The argument grew more and more heated. She said he didn’t appreciate the way she was practically a mom to him, all she did for him. “Yeah, and how’d that work out, sis?” he snapped. He called her “Der Führer” because she was such a control freak. It got ugly. By the end he was bellowing at her, red-faced. It was terrifying.
“You’re nothing!” she yelled at him. “You’re nothing. You’re a goddamned waste of space.”
He stormed out of the house and jumped into his beat-up Toyota. He raced off, leaving skid marks on the driveway.
Her memory of what happened after that grew a little vague and disjointed. She remembered watching TV and the phone ringing. The call from the hospital in the middle of the night. They couldn’t save him.
She remembered being brought in to see the body, which she wished to this day she hadn’t agreed to. Neither of her parents did.
Later, in that hallucinatory night-into-day, she remembered the police telling her about how Calvin had driven his Toyota through a red light and right into the path of an oncoming tractor trailer.
The truck driver was fine but shaken. He wasn’t at fault, no question about it. Calvin was drunk, but most of all he was drunk with rage.
And — this was the most horrible thing of all — she had provoked him into doing it. Why the hell had she gotten it into her head to tear into him that way? She’d told herself she was staging a kind of “intervention.” But if it hadn’t been for her anger that night, Calvin might still be alive. It was her judgmental nature that had directly resulted in Calvin’s death.
She was always bringing up Calvin with Jake, as if Calvin was some parable of all the reckless decisions he made. But now she realized there was more to it than that. It was really about a fateful decision of her own. About hurting those you love.
Sitting in judgment upon herself, she found herself guilty.
The tears were streaming down her face when she was startled out of her thoughts by the loud honk of the car behind her. The light had turned green.
She took her foot off the brake and drove away.
73
My God,” Duncan said, standing at the front of her SUV in the garage, his arms folded. “What the hell happened?” He’d arrived home from work and was at first surprised to see her there, until she’d explained.
“I told you. The guy tried to run me off the road.”
“My God,” he said again, and he put his arms around her. “I’m just grateful you’re okay. You could have been killed.”
She’d been badly rattled, but by the time she got home, she was just weary and numb. “I don’t think he was trying to kill me,” she said. “Maybe just warn me off. There are easier ways to kill a person.”
“Oh really?” He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye, visibly furious. “I think this way almost worked. You could have lost control of the car and spun out and — that would have been it.”
He opened the door to the house, and she followed him in. “This — this thing with the car, this could just be the first attempt, right?” he went on. “They know where you live, they’ve already broken in once, next time they come back to finish the job.”
They entered the kitchen. His eyes were wide. “We are not safe here. Where the hell is your CIA guy?”
“I’ve been waiting for his call.”
“Well, he’s taking his goddamned sweet time, isn’t he? We have to go to Nantucket tomorrow. We have, what, eighteen hours!”
“I’ll call him,” she said. “I’ll figure out a way to make this work, with or without the CIA.” She realized she was still jittery from the incident on the highway, her nerves still taut. The numbness was wearing off. “Where’s Jake?”
“I’m sure he’s upstairs,” Duncan said.
“Can you make sure?”
She set down her purse on the counter, took out her phone, found Paul Ashmont’s number among the recent calls in Signal, and hit redial.
Ashmont answered the phone on the first ring. “Hey. I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been striking out all over the place.”
“Striking out?”
“Nobody in house wants to sign on to this. Nobody wants a piece of it. Nobody wants to play.”
“Because of who it is — Protasov?” Even though their conversation was encrypted, she thought twice before saying his name.
“Too many risk factors.”
“I understand.”
“And because of what it is. Because of Russia. No manpower. Like I said, most of the Russia experts have retired or been squeezed out.”
“But I need help badly. Now.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do. I was just nearly killed.”
“For real?”
“Forced off the road, outside of Boston.”
“When was this?”
“Just now.”
There was a pregnant pause before he responded. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to have someone from FinCEN contact you.”
“What is that?”
“FinCEN is the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. Part of the Treasury Department. They go after criminals for money laundering and other financial crimes. Dig into terrorist financing and such.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Which is probably just the way they like it. They’ve been mostly an intelligence-collecting agency, but ever since Bitcoin markets got established, and Silk Road 2.0 and the like, they’ve launched a low-profile ops unit. Special Collections, they call it. They plant high-tech bugs in hard-to-reach places, in foreign countries or here. You know, parabolic antennas and all that shit.”
“But when? When am I going to hear from them? We have to be in Nantucket tomorrow morning, when people are arriving for the board meeting. So we don’t have time to screw around.”
“Got it,” he said after a beat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She put down the phone when the call was done as Duncan entered the kitchen. Something was wrong.
“Jake’s not upstairs,” Duncan said.
“You call his phone?”
“No answer.”
“You didn’t pick him up today, right?” she asked.
“He was supposed to take the bus home, as usual.”
“But he wasn’t home when you got here?”
“I guess I thought he’d made some arrangement with you.”
“Me? I told him no more staying after school, he’s got to be home doing his homework. Saving his grades. Saving his own butt.”
“All right, he didn’t tell either one of us he was going anywhere after school,” Duncan said. “Right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “So where is he?”
“Oh, God,” she said, and she tried not to think about any terrifying scenarios. This is one of the things they don’t warn you about becoming a parent, she’d often thought. Realizing your utter powerlessness over fate.
“What are you thinking?” Duncan said. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”
“Let’s call Ashley.”
“What?”
“If he went somewhere, she’ll know. He tells her a hell of a lot more than he tells us.”
She hit Ashley’s number.
“What time is it over there?” she asked.
“It’s, like, eleven, she’s probably asleep.”
“I don’t care if I wake her up,” Juliana said. “I want to know she’s okay too.”
“Hello?” Ashley’s voice, pulled out of sleep.
“Sweetie!” Juliana said.
“Everything okay?” Ashley said, alarmed.
“Everything’s — everything’s just fine, I’m just—”
“Then why are you calling now?”
“We’re trying to find your brother,” Juliana said, trying to sound casual.