The Man in the Barretina Hat, page 24
Tüvs was nowhere in sight. Juris barked into the walkie-talkie once more, “Get your ass back here Tüvs. Now.”
Just to be safe, he pulled out his handgun and slowly stepped into the darkened tunnel. The dungeon’s light bulb still emitted a feeble bit of light. He could make out the outline of where the cell door used to be. It looked worse than he expected. Not knowing which direction Tüvs had gone, Juris followed his gut. His fingers trailed the wall, guiding him forward. After about thirty steps, he heard the trickle of liquid. Not droplets, but the slow echo of fluid soaking into porous rock. Damn damp tunnels. As if on cue, his foot hit something. He kicked ahead, trying to gauge what he had run into. A sort of fabric clung to his shoe. Juris let go of the wall and knelt down, still pointing the gun straight ahead as he slowly lowered himself.
He used the tip of the gun to prod whatever lay in front of him. It didn’t move. But it was big, blocking the entire walkway. Juris pulled out his phone and shone its light around him.
“Shit. Tüvs, you let James get to you. How’d you do that? Shit, man.” It was not water he had heard earlier, but a pool of blood soaking into the porous bedrock.
Juris stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He needed to move Tüvs’ body and he would have to do it alone. It was best if no one on the team knew about this change of events, not just yet. He cursed James for the fourth time that morning.
Juris grabbed Tüvs under his arms and started to drag. “Damn, you’re heavy.”
Juris realized he was relieved to have this lug off his team. Tüvs’ usefulness was fading anyways, and it would make the final rollout simpler. By the time he’d heaved Tüvs’ body inside Peter’s former chamber, sweat was trickling down his sides. He hadn’t exerted himself this much in months. Juris left the body stretched across the dungeon floor to deal with later.
Posters surrounded Tüvs’ bare grave with distorted ancient sites and twisted tales of long-gone civilizations. Much like the half-completed developments Tüvs left behind, this final debacle with Peter and James would add to the stains on Tüvs’ legacy.
Once back upstairs, Juris fell onto the couch in his small office. He texted Aram to get over here ASAP and replace the safety door in the dungeon.
Juris’ trusted team was crumbling around him.
First James had promised to keep Carlos contained and find out what he and Peter suspected. That should have been simple. Extract information, destroy any evidence Carlos and Peter had found and then eliminate Carlos. He was a barrier who eventually needed to be removed permanently.
Peter, on the other hand, came across as more malleable. He, too, appeared to hold a grudge against the tentacles of government. Juris had been sure he could not only dull Peter’s curiosity, but also get him on-board to believe in the “new” storyline. The professor could become an ally—or at least a passive observer.
It should have worked so smoothly. Then James screwed it all up. He got too impatient. He interrupted Peter’s lessons and then lost Carlos.
James hadn’t responded to any messages over the past day. A week ago, Juris had driven out to the hideaway where James was holding Carlos. He saw that whenever James left his post, anyone could break in to the exposed shack. That caused the first crack in Juris’ trust.
Then he heard about the episode with Lennart at the bank. James was supposed to visit Peter, but not until closer to the main event. The visit was intended to test Peter’s resolve and see if he truly believed the alternative story Juris had spun. Instead, Juris had had to increase the intensity of his persuasion tactics to bring Peter back into his altered reality.
Everything else with Peter had fallen nicely into place. Until now. The expedited mail system registered the university’s receipt of the letter Juris wrote on Peter’s behalf. He briefly tendered Peter’s resignation, effective immediately. Considering Peter taught no classes and hadn’t developed any research projects of recognition in more than three years, the university would have gladly accepted his notice. Juris had seen similar situations in many companies over the years. In every case, cash flow trounced employer loyalty. Because Peter’s pay would switch over to his pension fund’s responsibility, the university would be off the hook.
Just this morning Juris had felt so close. Too close for things to fail. Heat rose through his chest. It couldn’t crumble this fast. He could still pull it off. He must.
Juris dialled the phone number of a trusted contact. The extension changed every six months to ensure their discussions stayed out of official records. Juris despised the guy, but recognized his usefulness. The confidant had ties to Russia’s intelligence community and would be sure to relay the story Juris was about to tell about James’ ulterior activities.
After passing along the location of the fisherman’s hut, Juris hung up and sat at his desk. With a few clicks on his laptop, he sent a follow-up encrypted package with evidence he had collected over the years: copies of text messages, requests for funding and offers of anti-Russian side endeavours most investors were not aware of. James would drown quickly, likely painfully. Peter, sadly, would go down with him. A potential ally now lost.
Moving on, Juris tried to focus on his speech for his presentation in two days’ time. He left the confines of his office and entered the nave of the church. From there, he turned on the stereo, already set to a jazz music station. The swell of a saxophone resonated against the stone walls and bounced off the vacant pews. Starting as a low rumble, a double bass clipped into the tempo. Its pulse grew alongside the sax. Juris breathed in the sounds, drawing more strength than any narcotic could ever provide. He pushed aside thoughts of Tüvs and focussed on his plan. It must move forward. He could not imagine a future without this destiny.
Over a decade had passed since he began formulating the plan. If there was one benefit to getting stuck in jail, it was having time to think. He’d realized his life was unfolding based on other people’s expectations. Once he realized this truth, he found purpose. Its beacon carried him from the lowest depths into a life filled with ambition.
His dear mother had been the first to spell out a dire prediction for Juris proclaiming his inevitable path every morning at the breakfast table. She only ever saw failure and disappointment in his future. In an attempt to scare him towards some undisclosed path to righteousness, she would rail incessantly about his poor grades, impure friends and unjust mind. Whatever better future she wanted for him never came into the conversation. In her eyes, he was doomed to disappoint and fail.
His father took a different approach, although it did nothing to change Juris’ fate. Juris could still picture his dad hunched over the table, dipping his chipped spoon into a bowl of cold millet porridge and grimacing as he took a swig of stale coffee. They could only afford half a cup of coffee beans per fortnight. The grounds were reused over and over until the drink looked more like the drainage from their hogs’ watering hole than anything worth consuming. His father said little. He chose to communicate instead through the branch of a spruce tree, preferably loaded with sharp cones. Emotions took hold inside young Juris. Pain. Detachment.
So when Juris left school and the local bishop asked him to help keep track of the church’s accounts, he thought he had landed a chance at redemption. Later, Juris moved up to manage the books at the main cathedral in Latvia’s capital city. Old expectations trickled back. He started to siphon bits of the weekly donations for himself. No one noticed. He skimmed a little more. Initially, the bishop remained oblivious. But Juris grew careless. He did not notice the watchful eyes. And in time, he landed in jail.
Years rolled past. Three dismal meals a day and manual labour filled the hours. He helped build roads, dig ditches and pour cement. He had time to think. Patterns fell into place. The world followed what they had always known. People followed a rhythm, copying one day to the next, agreeing with their bosses and passively acquiescing to politicians’ wills. Complaining ended with good intentions lost and distorted in a web of bureaucracy. Apathy grew, dulling the general populace’s sentiment. Blind expectations set in. A few leaders got what they wanted while the masses suffered.
Juris decided that when he left the iron bars behind, he was going to reset the stage. The blind mice would no longer run in circles around an archaic maze propped up by those with power. Not in Juris’ reality. No, he planned to tip the scales of power. He would change the world.
52
Family Ties
Cristabel switched off her computer. She should have felt satisfaction at the end of the job, but it felt half finished. Too many questions still flew around her head. She would love to see the men’s faces when the authorities crashed down on their scheme. She craved a more tangible sense of closure than merely Gerardo’s thanks to the team and request to lay low.
But that could wait. For now, she stretched out in her bed and savoured the cool puffiness of her pillow before letting her mind drift elsewhere.
Then, suddenly, something crashed. Pots clattered and a kettle hissed, disrupting her daydream. Their noise pulled her back to the present day, a reality she would rather avoid. Exams approached and papers sat unwritten.
It took a few moments to register, but today was a weekday. Her mother should have left for the bakery hours ago. She didn’t remember any public holidays. Sometimes her mom closed the shop to take a day for herself. A possibility, but she had not done that for years.
Cristabel’s shoulders tensed. Ever since the incident in the cellar vault, her mother had been acting erratic. Cristabel pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over her pyjamas and headed downstairs.
An unrecognizable husky voice carried up the stairwell.
Plates clinked against the table. The scent of brewed coffee filtered through the air. What is going on? It sounded like a weekend morning of slow coffees and fresh pastries.
Her mother’s laugh sailed through the kitchen doorway.
“Mom?” Cristabel looked from her mom to a tall man with dark wavy hair standing close by. Too close. “Why aren’t you at the bakery?”
“Oh, Cristabel, dear, you’re awake.” Her mother looked uncomfortable for a split second, as if she had been caught kissing Santa Claus in front of her three-year-old. “I’m opening late today. Have a seat. There’s something you need to hear.”
The man took a step forward. He reached out towards Cristabel and then withdrew his hand uneasily. “Cristabel, I wish I didn’t have to explain this to you this way or at this time. Honestly, I wanted to tell you a long time ago. Unfortunately, as you have found out recently, life doesn’t always play by the rules you would like it to.”
Cristabel hesitated. She had been through her share of uncomfortable situations, but having a strange man standing in her kitchen talking of lost opportunities as if he knew her was a new one.
Sasha handed Cristabel a coffee. “You’re going to need this, honey. Sit down.”
The man sat down as well, looking straight across the table at Cristabel when he spoke. “I know you have always been told that your father had to leave when you were very young. These semi-truths are how adults explain complex situations to children so they can understand.”
Cristabel felt awkward looking directly into a face she did not recognize and who continued to talk so tenderly to her. Have I fallen into some other world? This can’t be happening. Her mom simply stood to the side, allowing this stranger to take over their kitchen.
The man clasped his fingers in front of him, seemingly considering each word with excessive diligence. “But in all honesty, it also helps us distance ourselves from our own realities. Years ago, your mother and I thought it would be easier for you if you did not know much about your father. I never wanted to leave you. Or your mother.” He looked over and put his hand on Sasha’s shoulder.
She reached up and clenched it with both of her hands. Her cheeks glowed.
Cristabel looked back and forth between her mother and the man. Mom is really comfortable with him being here. Is he really my father?
The man continued. “In those days, I worked with some nasty people. People with powerful connections. The situation was delicate. I was young and naive. I thought I could change the world and ended up ticking off the wrong person. Your mother paid for it with her business. We didn’t think you remembered that awful day when the three of us hid in the cellar while gangsters ransacked the shop upstairs. But your mother tells me that is not the case. Well, I had become a target and had to divert attention away from my family.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “Your safety was all that mattered to me. And so, I disappeared. You must know, I have always kept track of you.”
The room seemed to darken and spin. Cristabel gripped the edge of the table. She shut her eyes, willing herself to grasp what she was hearing. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Black pupils stared back. Distant yet familiar dark eyes rimmed with laugh lines pulled her in. Cristabel absorbed the truth. Her father had disappeared—but he had not died.
“I am so proud of you. Your friend Gerardo keeps me apprised. He reports up a different line than to me, but we made an agreement long ago.” He nodded to Sasha.
Cristabel sat frozen, unable to move or speak. What is happening? Anger, sadness, mistrust and relief all fought for attention inside her chest, leaving Cristabel feeling confused and vulnerable.
Sasha grabbed her purse. “Well, I’m going to leave you two to catch up. I have a bakery to get ready for the lunch crowd.”
Cristabel stared at her mother in disbelief. Her once-certain world had shattered and all her mother could do was smile and walk away, leaving her to try to find the truth alone with this stranger who claimed to be her father?
Cristabel’s father also watched the door close behind Sasha. He turned back, blinking away a look of sadness. “She still doesn’t know all the details. When we married, her father did not accept me. Only a Maltese man was good enough for his daughter. It was hard on her, but it made my disappearance easier for her family to accept. They were just waiting for me to screw up.” He wavered for a second and then seemed to remember something that gave him strength and focus. With his hand resting on the counter, he looked back to Cristabel. “Anyway, that’s in the past. You’ve ended up earning yourself quite the reputation in the organization on your own. Admittedly, I’ve been a pain in the arse for Gerardo as an absentee father using him to watch over my little girl.”
Cristabel’s mind swam—against the current and immersed under a heavy fog. Her father was part of the Cuban military? He had been involved all this time?
“So, why are you back here now?” Her voice wavered. She wasn’t sure what emotion was boiling up, but whatever it was, Cristabel was not ready for it.
Her father came around the table and took her into his arms. They were both crying, knowing and at the same time not knowing the person they held.
And her mother. Lies. Deceit. Cristabel could not process what this all meant. Protection. Realities crashing together. She wanted to go to the bakery to question her mother, but at the same time she realized she had been told omissions rather than falsehoods. Her mind had filled in the gaps, creating a narrative of its own.
After a long pause, Cristabel broke the silence. “Do you know Professor Ignacio and about this big scam claiming most major civilizations came from Malta?” These were facts she was comfortable with, a truth she could rely on.
“That’s precisely why I’m here. Carlos—or as you know him, Professor Ignacio—was sent to Malta as an undercover agent. His mission was to develop new technologies that could help protect our military’s operations. Peter came on a separate mission to identify falsified science and potential insurgents. Neither of them knew that the other was an agent. Together they filled in so many pieces of intel that our puzzle rearranged itself into an entirely different portrait of the subversive plots being set around the world.”
Cristabel stared at her father. Her coffee had turned cold. “This is a lot to digest. What does it mean for me?”
She had wanted to finish her degree and continue working for Gerardo in the military, at least on the side. For the first time, she questioned that plan. How could he keep such a secret from her?
Her father smiled. “In your case, I made sure it would be your choice. You can finish your degree and get a normal job. Or you can carry on with the military, working with Gerardo for now. I would like to see you finish your degree. Your mother has agreed to stay here while you do that. After that, we are trying to get her approved to move to Cuba. Maybe someday you’ll want to relocate to Havana and climb the ranks at home.”
53
Safety Nets
Aram laid down his tools. The door looked exactly like the previous one, except not blown to bits. He leaned back in the cramped cell and stared at the posters on the walls all around him. Who knew getting a degree on a foreign student’s scholarship would lead him down this path? The friends he made during those four years had stayed solid. Almost more solid than anything else in his life. Almost.
He looked over at the black bag lying against the far wall. He had been surprised when Juris told him about Tüvs, but he was relieved he hadn’t been asked to dispose of the body—not yet, anyway.
Earlier in Aram’s career, he had taught local boys how to maintain and repair the aging towers of Svaneti, Georgia, the region where he grew up. These fabricated pinnacles earned their protective image based on more than their straight lines and high vantage points. They were resolute. The towers endured for centuries, casting their narrow rectangular shadows across the valleys regardless of war, poverty or peace.
