CURSE THE MOON (25 page)

“What do you do there?” Atcho asked.

“I am a division director in the Office of Intelligence and Research.”

Atcho gulped, and hoped his expression did not communicate sudden anxiety. “Well,” he quipped, “a keeper of state secrets! Should you be telling me this?”

“Oh, the organization is no secret. It’s a matter of public record. You can find me in the directory. I just basically oversee analysts.”

“Still, that sounds impressive. Why would you have anything to do with an old political reprobate like me?”

“Just a glutton for punishment, I guess.”

Atcho loved that brilliant smile. He relaxed in a way that he could not remember. With only minor reluctance, he asked to see her again the following week. I can always cancel, he told himself.

As the week passed and there was no word from Govorov, he looked forward to seeing Sofia again, and when they said their goodbyes on that day, he asked her out again for two days later. Soon, they were together regularly. Govorov could drop dead anytime, Atcho thought. I won’t stop living.

Shortly after settling in Washington, he had taken up flying lessons, and loved it. He loved the view from the air, of the landscape below: the stately monuments of the capital city, the green valleys of Virginia and Maryland, and the broad blue ribbon of the Potomac wending to the Chesapeake Bay. After the minimum number of training hours, he received his pilot’s license.

One day, after they had been dating for several weeks, Atcho rented a plane and piloted Sofia through northern Virginia, across scenic Shenandoah Valley, and through the Blue Ridge Mountains. As they parted ways that evening, Atcho realized that regardless of how much time he spent with Sofia, it was never enough. As soon as he turned to leave, he felt an ache, and began to anticipate their next meeting.

Oh my God, he thought, I’m falling in love! When the thought darted into his head, he stopped dead on the sidewalk. He sighed, and continued walking. It can’t last. Better enjoy it.

As soon as he thought it, he felt guilty for the implications for Sofia, and for Isabel. Since her birth, his familial attention had focused solely on her. In effect, she had replaced his late wife in absorbing his affection. Despite the fact that they had been estranged, he cared for her deeply. And, he reminded himself, she is the threat that Govorov holds over me. His thoughts turned to Sofia. We’ll see where this leads.

33

Atcho saw Isabel and Bob rarely over the next several weeks. Since their conversation at Cowan’s Irish Pub in mid-May, and as he had done regularly since the reception, he called Bob to learn how Isabel was doing. Today, Bob seemed unusually upbeat. “You have to come by the house,” he said exuberantly. “Isabel agrees. I’m not saying she’s all the way back, but I told her there was no way she was going to keep you from your grandchild!”

Atcho’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at the phone, unsure that he had heard correctly. “What did you say?”

Bob laughed. “You heard me. You’re going to be a grandpa!”

“When?” Atcho stammered.

Bob chuckled again. “The baby’s due in January. We didn’t say anything earlier because we were afraid of another miscarriage. But the doctor says everything is progressing fine.” He paused. “Atcho, I think this had quite a bit to do with Isabel’s outburst. We were seeing the doctor a lot before conception, and she was scheduled for a visit a few days after the reception. She was deathly afraid he would say she could not have a baby.”

Atcho was silent a moment. “Well,” he said quietly. “She has good reason to hate me.”

“Now don’t get morbid on me!” Bob’s voice boomed. “You’re going to be a grandfather, remember! Listen, General Clary just returned from a trip to Geneva and Moscow. He’s working on that arms treaty. Anyway, he’s having a barbeque at his house next week, and asked us to invite you. Why don’t you come, and bring Sofia with you?”

Atcho’s head swam. He knew he should be thrilled. This news about Isabel, welcome as it was, increased his discomfiture. And the invitation for social contacts with senior military people brought him closer to a situation ripe for compromise.

“Atcho? Are you there?”

“Yes, Bob. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“I’ll tell the general to expect you.”

“I don’t know, Bob.”

“Atcho, I won’t take no for an answer. Clary doesn’t know about the baby yet, so we’re going to turn the occasion into a celebration.” He paused. When he spoke again, his tone was serious. “I think you owe it to yourself and Isabel.” His voice became light again. “Besides, you might get to see another side of Isabel.”

Atcho’s heart skipped a beat, even as Govorov’s warning about social events rang in his mind. But he could not call the general, and he could not pass up the opportunity to be with Isabel on a special occasion. Hell, he decided. Govorov will love the idea of my carousing with top military brass.

“All right, Bob, we’ll be there.”

Sofia was elated at the news of Isabel’s pregnancy and by the invitation to the general’s party. “That’s great!” she said. She sensed that he had reservations. “There’s no way that you can’t go to this, Atcho. It’s a perfect opportunity for you and Isabel to enjoy something together that you’re both happy about. Bob wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

Atcho realized with some trepidation that he and Sofia were now a couple. They had developed an emotional dependence on each other – to the extent, he thought, that she feels comfortable about commenting on my family affairs! I am a fool.

34

“Welcome!” General Clary clasped Atcho’s hand. “Sorry I wasn’t here to see you honored by the president. That was well deserved. I’ve seen the tapes.” He turned to greet Sofia. “Bob told me about you,” he said graciously, “and I can see that he did not exaggerate. By the way,” he turned to Atcho, “Congratulations on the baby! I’m thrilled for you, Isabel, and Bob.”

A plump woman came to greet them. Her brown hair was cut short, she wore a wide, friendly smile, and she exuded a festive demeanor. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Peggy, Paul’s wife. Let me get you outside to the food and drinks! Bob and Isabel are already out there.” She suddenly stopped and turned, her eyes and mouth wide with enthusiasm. “Congratulations on the grandchild! I’m so happy for you!” She started to lead them through the foyer. “We can get to the back yard easier this way,” she said, heading toward a glass-enclosed passageway that skirted the living room. The house was spacious and comfortable, with soft, well-upholstered sofas and chairs, and finely carved dining room furniture. It seemed to reflect Peggy’s personality.

As they neared the door leading to the backyard, a pretty early-teenage girl entered going the opposite direction. She was petite, but the shape of her figure was similar to her mother’s. “This is my pride and joy!” Peggy exclaimed heartily, and threw her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “This is Chrissy.” Her eyes sparkled with pride.

“Oh, Mom,” Chrissy said, but she accepted the show of affection with humor, said hello to Atcho and Sofia, and continued down the glass corridor.

“That’s National Merit Scholarship material there,” Peggy enthused, and led them out into the backyard. Atcho caught himself thinking about the general and his family. Oddly, he had never thought of Clary in a family setting. He chuckled.

A whiff of hot coals and barbequed beef wafted on the air. In the back yard, guests had gathered, and munched finger foods and drank beverages. Atcho noted several senior military officers and a few well-known political figures. He saw Bob and Isabel. They were talking with friends in a vine-covered gazebo near a grill where strips of beef sizzled with a mouthwatering aroma.

“Trust Bob to be near the food and the beer,” he said to Sofia, who laughed and ambled with him in that direction. Since Atcho’s face had become well known, several guests approached him along the way to greet him. When finally they were close to Bob and Isabel, Atcho had to grin. Apparently the news of Isabel’s expected baby had created excitement, because several women were making ecstatic gestures and staring at Isabel’s stomach.

Atcho looked at Sofia. “This might be a cold reception,” he said.

“Oh, maybe it won’t be so bad,” she encouraged. “Bob has probably told her about some of your conversation at Cowan’s Pub.”

Seeing Atcho and Sofia, Bob started toward them. Isabel looked up, and when her gaze met Atcho’s, she held it nervously a moment, and then smiled warmly. Reason for optimism. Don’t push it.

Bob was his enthusiastic self. He clapped a strong hand in the middle of Atcho’s back. “Good to see you, Atcho! And Sofia!” He led them to where Isabel was conversing.

“Hello, Isabel.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m happy to hear about the baby,” he said gruffly.

“Hello, Papa.” Atcho felt a slight thrill. He thought he had heard warmth in her voice. She took Atcho by the arm, and turned to the others. “Would you please excuse us?” she said, and led him a few yards away. When she turned, she looked steadily into his eyes. “I am so sorry, Papa,” she said. “Bob told me a little about your conversation.”

“There, there,” Atcho said, touching her cheek. “That’s all in the past.”

“But wait, Papa. I don’t understand everything, and there is still a lot of anguish.” She paused, fighting emotion. “I just want to tell you that I know you’ve been through unspeakable pain, and that you are welcome in our house anytime. My baby needs a grandfather – and I need my father.”

Mindful of where they were, Atcho could only stare into Isabel’s eyes. Then he slipped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. “I love you, Isabel,” he whispered into her ear.

“And I love you, Papa,” she said, and clasped his shoulders. They held each other a few moments, and then she drew away. “We’d better get back to the party,” she laughed, wiping one eye. They turned and made their way back to where Bob entertained Sofia.

Just then, General Clary approached from the rear. “Atcho, how about a drink?”

Atcho nodded. “Yes, please! I’ll go with you and bring one for Sofia.”

While Bob and Isabel entertained Sofia with their friends, Atcho walked with the general across the lawn. “Congratulations again on the grandchild, Atcho. Bob and Isabel told me the news just before you arrived.”

They reached the bar, and ordered drinks. “Bob says you’re quite a pilot,” Clary said. “He mentioned you’ve worked your way up to small private jets.”

“It’s a hobby, and I recently soloed in a jet. It’s just something I do to keep busy in my off hours.”

“That’s great!” Clary enthused. “We should fly together sometime. I’ve kept up my private license over the years, too.” He grinned sheepishly. “The Air Force wouldn’t let me fly their planes because of my eyes.”

Atcho regarded him soberly. The general was inviting friendship, precisely what Atcho hoped to avoid. But, there was no plausible reason to refuse. “Sure,” he said simply. He would excuse himself later.

“Good!” Clary clapped a hand on Atcho’s shoulder, and steered him toward a group of men. Atcho regarded them with growing dismay. He recognized each of them. They were all generals.

“Gentlemen,” Clary said. “I’d like you to meet my new flying buddy.”

“Atcho, very pleased to meet you,” one tall, lean general said. “I’m Joe McKesson.” Atcho shook his hand. He knew this was the Chief of Staff of the Army.

“I’m Carl,” another said. “I saw you at the State of the Union address. This is really a privilege.” Carl Fox was the National Security Advisor.

Atcho accepted the approbation and friendliness dutifully, and laughed along with jokes and conversation, but he was careful not to invite further familiarity. Despite the uneasiness of socializing in such high-powered company, the afternoon passed well. Someone asked Clary about his opinion on Soviet sincerity in peace overtures. Was a treaty to reduce nuclear arms realistic? If an accord were reached, would the secretary-general of the Soviet Communist Party sign the agreement? Careful to indicate that he could not state an opinion based on classified information, Clary responded vaguely. “I can only say that if the president did not believe in what we are pursuing, he would not have us spending so much time on it. Remember, he is the guy who invoked the Russian proverb: Doveryai, Nye Proveryai. Trust, But Verify.”

Atcho was interested in the discussions, but avoided active participation. As the sun waned, he nudged Sofia. “I think it’s time to go.” She nodded. They thanked their hosts, said goodbye to Bob and Isabel, and departed.

35

Sofia was quiet as they drove to her apartment. After a while, she slid close and placed her head on Atcho’s shoulder. “This has been a wonderful afternoon,” she said softly. “I’m so glad that Isabel warmed up to you.”

Atcho fought sudden emotion, and only nodded.

“General Clary is the man who came to see you in Havana, isn’t he?” Sofia asked.

Atcho chuckled. “Yes, and he was pretty upset with me then.”

“I know. I heard several versions of the story.”

Atcho glanced at her curiously. After a few moments, Sofia began again. “One thing I’ve wondered about. Why was that picture left behind in the square in Havana?”

“What?” Atcho asked absently.

“The picture of Isabel found in the square the night you tried to rescue her. Why was it there?”

An almost imperceptible warning buzzed at the back of Atcho’s mind. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, the kidnappers had Isabel in the Jeep with them when they came to the rendezvous, so the photograph served no purpose. Also, from what I hear, the picture was brand new. If it had been dropped in the square, wouldn’t it have been smudged or wrinkled? Why didn’t one of the local officials find it?”

As Atcho contemplated the question, the warning faded. It caught his interest, but details of the episode were buried in memory, and seemed to have little to do with his current situation. He shrugged. “You might have a point,” he said.

When they arrived at the curb in front of Sofia’s townhouse, Atcho cut the engine and put his arm around her shoulder. Sofia kissed him lightly. “Please come in for a while. There is something I’d like to tell you.”