Stillness Part VI, Chapter 57
Ksenia stood at the top of a snowy hill, watching her son guide his sled along a well-worn path. The sled run began just behind the dacha, winding down through the garden and finally coming to a stop a little short of the low stone wall that divided the garden from the orchard. This was Ivor’s favorite course, and it was one of the few hilly stretches on the grounds that was sufficiently free of obstruction to meet his mother’s exacting standards. Even so, with each run she worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop and that he would collide with the orchard wall, although after dozens — if not hundreds — of runs, he had never even come close.
After the sled came to a gradual stop at the bottom of the hill, Ivor got up and began making his way back to the top, his sled in tow. The climb to the top of the hill took several minutes; the ride down lasted no more than thirty seconds. And yet Ivor would be perfectly happy to keep riding down and climbing back up all day. And Ksenia would be happy to watch him do so, at least until his teeth began to chatter and his normally warm brown complexion took on a bluish tint.
“Now there’s a fine Russian boy hard at play.”
Ksenia turned to see Sergei Banov standing behind her. One of Mr. Keyes’ oldest friends, Banov had also been a good friend to her over the years, as had his wife and daughter. Although it was never discussed openly, Ksenia knew that the self-described “retired intelligence man” had spent a good deal of time trying to discover what had become of Reuben Stone. And because it was never discussed, Ksenia deduced that the search was fruitless.
But she also knew that Sergei was not a man easily discouraged by long odds or an initial lack of success, as he had demonstrated two years earlier by finally tracking down the man who killed his son. Even Mr. Keyes thought that was impossible.
“Good morning, Sergei Petrovich,” said Ksenia.
Banov smiled broadly.
“Good morning, Ksenia Ivanova.”
“And good morning to you,” he continued, waving and calling out to Ivor.
The boy looked up from his trudging and solemnly returned the salute.
“Good morning, Uncle,” he said, only slightly raising his voice. At a young age, he had already observed how easily voices carried over the snow.
“See how he loves the snow,” Sergei said to Ksenia, indicating the boy’s steady trek back up the hill. “He is a true Russian, that one.”
Ksenia nodded.
“I was just thinking about that. His love of the cold he gets from his Russian mother. But his ability to withstand it he gets from his American father.”
“It’s true,” Sergei chuckled. “Americans are not so good when it comes to handling the cold. What’s worse, many of them think they are good at it. But poor Ivor — not only an American, but an American removed from a tropical paradise by a single generation.”
Ksenia smiled. That was a side of Reuben’s life she knew about only through third-hand accounts. He had never told her much about his family or his background. No doubt he had intended to get to that eventually. But eventually, like everything else, ended being very from anything either of them had expected.
“What brings you to the Dacha?”
Sergei did not respond immediately.
“Marina is sorry that she could not come today. She had some shopping to do. But she sends her love and says that she will call you next week.”
“When does Dzhena come home for the Christmas holidays?” asked Ksenia.
“She isn’t coming home, I’m afraid. She has chosen to spend her school break with the…ah…young man and his family.”
“The young man?” she repeated. “Sergei Petrovich, even I know his name.”
“As do I,” said Sergei.
“And yet you don’t use it. Why not? He’s a fine boy.”
Sergei shook his head.
“That may be true. If so, a fine boy should go find himself a fine girl and settle own. I would have nothing but blessings and congratulations for him. But he should not waste the time — much less waste the life — of a girl who is not just fine. A girl who is much, much, more than fine.”
Ksenia patted the older man on the shoulder.
“You’re a good father,” she said. “But maybe you worry a little more than you should.”
“Ha,” he replied. “You see? We don’t have to miss my wife. She is here with us all the time.”
Ksenia smiled again.
“You are too kind, sir. I am flattered. Marina Velatova is a fine woman, after all. Or rather, excuse me. She is much more than that.”
Sergei chuckled.
“You’re right. And yet look who she ended up with. Perhaps I’m being too hard on the young man.”
“Perhaps, Sergei Petrovich. In any case, I have a feeling that this is not entirely a social call. Why have you come?”
“Mr. Keyes though it might be good for us to talk. He told me about your nighttime visitor.”
Ksenia knew better than to feel betrayed. Michael Keyes would not view talking to Sergei about what she had told him as a betrayal of confidence. Sergei was family, after all — at least according to Keyes’ rather expansive definition of the word — and nothing done within the context of family, especially not in an instance such as this, where Sergei’s expertise could provide assistance in assessing a potential threat to two members of the family — could possibly be in any way improper.
“I suppose I should be glad that he took it seriously enough to invite you over to talk about it. I was afraid that Mr. Keyes was going to have me talk to a psychiatrist.”
“He may yet. And ordinarily, Ksenia Ivanova, I would think that — perhaps — that would not be the worst idea. For what you have described is very strange. Most improbable, I would say. And there is no question that you have suffered greatly.”
She bristled slightly.
“So you would take what I have said happened as evidence of a delusion? A hallucination?”
“Ordinarily, yes.”
She considered that for a moment.
“Ordinarily. But something is different. Something is out of the ordinary. So much so that you will entertain my ravings as a possible truth?”
Sergei smiled sadly and nodded.
Ksenia realized that she was glad for the opportunity to talk to Sergei, even if she might not like his conclusions. She wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her to speak to him in the first place. Although she could now speak English passably well, or perhaps better than passably, it was somehow more meaningful to talk about serious matters in Russian. It was as though she and Sergei were different people when they spoke their own language. And they were different. When he spoke English, Sergei always clowned around, always played the fool. When speaking Russian he rarely bothered with that.
Ivor had arrived at the top of the hill and was already turning his sled around in preparation for his next run.
“Ivor, come here and say hello to Uncle properly.”
The boy reluctantly left his sled behind and climbed the rest of the way up the hill. He hugged Sergei in greeting.
“Shouldn’t we go in and have some hot chocolate?” asked Ksenia.
Ivor treated Sergei to a plaintive look. Only his intercession could help.
“That does sound like a treat,” said Sergei. “But it can wait a bit. I want to see just how fast Ivor can make his sled go.”
___
Ksenia and Sergei were seated in front of a fire in the sitting room on the second floor of the dacha. Ivor was napping in the next room.
“Well there you two are,” said Michael Keyes, entering the room. As he often did when visiting sections of the house which had once been part of the clinic, the old man looked uncomfortable. Ksenia knew that the sitting room was especially troubling because Michael and Betty had spent so much time there together.
Initially, it had seemed like a good idea to move Ksenia and Ivor’s rooms to this wing. She had hoped it would help to bring about a change in the house, that this would give some comfort to Mr. Keyes in his time of loss. Besides, the lighting and heat were much better on this side of the house.
But now she wasn’t sure that the change had done much good. She suspected that Mr. Keyes would have preferred simply to seal off this section of the house. And perhaps that would have been best. Ksenia had thought about suggesting that she and Ivor move back to the other wing, but she just hated bringing the subject up. For the same reason, she wouldn’t now suggest that they find another room to talk. Proud and stubborn as he was, Mr. Keyes would never acknowledge that it was a problem for him.
Sergei got up and shook the older man’s hand. Keyes told him to sit back down and then took a seat himself on the sofa next to Ksenia. Sergei was seated across from them in one of two leather chairs.
“We’ve just had hot chocolate,” said Ksenia. “Shall I make you a cup? I could use the artificial sweetener.” Keyes was slowly coming to terms with his diabetes.
“Thanks but no thanks. If I need something to warm me up, there’s some cognac in the cupboard. How does that sound, Serge?”
“Maybe later, Michael. Or maybe not. Snow and cognac and driving to Moscow are not such a good mix.”
Keyes waved dismissively.
“Just a passing thought,” he said. “So where’s the Human Noise Machine? Down for his nap?”
Ksenia nodded.
“Sorry I missed out on the sledding. I just couldn’t get off the phone.”
“It’s all right,” said Ksenia. “The snow will be with us for a long time. There will be plenty more chances for sledding.”
“Yes,” Sergei agreed. “Plenty of chances. Is Russia. Is winter. Won’t be big surprise to see Ivor on his sled many, many times over next few weeks. But if he decides to go fishing or kite-flying, you might want to end your call early for once.”
“Fishing,” Keyes repeated. “Now there’s a thought. Serge, we ought to go ice fishing one of these days. You, me, and the boy. What do you say?”
“I say sitting out on frozen lake at night trying to catch poor fish who thinks he is safely under ice is not my idea of good time. I also think you miss my point.”
“And what point was that?”
“A man as powerful and — forgive me, Michael — wealthy as you are should be able to hang up phone any time. Should not need special excuse.”
Keyes turned to Ksenia.
“He called me wealthy, but he asked me to forgive him. What should I do?”
“Forgive,” said Ksenia. “Definitely forgive.”
“One thing you people don’t understand,” said Keyes, now turning to Sergei, “is that in order to become powerful and — forgive me — wealthy, you have to spend a lot of time doing things you don’t necessarily want to do.”
“What do you mean by you people?” asked Sergei, his voice heavy with mock effrontery.
“You know.”
“I do not know.”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I insist.”
“Fine. You people. Commies.”
Sergei howled with delight.
“Ha. I knew it would come to this. You call me communist? Well, I say you are capitalist. Imperialist. Exploiter of working class. Bourgeois hypocrite.”
“Right,” Keyes responded. “And?”
“And?” said Sergei. “There is no and. What ‘and’ could there possibly be? Oh, wait. I spoke too soon. Yes, here is your ‘and.’ You are all these things I have said and you are unwilling to hang up phone to watch grandson play with sled. Now you stand accused and convicted, da? There is no possible defense.”
Keyes turned to Ksenia.
“Plays hardball, doesn’t he?”
Ksenia shrugged.
“I don’t know that game. It is like baseball?”
The old man shook his head.
“I give up,” he said. “I can’t handle two of you at once.”
“He surrenders!” said Sergei. “At last we have settled score from Cold War.”
“Yes,” said Ksenia. “Score is now tied.”
“Fine,” said Keyes. “We’ll make it the best of three. Anyway, Serge, I needed to be on that call. I think I now have a handle on the information we were looking for.”
Sergei nodded. Ksenia watched as the jolly Sergei instantly disappeared in favor of the more serious version, the one she had been talking to before Keyes entered the room.
“Project Cactus?” he said.
Keyes nodded.
“You have procured files?”
“Sort of. None of my usual gang were any help in getting their hands on this thing. Every one of your old KGB buddies struck out, but I wasn’t expecting much from them.”
“Da,” said Sergei. “I believe that our friend in St. Petersburg will soon get his hands on information related to Russian counterpart project. But Project Cactus itself? No one has anything on it. There are no files to steal.”
Keyes nodded.
“I think that’s about to change. I cashed in every marker and still couldn’t get anything. Embassies, media guys, security consultants who use to work for the Company…Jack Squat all the way around.”
Ksenia, who was listening in silent amazement, finally had to speak.
“Mr. Keyes, do I understand you correctly? You and Sergei Petrovich are engaged in some kind of espionage against the US government?”
Keyes frowned.
“Huh,” he said. “Doesn’t Serge wish. Well, it does sound that way, I’ll grant you. But no, that’s not what’s going on. First off, I wouldn’t exactly call it espionage. It’s just a little independent intelligence-gathering. And it’s certainly not against the American government. We’re on their side, even if they don’t know it. Anyway, that brings me to my point. They do know it, now. Not only are we not working against them, we’re working with them.”
“Shto?” said Sergei, looking a little stunned. “What?”
“It’s pretty simple. I got tired of coming up dry, so I had one of my buddies on the Cabinet get me a meeting with the Director of Central Intelligence. I’m sure you understand, Serge, that I couldn’t have you in on that call.”
“Ha,” said Sergei, nodding. “Konyeshnye,” he added, lapsing again into Russian.
“Of course,” said Ksenia, not sure whether the translation was necessary.
“Anyway,” Keyes continued, “I think they’re getting pretty desperate. When they heard I was working on this myself, they were more than happy to share what they know. I’m sure the Russian government will be in on it soon, along with anybody else who might be able to do some good.”
“So they intend to engage in partial disclosure?” asked Sergei.
Keyes shook his head.
“Full. Fitzpatrick is on his way to Langley right now. He’ll be here in a couple of days with a complete set of files.”
Sergei swore quietly in Russian.
Ksenia looked from one man to the other, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
“So what is this Cactus?” she asked.
“Something you’ll soon be a part of,” said Keyes. “It’s the official US Government investigation into the end of the world.”