Andrew had driven several miles along the waterfront and pulled the Zhiguli into an abandoned pier. It was a vast structure of rotting timbers and rusting steel sheet. McKendrick remained at the car, keeping watch on the entrance, while father and son walked amidst the discarded packing crates and litter, Churcher telling of his confrontation with Deschin in the submarine, and explaining how he’d survived.
“You still didn’t answer my question,” Andrew replied when he’d finished.
“No time for that,” Churcher said with finality, expecting his tone would dismiss Andrew, as it always had. “If we’re going to beat these Russian sons of bitches, we’ve got to get our hands on that package of drawings, fast. Ed tells me you’ve been chasing it.”
“That’s right—” Andrew replied, fighting to overcome a lifetime of conditioning that was now prompting him to back away from the matter of his father’s treason.
“And—”
“The KGB showed up.”
“Damn. What about Mordechai? I was counting on him to get us another set.”
“He’s dead,” Andrew said flatly. Then getting back to what was on his mind, but no longer able to confront his father directly, he prodded, “The only way you’ll beat the Russians now, Dad, is by coming forward with the truth.”
Churcher’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you talking about?” he asked warily.
“Your deal with Aleksei Deschin. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s connected to what’s going on in Geneva. But you’re the only one who knows the details.”
“Right — on both counts,” Churcher said. “The Russians could come away with all the marbles. And I’m the only one who knows how.”
“Then, call Jake Boulton and fill him in.”
“You and I have our wires crossed, boy. I’m not out to even the score in Geneva. I’m out to settle one with Aleksei. He got what he wanted, but I didn’t. Like I said, I called him on it, and he tried to kill me. Those drawings are the only way to tighten the screws and force him to pay what he owes.”
“The paintings—” Andrew said incredulously.
“Right,” Churcher went on. “And once I have them, and his people have things in Geneva right where they want them—” he paused, and brightened savoring the thought “—then, I’ll send Jake the drawings to make Aleksei pay for this.” He raised his left arm and shook the stump angrily.
“But not otherwise.”
“That’s right.”
Andrew couldn’t believe that his father had no intention of righting the wrong.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Churcher asked.
“Yes. It bothers me a lot,” Andrew replied, the feelings of anger and betrayal intensifying, supplying the courage that had deserted him earlier. He looked his father square in the eye and asked, “How would you feel if you found out your father was a traitor?”
Churcher’s eyes flared. “Don’t you dare stand in judgment of me!” he exploded. His voice echoed in the empty structure as he whirled and began walking away.
“Why not?” Andrew challenged, pursuing him, no longer able to contain his outrage. “I don’t hear you denying it! How could you do it? How?”
“You know how many nuclear weapons we have?” Churcher retorted. “And how many they have?”
“That’s not the point!”
“Between us, we could blow this planet to bits a hundred times over,” Churcher went on. “What the hell’s another dozen or two?”
“Dad — You sold out your country!”
“Bull!” Churcher said, stung by the truth and trying to conceal it. “I don’t have to take this! Who the hell do you think you are anyway?”
“I’m your son!” Andrew said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I believed in you. Defended you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to look up to someone all your life, to try to emulate him, and then—”
“You did a lousy job,” Churcher snapped cruelly.
“I did my best,” Andrew replied. “And I’d always felt ashamed because I thought I’d failed. Now, I’m ashamed for trying. All these years you held yourself up as an example — Theodor Scoville Churcher: model citizen, champion of free enterprise, war hero.”
“All true.”
“All lies! You were working for the Russians!”
“I was working for myself!”
“It was wrong! Dead wrong, and you know it! Why don’t you admit it?”
“Maybe it was,” Churcher mumbled defensively.
“And do something about it?” Andrew continued, not hearing him.
“I said I was wrong, dammit!” Churcher shouted. “I shouldn’t have done it!”
Andrew was taken back more by the admission than the volume. He studied Churcher’s face as they glared at each other. Despite the anger, there was a pathetic blankness in his father’s eyes now, and his skin had a gray, waxen pallor. The old coot looked old, Andrew thought, old and exhausted.
“Why?” Andrew asked softly after a long silence. “Why’d you do it?”
“That’s a tough one,” Churcher replied in a subdued voice. His stamina still hadn’t returned, and the angry exchange left him weary. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really thought about it much.”
“Well, it’s time you did.”
Churcher nodded, accepting, almost welcoming, the sudden and dramatic change in their roles. “I wish I could say it was misplaced ideals or something equally honorable,” he began. “But it comes down to greed, I guess. Greed and power. I got used to having my way, to getting what I wanted and believing that if Theodor Churcher wanted something, it was right. But I sure as hell never set out to hurt anyone.” He paused, his face softening, voice taking on a sincere timbre as he added, “I sure never wanted to hurt you, son.”
“But you did, Dad. You hurt a lot of people — me — Jake — Ed — Raina—”
“You know about her—” Churcher said flatly.
“Yes, she’s given up a lot to help you.”
“Those bastards have her?”
“Not as of two days ago. But it’s only a matter of time after what happened this morning.”
Churcher didn’t reply, but Andrew could see the thought of it pained him deeply. It had never occurred to him that his father had fallen in love. He’d always assumed his pride wouldn’t allow it.
“I’ll make amends,” Churcher said in an uncharacteristically contrite tone.
Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “Start with Geneva.”
“I’m sorry son, but I can’t do that,” Churcher replied, his lips tightening in frustration. “I’ve worked too long and hard to spend the rest of my life in disgrace. I want to make up for what I’ve done, God knows I do,” he went on, anguished. “I really do. You have to believe that. But I can’t just come forward. I can’t. You understand?”
Andrew considered it for a long moment, stealing a glance at the sleeve that hung limply at Churcher’s side. His father had been a risk taker all his life, and had always gotten away with it. And if there’d been a price to be paid, somehow it had always been paid by others— but this time it had cost him.
“Okay,” Andrew finally said, his tone indicative of his resolve. “We’ll find another way.”
Churcher nodded, relieved, and settled on a packing crate. “Ed?” he called out, waving McKendrick over.
“You two okay?” McKendrick asked as he hurried toward them from the Zhiguli.
“We worked it out,” Churcher said softly.