabbing my backpack, my journal, and some other personal stuff.”

Josh nods. “Mr. B, what do you remember?”

Pop leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much the same. Agent Werthoust seemed to be in charge. He sequestered Cookie and me to our suite for several hours. I assumed the authorities were busy looking and questioning the staff and local merchants. Early Christmas morning, Werthoust told us she was dead then they hustled us out of the hotel and put us on a plane home. As he was shutting the limousine door, Agent Werthoust told me that he’d alert the local police force to keep an eye out. We never saw Eva again.”

I put my fingers on my forehead and massage my temples images flashing in my head. “Uh, it’s mind-boggling thinking about all of this again.” I rise up my legs are stiff. A white flash cuts through my vision followed by a dull ache in my temple around and under the scar. “Wait. Why didn’t have to give up my backpack? They let me keep my journal and my purse too.”

“I don’t know? I wasn’t there.”

I go over and stare out the front window clicking through the details of our trip home.

Pop says, “That’s right. I had a small carry on. I look at him. “Sort of. I wondered where our luggage was.”

Pop get up and says, “Agent Werthoust assured me that he would make sure the rest of our things got back safely. But that never happened.”

“Did you call the airport?”

“Several times and got the run-a-round. Last I heard our bags were turned over the TSA. That’s as far as it went. I just filed a claim with my insurance and wrote our things off as a loss. Then out of the blue, Agent Werthoust shows up at our front door with them, like a personal delivery boy.”

I mutter, “Now I remember…” I turn and look at Josh. He’s staring at Pop. It’s as if they are communicating thorough mental telepathy.

Pop takes out his cell. “I’ll call Wayne and okay the exhumation.”

Josh nods. He asks, “You cool with this?”

I blink and just stare into at nothing not really feeling anything one way or another. How am I a supposed to feel about digging my mother up?

I pick up the forensic report off the coffee table and scan the words as if they were written about a stranger, which to me Mom was. I knew zip about most of her life.

 

Pop clicks off and I walk over to ask when.

He grabs one of my dangling hands. “Wayne said he will call us.”

“We need to add something on our time-line.”

“What? Did you remember something new?”

I nod. “The day Agent Werthoust delivered our luggage was the day before Valentine’s Day.

“February thirteenth.”

“I remember because Pop gave him a pink cupcake. We were baking them for the St. Valentine’s dance at school,”

Pop is nodding his head. We are remembering all this as if this were yesterday. “Werthoust was acting strange, jittery. I didn’t think much of it since I didn’t really know the man.”

Pop rubs his chin.  “Peculiar fellow if you ask me. He didn’t come inside.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t even let me put the cupcake in a box…just carried it out in his hand.”

“Now that I think about it, why would Werthoust deliver our luggage?”

Josh, busy writing this all down in his palm-size notebook, says, “That is a good question.”

“One we need to find the answer to.”

Josh nods his head. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a few minuets and I wonder what Boy Genus is thinking now. The phone in the hall rings loud and clear. We all look at each other, then Pop scurries over to the hall table with us on his heels. He snatches up the receiver. “Christopher Blakely speaking.”

 “This is the American Embassy in Vienna, Austria. Mr. Blakely please hold for Agent Ivan Brody.”

The voice on the other end speaks loudly and clearly. A few seconds pass and Ivan comes on the line. Josh and I can even hear him and we’re standing three or so feet away.

“Hello? Christopher? Can you hear me all right?”

Pop nods with glee and yells into the mouthpiece. “YES! You are coming through LOUD AND CLEAR!” Either they have a really good connection or Ivan is talking at full volume.

“Wonderful. I am calling on secured state-of-the-art telecommunication equipment that can’t be traced.” However, it might need some tweaking. Is Cookie home?”

Pop smiles at me. “Yes, she’s standing right here with Josh O'Dell.”

“Great. I have some questions for all of you. Christopher do you have a speaker on you phone?”

“Yes, hold on.” Pop pushes the speaker button and sets the receiver down on the desk’s surface backing up next to us.

A woman’s voice says, “Go ahead sir, you should be able to hear each other perfectly.”

Ivan shouts, “Hello? Are you still there?” The phone crackles a little and then Ivan sounds like he is standing in the same room with us.

We all yell at once, “Yes!”

Ivan laughs. “Okay, you guys, we don’t have to shout any more.”

Pop leans over and asks, “So, what’s going on Special Agent Brody?”

“We think we have a positive make on Cookie’s stalker,” Ivan says, drawing my complete attention.

I mumble, “Is it who I think it is?”

“We are almost certain the man is Fredrik Koshechka.”

All of a sudden, I feel lightheaded. I slump up against the wall and everything goes black. Mom where are you? Luckily, Josh catches me before I hit the floor.

Josh says, “Hey…oh! Hold on a minute Ivan!” He looks at Pop. “Let’s get her on the couch.” I hear their voices, but I feel like I’m miles away floating in outer space.

“I got her.” Josh lifts me up as if I am a child. By the time he carries me to the couch and puts a pillow under my head, I come to thinking when will this be over. I try to sit up but Pop hold my shoulder down.

He feels my forehead. “Cookie, love what’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, really. Go back into the hall to talk to Ivan,” I tell them weakly, and remain on the couch. They do and I close my eyes listening. I can hear them fine from here. They start talking about the throw and Josh comes in to retrieve the forensic report. I open my eyes and force a smile.

“Can I do anything?”

I wave my hand. “Girl stuff.”

He gives me a knowing look and leaves.

Funny how those two words always freak out guys my age. Still feeling woozy, I turn my head and see Pop’s favorite ink pen lying on the legal pad Ivan gave him on the coffee table. After a minute, I sit up a little and grab them, turning to a clean sheet I take notes on what is be said on the phone and questions I want answers to. I quickly jot down:

1.     Yucky stuff on Mom’s yellow throw: vinyl ether, hair from 4 different humans etc. Who’s hair?  99% sure it is Fredrik Koshechka’s. The guy stalking me. Why is he stalking moi?

“Like Pop says, $64,000 question!”

2.      Is my grandfather is Boris Artamonov? “Apparently his REAL name when he defected from Russia.”

3. Sheahan name given as new identity. Whole family sentenced to death by Russian government for treason.

4.  Do they still do that this day and age? Moreover, do the Russians have her? The big question:  has Ivan spoken to Helena?

I pause to think, scooting up higher in the corner of the couch and hear Ivan say that they spoke to people at the Alpine Resort.

“Huh. Is it cool for Josh and I to call the Alpine Resort? For our investigation. If we speak to as many employees as possible we can get first hand accounts. That is if any of them still work there.” I write down:

5.              *Adolph Gandler, the laundry manager—

Just as Ivan says, “Mr. Gandler, the laundry supervisor, is not clear on who or what he saw that morning.

Interesting... I catch myself chewing on the end of Pop’s pen.

6.    Check w/James Beal re: photos taken with Valentine in background. Does he have any other photographs of my family?

Pop asks, “Do we know who was in the black car?”

“We think it was a relative of Fredrik Koshechka. He has a sister who works in a women’s prison.”

I smack the notebook on the edge of the coffee table and spin around. I call out, “Ivan! I knew the black car was linked to this!”

Pop peers around the corner at me. “Somebody is feeling better.”

I push off the couch and join them in the hall, molding into Pop’s side. He wraps his big arms around me, planting a kiss me on the forehead.

Ivan says, “The front desk manager remembers Christopher buying tickets for sunrise skiing trip. We want to find out if Koshechka was in the resort...did he see Christopher buy the tickets?

“Wait, Ivan, Agent Werthoust questioned me about that.”

Ivan says, “Ah, Cookie, glad you’re back. I hear you’re a bit under the weather.”

I clear my throat. “Um, I’m fine. Question Ivan, would it be permissible for Josh and I call the Alpine to interview a couple of people  for our project?”

 “Not necessary. My team has already interrogated the staff who worked  at the resort on Christmas Eve morning. We know who they spoke to and saw. As a matter of fact, one of the AM waitresses who has worked in the café for years, tipped us off about Gandler’s free breakfast routine. I will fax the transcripts.”

Josh and I share a look. “Okay.”

“Helena Milinski, the resort’s manager, has photos and security tapes showing him in around the resort. She is asking resort employee and local merchants about Fredrik Koshechka (Valentine).”

My head throbs. I move away from Pop and massage my fingers. My head really hurts too. I need a couple of aspirins. I go to the downstairs bathroom and flip on the light. I look into the mirror. I look like a ghost with pale freckles. Before open the medicine cabinet, I pinch my pale cheeks. I take out the plastic bottle and shake a couple of pills in my palm. Pop looks in on me with a concerned expression then he sees the color has returned to my cheeks.

“Glad you’re better.”

I hear Josh’s voice talking to Ivan.

Pop crosses his arms. “Josh is telling Ivan about a skiing photo of you and your mum on the bunny slopes taken when you were eight. He said the man in the elevator sort of looks like a man standing off in the distance in the picture.” His tone is intense.

“Stands to reason,” I say matter-of-factly, filling a little paper cup with tap water and wash the aspirins down. “He poisoned my grandparents, then he went after Mom. Now he’s after moi.” I wad up the cup and drop it in the trashcan. “Sorry, I can’t tip-toe around this any more.” I come out closing the door and snake my arm though Pop’s.

“Okay.” Pop squeezes my arm. “It sounds like Ivan and Josh are wrapping up.

Josh looks over and frowns at me as he hangs up the phone. “There you are.”

I force a smile. “So what’d we miss?”

“Ivan wants us to fax him any photographs scanned in the highest DPI we can,” Josh says, and shows me the FAX number.

“I need a cup of joe.” Pop retrieves his mug and goes to the kitchen.

Josh and I move into the living room and sit on the couch. When Josh starts comparing what Ivan said to his lengthy ‘clue list’—the one I read while he was talking to his father earlier—I excuse myself.

“Hey, I should go gather those photos. By the way, I made some notes too.” I point at Pop’s legal pad and stand up a little too fast; the room spins and then settles. The aspirins haven’t kicked in yet.

“Okay.” Josh picks up the list. “Need help?”

“Yeah, but just with the scanning,” I say, backing out of the room. I bump into Pop returning with his coffee and a large plate of cookies. “Whoa.”

“Sorry Pop.”

“Where are you going love?”

“Photographs,” I say over my shoulder, I push past him and take stairs slowly. I stop in the stairwell and take down a couple of framed photos of our Austria vacations. I pause to study the old sepia photograph of Mom when she was a girl. She looks sad. I kind of see me in her overall features, but I am definitely my daddy’s child.

In my bedroom, I flip on my overhead light, spread out the frames on my bed, and then go inside my closet and pull a plastic shoebox off the shelf full of loose photographs. I dump it on my bedspread next to the framed photographs and pick out only ones Austria. Pop is a camera bug so there are a lot. “Man, we’re going to be scanning all night long.”

Next, I cross over to my bookshelf and snatch up the photograph of Mom and me in Austria and another one I took of her hot-dogging it on the advanced ski slopes. I’ll never be that good. Maybe surfing will be my thing. There’s definitely someone standing out there. I move the chair at my desk out of the way and pull the desk lamp’s chain, the bulb is like 100 watts. It blinds me for a second then my retinas adjust. Pop loves bright lights. He refuses to by 60s except for in the den. So much for conservation. Anyway, I slide the solid gold metal base over the desktop to get a better look and sit down at the desk removing the photo from the frame. My hands shack as I  place it under the lamp. The shade is made of a piece of oblong dark green glass and gives off a weird glow on the photo, but it’s the best light I have in my room. Hunched over the photo, I reach for a big round magnifying glass I keep on the upper shelf, and hold it over a dark image in the right corner. It's a man. I unscrew the shade, set it aside and hold the photo closer to the hot bulb careful not to burn the paper. The image is amazingly sharp.

“Holy crap! He’s wearing a hat with a fir rim—like the man in the elevator.” I sit back stretching my tense shoulders. “This is huge.” I blink and bright sparks flash before my eyes. The bright bulb is screwing with my vision. I open my top desk drawer and dig around the contents for my high-powered loop. I find it and sit down on my bed before the freaking lamp renders me blind. I rub my eyes, and then peer through the small lens at Mom, then me, then the dark figure, way in the distance standing on a mound looking down at us, watching our every move. Is he? Holding my next breath, I bring the photo a bit closer. There’s a tiny dot under his left eyebrow. The heart-shaped birthmark!

Energized by my discovery, I scramble to place everything in the plastic shoebox, including the two magnifying glasses, and return to the living room to show Josh. He has to be wondering what the heck is taking me so long. I arrive with my arms full and stop just shy of the living room.

Josh is saying, “…and according to Ivan, Fredrik Koshechka was recently stopped by the TSA at Regan airport and taken in for a pat down. All they found that was remotely suspicious, was a bag of makeup.”

Good, he and Pop are discussing my stalker and Pop looks okay with it. I set the box of photos on the coffee table and sit down next to Josh. He looks different, sort of  like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“So. What’s up?”

Josh hands me his cell. It says: CM, bkthu. D. “Call me breakthrough?”

“Yeah. My dad texted me that. I called. A detective on recon at Dulles just reported something that could be a breakthrough.”

“Really?” I flick a look at Pop. He’s just sipping his coffee. “Is that all?”

“No. Get this. He pulled the security tapes and they caught our man on video applying make-up.”

“Wow. Master of disguise.” I say, passing Josh the photo, I examined in up in my room, and the two magnifying glasses. “He’s in this photo.”

Josh leans to his right to get closer to the lamp at the end of the couch.

Reaching over, I point at the little figure in the photo. “Check it out. You can clearly see a good amount of face.”

“Oh yeah. Very interesting,”  Josh says, hunching over the photo.

During this, Pop must’ve gone to the kitchen for yet another cup of joe. He sets his coffee mug down on the side table with a clunk. “What is it you two are looking at?”

Josh hands the photo and the little loop over for Pop to take a look. With his vision going, he might not be able to see what we did.

Making squinty faces, Pop examines the image he took years ago, his nose on the paper, not using the loop. He mutters something about his cheaters, the over-the-counter reading glasses he buys at the drug store and sticks in every drawer around the house and in the van’s glove box.

“Use the loop, Pop,” I call over my shoulder, and go in the hall to fetch a of ‘cheaters’ and a small eyeglass tool kit out of the phone table’s center drawer to remove the frames.

I pass tortoise shell glasses to Pop and he slides them on, balancing them on the end of his nose. “Humph, I used my new lens Eva gave me for Christmas the year before.”

I sit back down and take a tiny flat-headed screwdriver and work on the back of the photograph James Beal took of me last year. I slide it out and look at the picture. “There’s a dark figure in the bleachers and I’d bet my grandmother that the man in this picture is a KGB working with Fredrik Koshechka.”

Leaning over, Josh glances at the photograph and then digs through the other photos in the shoebox.

I set the photo aside and pick up another frame. “AKA Valentine.”

“Um, Cookie. They don’t think there are more KGB agents here. It’s probably him.”

“Say what?” Pop gasps and almost chokes on his coffee. “Are you telling me this creep has been following you for a year and you didn’t say anything?”

“Well, yeah. Think about it. The Russians killed my grandparents. They hunted Mom down and… whatever. Now they’re after moi.”

Josh looks at me and I shrug. “Might as well spill it all Josh. Pop has to know what’s going on.”

Pop sticks his leg out and prods the toe of Josh’s left shoe. “Give it to me lad. I’m all ears and full of caffeine.”

Josh hesitates. “What. You know something new. Don’t you.”

Josh nods his head and I bug my eyes at him.

“So. It turns out that when traveling to the United States, Koshechka disguises him self and goes by Alfred Dunsmuir, an importer-exporter of fine art. Records show that over the past nine months, Alfred Dunsmuir has made numerous trips to Washington, D.C. and New Orleans, originating from Russia and Austria. As you said Cookie, Koshechka in fact is a master of disguise. However, with the new TSA infrared scanning equipment, certain biological traits show up through the cleverest disguises. His father was a member of the Russian secret police and during his formative years, Koshechka followed his chekist father’s ideals. In the beginning of Cheka existence, chekist were issued distinctive coats. Even today, diehard chekist officers dress in black leather and long flowing coats. Like the one Valentine wears.”

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch at this point. “Whoa, yeah. Valentine always wears a long black coat.”

Pop grumbles, “Linen strongly opposed collectivization.”

“You don’t have to call him Valentine any more. He’s Fredrik Koshechka.”

Josh chuckles. “Ivan has started referring to him as ‘Fredi’.”

Pop snorts a laugh and slides his eyes to see my reaction.

I have to laugh. “Fredi…too funny! But is he dangerous?”

Pop is on his feet jacking up his pants at the waist. “I just started reading a new cookbook on catering for a hundred plus. I’m going to let Josh fill you in. I’ve heard all this.”

“You have?”

“Ivan and I talk while you’re at school. He calls me and comes by for lunch. He’s very interesting.” Pop pecks me on the cheek. “Good night, love. Josh.”

“Now who’s keeping secrets.” I give him one more look as he ascends the stairs.

Josh waves. “Good night Mr. B.”

“So, what else do you know about Fredi?” I ask, curling up in the corner of the couch with a stack of photos on my lap. Gag. I can’t believe how goofy I looked with my wild red hair and string bean legs.

Josh picks up a hand full of pictures and sits sideways facing me. “Well, picture Fredi as an impressionable preteen who liked to tinker with electronic equipment while his—gulag—father joked about his brutal acts on those who rejected the new Soviet conviction. On his seventeenth birthday, he finds his father bleeding in the snow outside their Moscow home. The Red Army claimed his father was murdered by an American spy. A lie, Fredi found his suicide note and hid it from his mother.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. Anyway, to help support his grieving mother, young Fredi starts working with the KGB as a Special Communications officer…and as a mole spying on the villagers. Over the next thirty plus years, he works his way through the ranks. History changes. Now he’s getting old and so much has changed in the world. He wants ready to retire from the SVR––Russia’s current Foreign Intelligence Service, however he has one last mission that needs to be completed before they will let him go.”

I feel my eyes go wide and I point at my chest. “Find moi?”

Josh knows my humor is to mask my fear.

“Don’t be afraid Cookie, Dad and Ivan have surveillance teams set up at every check point between here and there—where ever here and there is.”

 “Yeah, well, the spooky thing is Ivan’s team hasn’t been able to apprehend Fredi yet.” I blow out my next breath to settle the flock of butterflies flitting around in my stomach. “So what’s do they have planned?”

Josh places his hand on my shoulder. “Number one, keep you safe from any harm and number two, snare Fredi. See it’s important to do this politically so it stops once and for all.”