Asya walked over and handed the rifle to King, then patted him on the shoulder. “Compromise. Just like big boys. Very nice.” Then she moved over to a sofa and sat down.
Alexander chuckled, then walked to a set of doors leading from the lounge into the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”
King slipped the strap of the AK over his shoulder and slid the Sig into the waistband of his jeans, behind his back. Then, gingerly, he sat down in a wingback chair.
“Were you hurt?” Lynn asked, concern making the smile in her eyes vanish.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” King grunted. “Just a broken rib. Why are you two here?”
Peter walked over with a glass of scotch and set it on a glass-topped coffee table for King, then he took his own glass and plopped in a chair next to Lynn. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”
King raised an eyebrow at the man. “Asya and I have been looking for you two all over the globe. We’ve spent a small fortune, used government assets and put ourselves in harm’s way to find you.”
“Not to mention a totally unnecessary fist fight with a guy who heals faster than I can say ‘Hercules,’” Asya said. She was joking, but not smiling. They were both relieved that their parents were alive, but neither were happy to find they’d been duped.
“So you’re going to tell us everything.” King leaned back in his chair. “You take just as long as you need.”
NINETEEN
“Alright, Dad. Let’s have it.” King leaned forward in the chair, then instantly regretted it, as a fresh shot of bone-jangling pain ripped through his side.
“Well, you already know that Lynn and I worked for the Russian government,” Peter began.
“That’s putting it mildly. You were spies. Sleeper agent spies, no less. You still are spies—” King spat.
“No, son. That’s where you’re wrong. We wanted out. What I told you about when we last met was true. But we got roped into one last job, which was supposed to be our way out. For good.”
King recalled the story he had been told about Peter and Lynn Machtchenko breaking all ties from the Soviets in 1988. Russia had sent assassins after them just the once. King didn’t know the particulars beyond the fact that his mother, who he’d always seen as a gentle woman, shot the man. The would-be assassin survived, but the implication was that the Russians would never try it again. But then, years later, Peter had been outed by the US Government, who promptly threw him in jail for a decade. Upon his release three years ago, the KGB came sniffing again, hoping to reactivate Peter and Lynn as resources on US soil. The couple had created an elaborate scam to fake Lynn’s death, but King had stumbled upon it.
“Your story would work just fine except for the fact that you bugged me. Oh yeah, and there were those dead bodies in your hotel room. And then you were gone. You better have something more meaningful than ‘Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.’” King was getting tired of the lies. He looked over to Asya and found her simply nodding in agreement.
“Do you remember my twenty-second birthday?” Asya asked, looking at Peter. “The hunting trip? You gave me a speech that day, about honesty.”
“I remember,” her father said.
“I think it’s time you took your own advice and—”
“Hold on,” King said, on the verge of imploding. “Your twenty-second birthday?”
Peter’s eyes turned toward the floor.
King groaned. “You were never in jail, were you?”
“Jail?” Asya said, baffled.
“You let me think you were in jail for ten years?” King shook his head, feeling a mixture of betrayal and sadness.
“The fewer people who knew about Asya, the better,” Lynn said. “We have a lot of enemies. You have more. Family can be a weakness, so we hid you from each other. I raised you in the States. Your father raised Asya in Russia.”
King understood the reasoning. It was classic spy paranoia, which wasn’t necessarily unfounded. But the presence of his sister, of his still living sister, had become a source of stability for him over the past few months. “Family can also be a strength.”
Lynn nodded. “We’re together now. I hope it will be enough.”
“Things have changed in Russia,” Peter said, moving on. “Old elements are reclaiming power. They found me again. I had no choice but to make a deal. One last job. For your sister’s sake. It was just supposed to be surveillance. They wanted to know your activities and whereabouts. I was assured you were not a target. It was just intel. I figured what could it hurt? You were already wrapped up in your own problems with the attack on Fort Bragg. People were actively trying to kill you. Doing that one last job was supposed to ensure our immunity, and get them to leave you — both of you — alone for good.” Peter sighed loudly, then sipped his scotch.
Lynn leaned forward in her chair, her long scarf falling from her neck to her lap. “We were set up, but so were the Russians. It turned out they were being pressured from a business partner that wanted the information…”
“Let me guess,” King interrupted. “Richard Ridley.”
“Exactly,” Lynn continued. “And once things started to go haywire for him, his people picked us up. They were surprisingly good. We were really good once too, but we’re getting up there in years. Neither of us stood much of a chance.”
King winced at the thought of his parents being mistreated by Ridley’s thugs.
“So what happened next?” Asya asked.
“I did.” Alexander entered the room from the hallway, holding a large tray with a tea service. He wore a new pale blue shirt, and dark slacks. His face was clean and his hair was damp. His nose looked mended. “I suggest we have some tea. It’s my own brew. Very relaxing.”
When King raised an eyebrow, Alexander smiled. “It’s just tea, Jack. But if you want something for that rib you’re clutching, I still have some of the seeds from the Garden of Hesperides.”
King recalled the effects of the apple seed. When crushed and liquefied, they acted as a potent regenerative medicine. King himself had been healed by one once, thanks to his good friend, George Pierce.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll heal the old fashioned way,” King said.
“Thought you might say that,” Alexander tossed a white plastic bottle through the air toward King. “Heads up.”
King caught the bottle in the air with his left hand, grimacing, as his chest muscles stretched.
“800 milligram ibuprofen tablets — the old fashioned way. Have some green tea to wash it down.” Alexander began pouring tea from an ornate golden cloisonné kettle into delicate little matching teacups. King raised an eyebrow at the man again.
“Seriously,” the large man said. “Green tea has long been known to reduce the risks of heart disease and cancer, as well as boosting the metabolic rate. Plus, it’s soothing to the nerves.”
“You were saying about my parents?” King asked, watching the man’s hands for any signs that he was slipping something into the brew.
“Peter and Lynn were being held by Ridley’s people. While Chess Team was content with the New Hampshire base, my people were taking all the other Manifold facilities around the world.” Alexander nodded to Peter and Lynn. “I freed them. They were in Singapore under my protection until last week, when I brought them here. You see, Jack, Ridley was long fascinated with all aspects of antiquity. One of the things he wanted most — the mother tongue — he eventually got his hands on, as you well know. But to get there, he hunted down every sign and every clue he could find that would lead him to the last living speakers of several ancient languages. You know all this.”