John and Sveta settled on the sofa in Olga’s office, Sveta with a dazed, unearthly glow around her. John looked equally undone. Kat patted their clasped hands as she took the straight-backed chair. “The Watsons tell me a court date has been set for tomorrow morning at nine for the adoption finalization proceedings. Have there been any changes to the schedule since they received this word?”
Olga sat at her desk, serious now. The warmth lingered in her eyes, but she’d become the institutional mother of ninety-plus children and responsibility hued her expression. “No, all the paperwork is in order and we’ve not been notified of any changes to the court docket. We’ll plan to meet outside the judge’s chambers tomorrow morning at 8:45. Thankfully, our region was one of the first to open our doors to adoption and our local administration is favorable. I don’t foresee any problems.” She pulled out a file, began rifling through papers, checking each one.
“Actually, the previous director made my job that much easier by pushing for adoption during the early days of Glasnost. This was her dream for decades.” She looked up. “All of Gleb’s medical records appear to be in order. Since the Watson’s have already passed initial approval, the court appearance should serve as a mere formality to satisfy the legal adoption requirements. There’s nothing to be concerned about at this point. I believe they’ll find the judge to be quite cooperative. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll need to arrange for Gleb’s new passport and, hopefully, he’ll be ready to travel to Moscow with his new mama and papa within a day or two, depending on what flight arrangements we can make.”
Olga addressed the Watsons. As Kat interpreted, the director handed her a sheaf of papers.
“When the time comes for you to get Gleb, please bring a change of clothes for him. We’ll take him out of the class and change his clothes, and he will leave the orphanage immediately, without returning to his group, to begin his new life as your son.” Olga’s voice turned hard. “No looking back, for any of us. Okay?”
Kat interpreted, forcing words through her thickening throat. No looking back. Was this what she was doing? Looking back into a past her grandfather wanted forgotten? Was she about to unlock secrets that might bring pain pouring down on the man who had given her a future? Perhaps she should hop a plane for New York, just as Vadeem hoped. Despite her prayers, she couldn’t help but feel as if God had closed his ears. But her job wasn’t to evaluate His response, or lack thereof.
Her only job was to trust and obey. To pray and wait for rescue.
The sudden image of her former stalker-rescuer, the one God had sent to save her life, sent stinging tears into her eyes. Maybe she should look harder for God’s intervention.
A knock sounded at the door. It opened, and in a moment, a teacher appeared with a chubby, round-faced Gleb in her arms. He held the ball, his big brown eyes saucer-wide, rippling more than just a little fear. His pink flannel shirt missed two buttons, and he had dug his feet around the waist of his nurse, his brown cotton tights bagging at his ankles. “Meet your mama,” the teacher said softly, and Kat saw the woman’s forced smile.
“Natalia,” Olga said to the teacher, “could you take the Watsons down to the music room with their son?”
Sveta was already on her feet. She reached for the child, eager. Gleb pulled back, his face crumpling. Kat started to intervene, yearning for this moment to be beautiful.
“Nyet,” Olga said, stopping Kat. “Let them go alone. They need to learn to trust each other.” She shooed the Watsons off down the hall with Natalia.
Kat ached with happiness. Mother and child. “Lord, help them,” she said in English.
“Are you a believer?” Olga said, shock on her handsome face.
Kat nodded. Warmth for this well-groomed woman washed over her. She didn’t know what she’d expected—probably some large-busted matron with bushy gray eyebrows and steely eyes. Director Shasliva was a pleasant departure from the stereotype with her olive green suit jacket and matching skirt. She conveyed confidence and pride in her establishment.
“You?” Kat countered, hoping.
A smile creased Olga’s face. “Since I was a child. In fact, I grew up in an orphanage. If it hadn’t been for Babushka Antonina, I may have never have found the Lord.”
“Was she your director?”
“More like my grandmother. She had beautiful blond hair and these brown eyes that could part my soul and find my sins. But she loved me, and I adored her.”
Kat could picture the woman in Olga’s eyes—rounded body, strong hands, a way with her love that made every child feel special. “I never knew my grandmother.” Kat took a deep breath. “In fact, that is the real reason I came to Russia. To find my family.”
Olga’s forehead creased into a frown. “You have relatives in Russia?”
“I think so. My grandfather worked in the OSS with the partisans. I think my grandmother was Russia. Her name was Magda… I think her last name might have been Klassen.”
“Russia is a big place.” Olga shook her head. “And there aren’t many partisans left. I remember them being honored every year in a parade.” She steepled her fingers on her desk, her eyes suddenly alight. “You know, I think our itinerant pastor’s mother was a partisan. I remember reading an article about her not long ago. She happened to be a lawyer, and she pioneered the laws that opened the doors to international adoptions.”
A Russian pastor. This trip certainly had some hidden blessings.
“They live about an hour from here, but I’ll call him and see if you can meet them for dinner. I’ll drive you out. From what I can remember reading, Marina Dobrana and her husband spent their lives campaigning for adoption, and it was her dream to see every orphanage emptied. She even received a medal for her pioneering work. I’ll be she could give you a few ideas. The partisan network was tightly knit back then. If anyone could point you toward your Magda, Marina Dobrana could.”
Vadeem paced his office, glancing now and again at the computer, his jaw clenched. Kat’s words kept running through his head, “You can find out. The FSB has files on everyone.”
Okay, more than just her words were running around in his noggin, but he fought the places his nightmares were taking him and focused only on what he knew. She’d flown out today, to Blagoveshensk, to help some rich American couple adopt a child. She was most likely safely checked into a hotel, eating potato soup, not giving him a second thought.
Whereas he couldn’t seem to force her out of his brain.
He plopped down at his desk, drumming his fingers, staring as his computer’s screen saver. Denis was at his perch out in the hall, checking on the history of Pskov, trying to read a smuggler’s mind. Vadeem hoped the kid dug up something. Grazovich hadn’t moved in two days and the surveillance team was starting to get antsy. If Kat was somehow entangled in Grazovich’s scheme, he didn’t seem panicked about her disappearance. Unless he knew where she was.
Vadeem would be less than an FSB sleuth if he didn’t follow his gut and look into her past. Something tied her to Grazovich, something more than coincidence or the smuggler wanting a pretty companion during his tour of Pskov. And, the fact that a thug mowed them down and ripped the key—only the key—off Kat’s neck, leaving behind both her suitcase and her backpack, screamed volumes.
That key had to open something of value.
Vadeem surrendered to the investigator’s urge and keyed his password into the FSB computer. He pulled up her visa application and read it through. Ekaterina Hope Moore. Born in Nyack, New York. Thirty-three years old. Occupation, Adoption Coordinator.