The Sixth Idea (26 page)

U
pstairs in a sitting room, Grace was watching Lydia and Arthur Friedman. With Magozzi's and Gino's blessing, she and Harley had told them everything they knew—if there were two people in the world who deserved to know exactly what was going on, it was that pair.

Ever since she'd introduced them, the two had been clustered together on a sofa, talking nonstop. Well, actually, the doctor had been doing most of the talking, filling in some family blanks for Lydia. She had shed some tears, and from Grace's vista across the room, she thought she'd caught a glimpse of a few tears rolling down Friedman's cheeks, too; especially when Lydia had shown him the book,
In Case of Emergency
, and had told him the story behind it.

It was actually quite an extraordinary thing to watch—the two had seemed to bond before her eyes, tethered together by a tiny thread of
the past, and yet that tiny thread had sewn an instant family where none had existed before. Grace understood this, and suddenly realized she was watching a version of her own past play out. She had been totally alone, without family, just like Lydia and Friedman, until she met Harley, Annie, and Roadrunner. And later, Magozzi and Gino had come into the fold. Now all of them were woven together by threads of the past and they would always be a part of one another's future.

An hour after Dahl had arrived, Magozzi and Gino finally rejoined them. They looked exhausted, but something in their faces had lifted.

Harley crossed his arms across his chest. “You two look like a couple marathoners staring down the twenty-sixth mile. Did the house in New York answer some questions?”

“Yes and no. It went up in a fireball, and that fireball took everything with it, including the computers and the people inside. Agent Dahl thinks it was rigged to self-destruct.”

“Were they the same people who scrubbed the footage of Chuck's killers at the hotel and took down his website?” Lydia asked quietly. “The same people who killed Wally and Otis and a lot of others and tried to kill me twice?”

“Yes, we believe so. But it's too early in the investigation to know anything for sure. As a precautionary measure, Agent Dahl said the FBI will offer you a protected safe house until things are resolved.”

Friedman's eyes lifted and connected with everyone's in the room before finally settling on Lydia's. “They
did
have the Sixth Idea. They nurtured it from your grandfather's concept, protected it, and
ultimately destroyed it when it was in danger of being discovered. They were the guardians. Albeit amoral guardians, but guardians nonetheless.” He took her hands in his. “If your grandfather was alive today, this is the outcome he would have wanted. Without the senseless killing of all the innocent descendants, of course.”

“So it's over?” Lydia asked guardedly, hopefully.

Friedman shrugged. “At least for now. But the concept of using EMP as a strategic weapon is as old as the first atom bomb. Somebody else will eventually re-create the Sixth Idea, it's just a matter of who will do it, how they will do it, and when.”

“What about the Russians who were watching you?” Grace asked. “They were obviously onto something, and you are the last man left on earth who they think might be of use to them.”

“A very good point, Ms. MacBride. But since an Alzheimer's patient has been missing for so long in inclement weather, I will be assumed dead. That opens up a whole array of options for my future, as long or as short as that may be.”

“What will you do now, Arthur?” Lydia asked.

His mouth curved into a smile, sending rays of wrinkles across his face. “Play golf every day until I die.”

Harley chuckled. “Well, you're not golfing in Minnesota in December, which means you're planning on becoming a traveling man. Grace and I will work up a new identity for you. Like Detective Magozzi said, things aren't exactly ironed out yet, and until they are, you should fly under the radar.”

“I appreciate the generous offer very much, Mr. Davidson, but I have been looking over my shoulder my entire life and made all the
necessary arrangements long ago.” He tipped his head at Lydia. “And you, my dear girl—what will you do now?”

“Live my life. Try to make a difference. Get a bigger gun.”

“Good for you. Above all, be safe, but when things finally settle—and they will—don't run, don't hide. I spent two years hiding, living as a coward in a silent hell when I should have done something that might have prevented all the death the Sixth Idea left in its wake. I've done many regrettable things in my life, but that is the one that will haunt me most.”

Magozzi was watching Grace, mainly because he always watched her when they were in the same room together, but also because he knew what Friedman had just said resonated with her. Her face was as still and indecipherable as it always was, but there was a low-level frisson to her demeanor that hadn't been there moments before.

Gino cleared his throat. “Leo, we've got a meeting with the chief in half an hour, we should make tracks back to City Hall.”

“Right. Is there anything we can do before we leave?”

“We're good, Magozzi,” Grace said. “I'll let you out.”

The short elevator ride down to the main floor was quick, and Grace didn't say anything until he and Gino were almost to the door. “What kind of safe house are the Feds offering to Lydia?”

Magozzi shrugged. “We don't know yet, and Dahl probably doesn't either. He'll lay out some options when he debriefs her later today.”

“We'll keep her here until the Feds present something suitable.”

“That's really generous, Grace, but way above and beyond the call. You and Harley have done enough already.”

“We're not going to shove her off alone to a questionable safe house with a couple agents she doesn't know.”

“Hopefully, she won't need a safe house for long and she'll be able to go home soon.”

“She's selling it.”

“The lake house?”

Grace nodded. “Yes.”

Magozzi's eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

L
ater that night, Magozzi knew his future at last, and realized that it would simply be a continuation of the past. When Grace was asleep, as she was now, he could live out his fantasies, touching her as he would never dare when she was awake. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about her skin that shocked his fingers awake and sometimes pushed him so close to losing control that he shuddered with the effort of holding everything inside.

Oh my God. That was nearly Neanderthal. And that meant he had gone over the edge.

But for this brief moment, he felt the curve of her back against his stomach, felt the soft press of Grace's back against his lower stomach, and thought maybe he could live with this for the rest of his life. Maybe it was enough. The trick was, you had to live for the moment, love the moment, in case there was never another.

Grace was blissfully asleep now, limp in his arms, and this was a
rare thing. Life had taught her to be always alert, on guard, even in sleep, and he hated to think what had instigated that intense fearfulness.

But something had changed.

His eyes opened in the dark and his breath stilled. His hand went quiet, cupping her belly, feeling that tiny swell that had never been there before, as if something beneath his hand was talking to him.

Obviously no one knew yet. She was slender as always, you couldn't see it, you had to feel it—that soft rise of a normally nonexistent belly. He realized in that moment it wasn't just that something had changed. Everything had changed.

He was smiling as he fell asleep.

M
ax was sitting on the front porch of his Montana ranch with a strong cup of tea and a plate of warm black bread with trout from his very own pond. Vera had done an excellent job pickling it. As it turned out, she was a superb cook.

His two golden retrievers were sound asleep at his feet. The vista in front of him was stunning, especially at sunrise—hues of purple and orange and pink painted geometric figures on the face of the distant mountain range in such a way he'd never seen in Russia. In the foreground was his herd of horses, grazing peacefully in abundant, flower-studded pastureland. Occasionally they would look up, as if they were enjoying the sunrise as much as he was. There had been times in his life when he'd had to eat both horses and dogs, but he so much preferred having them as companions.

Max didn't own a cell phone anymore, and he didn't have a landline. He didn't need any of that. He did keep a radio on hand for any
emergencies with the animals or with his property; and he also kept a satellite phone, just in case he had an emergency of another sort. There was only one person in the world who knew how to contact him through the sat phone, and that person was calling now. He could answer or not. Nothing would come of it either way. But he did have a certain curiosity about how things had turned out for Ivan.

“Dobroe utro, Ivan.”

“Maksim! You just said ‘good morning,' and narrowed down my search for you.”

“There are many places in the world where it is morning right now.”

Ivan uttered one of his rattling chuckles. “I'm not searching for you,
tovarish.
Just inquiring about your welfare. You sound well.”

“I am. And you?”

“I am enjoying my retirement. Our last mission was an interesting one, was it not?”

“Not really. Business as usual.”

“I found it unsatisfying.”

“And why is that?”

“The Sixth Idea. I want to know what it is. So do our employers.”

“We don't have employers anymore, Ivan. Besides, the Sixth Idea never existed. It was a simple American decoy, and look how well it worked. Idiots are still chasing a myth sixty years later.”

“I'm not so certain it is a myth, Maksim. And there are others who share my sentiment. Arthur Friedman is still missing, and he is the only person in the world who would know.”

“Arthur Friedman is missing because he's dead, they just haven't found his body yet. And even if he were still alive, his brain has been
dead and gone for a long time. Vera and I were there with him at the clinic, Ivan. We know this.”

“Yes, I suppose. But perhaps we should meet again to discuss this further.”

“I don't think so. And what does it matter to you? You should take your retirement more seriously. Chasing dragons is a young man's folly.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. So we part company at last. Enjoy the American Dream,
tovarish
.”

As Max ended the call, the dogs started whining in excitement and brushing their tails against the porch floor when they saw Vera walking up the stone path from the barns and gardens. She was carrying one basket of eggs and another basket of freshly harvested vegetables. This was indeed the American Dream. “Ivan just called.”

Vera made a sour face. “Trouble never dies.”

“Ivan would be difficult to kill. I believe those Troika cigarettes are what will ultimately get him in the end.”

They both looked up when the distant report of a fine Barrett sniper rifle cracked the still, silent morning air. Vera set her baskets down on the steps. “Our ranch hand must have spotted a coyote.”

“He said they've been very aggressive lately,” Max agreed. “I knew that rifle would come in handy here.”