Firebird (53 page)

“We were trapped on the roof,” she said slowly.  “You fought back last night, Jules,
hard
.  In
spite of
 being scared.  You leaped off that roof!  My God, you were amazing.  Talk to me.”

“I just had two hours of grueling dance classes and three hours of rehearsal, Aunt Zan.  Doesn’t leave much time to think.”  The thin face was pale under the bright orange spikes of hair.

“You’ve been through a major trauma, Jules.  Are you sure you’re well enough to dance tonight?”

The girl held up a slender hand with an “I don’t want to talk about this” gesture.  “I can
deal
, Aunt Zan!”

“I’ve learned that, Jules, but –”

“I’ve brought your ticket for tonight,” Juliet rushed on, bending to retrieve a white envelope from her backpack and dropping it on the cluttered desk.  “You’re not thinking about backing out?”

“You can count on me, Jules.”

“I’m beginning to get that.”  Juliet hesitated, thoughtful, gripping the backpack to her chest.  Then she shook her head and turned in a slow circle, her gaze sweeping the wide, bright room with its shelves of books and oversized canvases on the walls.  “This place is so cool.  Neat art.” 

Nice segue, Niece.  “Ruby and I like it.”  Alexandra felt the familiar tightening in her chest.  “I can’t believe you’ve never been here in all this time.”

Juliet shrugged.  “Whatever.  Where
is
my Little Cuz?”

“Napping in her bedroom.  Sugar crash… Danny and I took her Trick or Treating to the neighbors, just before you got here.”  Alexandra held out her hands.  “Jules, please.  Stop pretending everything is okay.  You could have
died
last night!  I still can’t believe you were willing to go off with a stranger.”

Juliet’s chin came up, eyes bright.  “I told you!  He called my cell, said that Ruby was in trouble, that you needed me.  And - I knew my mom would want me to help you!”

Bastard
.  Alexandra stared at her niece.  For the first time, she saw color in the pale cheeks, real sparks in those deep green eyes.  Eve, in her own inimitable way, was drawing her daughter back to life.

“I know you wanted to keep Ruby safe, Jules.  But – I need to keep
you
safe!  If anything had happened to you…”

Juliet looked away.  “He told me to meet him at the Starbuck’s by Juilliard. The last thing I remember is the smell of strong coffee.“  She shuddered.  “Until I woke up in that awful place.  But I just don’t understand why -”

“Why what?”

Juliet swung away, stopping in front of the sheet-covered canvas by the window.  She fingered the paint-stained cloth, eyes down.  “You came through a fire for me, Aunt Zan.  You followed me out onto that roof, you forced me to make that leap.  You said – you said that you
believed
in me!”

“I do.”

Juliet’s gaze was incredulous.  “You didn’t bail.”

“And I won’t.” 

“But - all those years…  You never came to visit us on the island.”

“I couldn’t.  Your mother sent me photographs of you, but -”

“But why didn’t you
come
?” the girl persisted stubbornly.

“Things happened at Cliff House, a long time ago.”  Alexandra held out her bandaged hands.  “I got hurt.  I was very angry with your mother for a long time.  And I think that anger - kept us apart.  I was angry with her
when
she died
, Jules.  It made me feel responsible, somehow.  Guilty, for her death.”

“Yeah,” Juliet whispered.  “I know the feeling.  But what do you do about it?”

“You face up to past hurts.  You learn to forgive.  And you forgive yourself.”

Juliet stared at her, her eyes huge and bright with confusion.  “Why, Aunt Zan?  Why did you have to pick
now
to be there for me?”

Alexandra caught her breath.  “Because I know it
matters
now, Jules.  For both of us.”

Juliet stood very still.  “I’ve got to get to the Met,” she said finally.

Alexandra flashed a wry smile.  “Just don’t expect me to say, ‘Break a leg!’”

 Juliet’s eyes lit up.  “When I asked the Doc if I could dance today, he said, ‘Could you dance before the fire?’  Doc humor.”

Alexandra laughed.  It felt good, she realized.  Right.

A delighted sound floated down the hallway and both women turned.  “Hey,” said Juliet, “I think my Little Cuz is awake.  I can show her the Jack-o-lantern before I leave.”  And she whirled off down the long hallway.

* * * *

On the narrow street outside the brownstone, Panov stood in the dirty city slush, his cold eyes locked on the lighted windows.

Alexandra Marik and her niece had survived the fire.

It was only a matter of time.  If only he could get into the brownstone.  Take care of them once and for all.  But that cop was still there.

One more score to settle.

He looked at his watch.  But not now.  There was much to do.  Their time would come.

And now, Prince Ivan was missing.

It was all crashing down around his head.

I warned you about her, my Prince
.

Now, he would have to take care of things himself.  He watched for a moment longer, then faded into the deepening shadows.

CHAPTER 57

“Prince, I warn you...”

P. McGinley

BRIGHTON BEACH

They sat close together, on the tattered sofa in Ivan’s apartment above the boardwalk in Brighton Beach.  Beyond the fogged windows, the wide expanse of empty sand was cloaked in dusk.  From a great distance, they could hear the pounding of the surf against the beach.

Over the hours, the tea on the small table had grown cold, forgotten.  They held hands tightly, the way lovers do when they cannot bear to be apart.  He felt as if the last decades had never happened.  All the love was still there, unchanged.

“I was married for a time, but not happy,” he was saying.  “I never wanted anyone else.  Even with all my friends and colleagues, I’ve been alone.  The lonely child became the lonely man, Tatyana.  Soloist became my natural state. 
Adeen
.”

“My ardent Corsaire.”  Her fingers tightened on his.  “No longer, Sergei.  No longer alone.”

He raised a hand to stroke the scars on her face.  “So many times, I came to this city, wandered the streets.  I was so close to you!”  He smiled bitterly.  “I even read a review of the Palace of the Firebird in The Times.  But I needed to keep a low profile, to drink my vodka secretly in Brighton Beach, just another melancholy Russian shuffling along the boardwalk in his cap and old woolen scarf.”

“I don’t appear in my restaurant often.”  She shook her head sadly.  “It was easier to be a recluse, you see.  After the fire, dearest, after I lost you -”

“Don’t.”  He brushed the tears from the scarred and withered cheeks.  “How did you get here?”

“To New York?”  She smiled through her tears.  “I could no longer dance.  I could not bear to live where we had fallen in love.  Our dream had been to come to America.  Friends helped me to resettle in here.  Eventually I found a financial partner, and was able to open the Firebird.  All because of you.”  She stroked his face.  “Oh, my heart!  How could I not know you were so close?”

“I understand now.  Your beautiful eyes.  My photograph has been in the newspapers often, Tatyana, but you had no way of recognizing me.”

“Sometimes, listening to the radio, I would think I heard your voice,” she said gently.  “But I thought it was just my mind, playing cruel tricks.  I knew you had perished in the fire.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way,” he whispered.

“Oh, but my darling.  It
was
.”

He stiffened.  “What are you saying, Tatyanovich?”

Blinded violet eyes glittered at him.  “I’m saying that I understand it all now.  Our countrymen
lied to both of us
.  They told each of us that the other was dead.”

“That cannot be!”

“I cannot see, my darling, but you are the one who is truly blind!  The old KGB men in St. Petersburg, the Shestidesyatniki
, planned that fire
...  so that the Firebird could rise from the ashes and do their bidding.  It was
all
planned, from the very beginning, don’t you see?” 

She gripped his hands in hers.  “There would be a fire, the young dancer would appear to succumb.  But, like the Firebird who rose from the ashes in the old Russian fairytale, the agent would rise again from the fire with a different identity, strong as tempered steel - and far more dangerous.”

“Because defectors are never trusted by the West,” he finished for her, suddenly understanding.

“You were never supposed to defect!” cried Tatyana.  “I was never to escape with you.  It was all a lie.”

“A lie.”

“Because they had to own your whole soul, Sergei.  They knew they couldn’t share you with the ballet!  Or with me.  You would have been recognized in the dance world!  And the ballet would have won.”

“
The fire was no accident
.  You could never dance again - because of me?”

She shook her head mutely, the white hair glistening like a crown above the long swan neck. 

“Nyet, nyet.”

The universe would have the last say, after all.

“But they let you live…” he whispered.

“I was blind,” she said simply.  “I thought you were dead.  I was no threat.”  She stroked the back of his neck. “Or perhaps they thought that, one day, they would need me.”

To keep me in line
?  He shook his head back and forth in pain.

“It wasn’t your fault, my love.  They understood.  A defector would have been followed, questioned.  But no one suspects a dead man.”

“The irony.”  He took her papery, slender hand in his, held it to his lips.  “When I volunteered to come to America,” he murmured, “I was a dedicated Communist, a
Russian
!  I wanted to dance, yes, but I had my father’s fire in me, too.  I was ready to fight for my mother and sister, my country, my ideals.  To fight for
you
!”  He shook his head fiercely.  “After the fire, after I lost you, it was pure anger that drove me.  I needed to manipulate, to undermine, to overthrow - to find some
meaning
to my life!  I played right into their hands.”

“But they did not win, Sergei.”

Something sparked deep in his chest as he leaned toward her.  “No.  I  met men and women whom I respected, people who befriended me.  My adversaries were
human
.  And they became my friends.  American friends.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, “this is the only homeland you know now.  Our Russia has changed, yes.  But you have changed even more.”

“Where is your anger, Tatyanovich?  They stole our lives away from us!” he raged.

“Anger could never bring you back, my love.  And - I
had
to survive.”  She gestured with a graceful hand.  “I was lucky, my darling.  A few good friends here helped me when times were bad.”   

For a long moment he looked into those blind loving eyes, struggling to understand the depths of the betrayal. 

Finally he nodded, his breath coming out in a long painful whoosh, as if he’d been pierced by the sharpest hunter’s arrow.  “It’s over, Tatyana.  Finally over.  I’m taking you away.  Just the two of us.” 

He looked down at his watch and shook his head.  After six p.m.  He was supposed to be at the theater.  He had to complete his mission
tonight
.

No.  No more.  “I won’t do it,” he said suddenly.  “No. 
You
are the only homeland I need now.  We will disappear.  Let them find someone else to do their bidding.”

“What bidding?  What must you do?”

“It no longer matters.  Tonight we begin a new life.  Montana, the Canadian Rockies.  Somewhere where they will never find us.”

“What did they want you to do?  It matters, Sergei.”

He looked away from her, out the window at the distant ocean.  When he finally spoke, his face was rigid with pain.  “Last night I told Alexandra Marik that I am not a murderer.  But it was one more lie.  People have died because of me, people I cared for.  And now, I have agreed to take a man’s life.  A good man.”

“No, Sergei!”

“It makes no sense,” he murmured.  “For years, I have been pretending, living a lie.  My whole life is an illusion, o
f course
it makes no sense!  How can I make sense of the present until I come to terms with the past?”  He turned to her.  “I am like the cloth rabbit in that children’s book,” he said softly.  “Maybe it’s finally about becoming
real.
”

“Yes.  Like Tchaikovsky’s swan.”  She rubbed his hands gently.  “It’s a terrible irony, my darling.  You have become a God who only yearns to be human.”

He turned to her, ambushed by the tears that blurred his eyes.   “Ultimately, Tatyana, will all this be worth it?”

“Pozhivyom, uvidim,” she whispered. 
We’ll find out.  If we live
.

* * * *

In his small apartment on West 128th Street, Panov slammed down his cell phone with a curse. 

The man who directed him was low-voiced, angry.  Nothing was to go wrong tonight.  There would be no second chances. 

So be it. 

Panov checked his watch.  The curtain would go up in less than two hours.  And he still had much to do before he went to the theater.

He moved toward the closet.  It was time to use his costume.

Trick or Treat
.

CHAPTER 58

“And finds too late that men betray…”

Oliver Goldsmith

In the drafty old apartment in Brighton Beach, Ivan paced back and forth across the narrow floorboards.  Finally, he stopped in front of Tatyana.

“What would happen if someone - an important political figure - were killed just before the election?”