“I never knew that,” David said.
“The records are incomplete, but I think she was badly injured before they escaped. It doesn’t seem like it was a normal miscarriage. I think that’s why they never wanted to tell me about Iran. It was too painful for them.”
David remembered the quiet, normal home on the Jersey Shore that he had visited so long ago. What a difference it must have seemed to the Harpers from the craziness of Tehran.
“It makes sense now,” she continued. “That’s why they stayed at the Canadian Embassy so long. It wasn’t just to come up with an escape plan. My mom had to heal enough to travel. I wish I could have talked to them about it all. I wish I could hug my mother. I feel like, in some ways, I never really knew them. You know?”
Marseille looked so wistful and seemed so fragile; David wanted to hold her, to protect her. But he had no right to do it. And anyway, he couldn’t go back to those days when life was normal. Things weren’t normal anymore. Not for him. And soon, maybe not for anyone. Right now, here in this place with Marseille, he could almost forget what his task really was. Then she interrupted his thoughts, and he realized he’d been silent for too long.
“David? Are you okay? This is strange, isn’t it? My just showing up and dumping all this information on you. I’m sorry. It’s just that my friend insisted I come here to be in her wedding. It’s so… I don’t know, random that she grew up near Syracuse. I couldn’t imagine coming to your hometown without looking for you. And with my father’s death and everything I’ve been reading in his files… I just… needed to see you.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “I’ve thought about you often, even when I didn’t want to. I always wished things had turned out differently between us. But I thought it was all gone. Those few days were so amazing, and then everything just caved in. I went home, back here, back to high school, and you were gone, and the world was a different place. It’s never been the same again.”
“I know,” she answered quietly. Now it was her turn to seem lost in her thoughts, lost in old memories.
David wasn’t sure what else to say or where to go from here. Their food was cold, and it was almost time for her to go. But he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to find a way to ask her to stay longer in Syracuse. He wanted to pick up where they had left off and pretend everything that had happened in between hadn’t happened at all. He wanted to forget Iran, forget MDS, forget Eva Fischer and Jack Zalinsky, forget Esfahani and the Twelfth Imam and the threat of world war. He wanted to call his mother and tell her he was ready to settle down, stay in central New York, marry Marseille, and give her some grandchildren. She’d be thrilled. Maybe it would give her a new reason to fight for life and survive. Was it all so impossible?
Suddenly Marseille came back from her daydream and interrupted his. “David?”
“Yes?”
“There’s one other thing I wanted to tell you about my father. I guess it’s okay to tell you. I haven’t said anything to anyone about it yet, and somehow it seems like you’re the only one in the world who might care.”
“What is it?” David asked. He was half-listening and half desperately scrambling to come up with a way to run off with her. Would she go with him if he asked?
“I always thought my dad worked for the State Department-you know, a political analyst or whatever. He spoke Farsi, and I thought he translated and analyzed news reports for our government. But I found something in his papers that makes me believe he never worked for the State Department at all. I don’t even think my mom knew. David, he was in the CIA all along. Look at this.”
She moved her chair next to his and showed him a document on CIA stationery. It was a letter of commendation for Charles Harper for valor under fire in Iran. It mentioned the crisis of 1979 and thanked him for his crucial work for the Agency. And it was signed, Tom Murray, Director of the Near East Division.
“Wow, this is really something,” David said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Marseille said. “It’s been so long, and now that he’s gone, I suppose it’s okay for people to know. Nobody back in Oregon ever really knew my dad. There’s no one to share this with. But you knew him. Your family was part of our past-a crucial part-which is why I wanted to tell you. I don’t know if he continued with the CIA when he came to the States. I find myself trying to remember long trips he took when I was growing up. ‘Research trips,’ he called them. I thought they were for his books and lectures at the college. I just wonder what my dad’s life was really like.”
David wondered too, intrigued by this striking new connection between the two of them and feeling terrible that he couldn’t tell her what he was doing and why. But at that moment, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and recognized Zalinsky’s number on the caller ID.
“Sorry; it’s my boss,” he said and took the call. “Hey, it’s me. Can I call you right back? I’m in the middle of something.”
Zalinsky’s voice was somber. “David, you need to get somewhere private and call me in the next five minutes. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely. I will.”
David clicked the phone off and glanced apologetically at Marseille. He hated to lie to her, but he had no choice. “That was my boss; things are not good. I’m afraid I have to go.”
“Seems like a very stressful job.” She smiled. “I think I’ll stick to my first graders.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not always like this. It’s just a particularly urgent moment for us. I can’t believe the timing of all this.” David ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Marseille, I’m going to take a risk here. I want you to know that I’d like nothing more than to sit here with you for hours, take a long walk with you, even fly back to Oregon with you, for that matter. I don’t want to be cut off from you again. I’m not sure how to even put it into the right words. But believe me, I’m going to wrap up this business in Europe and then, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come to wherever you are. There’s so much more to talk about, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would,” Marseille said, clearly moved by his earnest words. She reached out and touched his hand, and his fingers closed around hers.
“I’ve hardly even asked anything about you,” she said. “I’ve been just talking nonstop, I’m afraid. There are so many questions I have about you and your work and your family.”
He held her hand tightly for a moment, then gave her a slight squeeze and let go. He stood, and she did too. “I have to go.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He slid some cash under his water glass to pay for the meals, and she thanked him for breakfast.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll need to be over there. It’s going to be a bit all-consuming for a while. But I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. I promise.”
“I look forward to it.”
And then he gave her a long hug and walked away from Marseille Harper, out of the restaurant, through the lobby, and into the crisp morning air.
Zalinsky got right to the point.
“I just got back to Washington. We need you back in the game. The Israelis want to talk, and I want you in that meeting. Plus, Najjar Malik has given us some critical leads that someone needs to follow up on quickly. How is your mother?”
“Jack, my mother is dying right now. I need to sit with her, at least for a few more days, and then there may be a funeral. I owe her that. You said so yourself.”
“Listen, you can probably get back there in a day or two. But right now, you are needed here for some things.”