Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard's Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1 (16 page)

“Even worse? He filmed it and sent it to the
CIA’s Bolivian station chief, with instructions to forward it to
the boy’s mother. He wanted her to know what she had caused to
happen to her own son.”

“Someone should have stopped that
bastard!”

“Believe me,” Uncle Edward sighed heavily,
wearily, “we tried. Stephen mounted another effort again in 1982,
this time when Demitrov was sent to South Africa. Unfortunately,
the boy remembered what happened to him the last time he didn’t
fight back. He was old enough to be carrying a weapon and he used
it to shoot Stephen three times before he ran. One of Stephen’s
agents was with him, and took him to Pretoria for medical
treatment. Unfortunately, the boy didn’t fare as well. His father
punished him for not killing Stephen.”

“He broke his arms again?”

“No. He threw him in the bear cage at the
National Zoological Gardens in Pretoria.”

“Good God!” No wonder Yuri had shot that poor
mama bear. The psychological scars ran deep. “How could a father
ever do that to a son?”

“It was as much about punishing Marina as it
was about controlling his son.”

“How did Marina stand it? I would have gone
back for my son. I would have given my life to save my child.” What
a horrible thing to endure. How could anyone ever have a moment’s
peace, knowing the gruesome things being done to a helpless young
boy? “Why didn’t she try?”

“She did, Bea, more than once. And when she
couldn’t get past the CIA gatekeepers, she tried to kill herself.
She couldn’t live with the guilt, the pain, of having her boy
victimized that way. We finally put a stop to it by making a deal
with Moscow. We let three of their best agents go in exchange for
the GRU reining in Colonel Demitrov.”

“How did they stop him, Uncle Edward?”

“They finally had to shoot the colonel. You
see, back then there were rules of conduct. We gave the Soviets the
tapes of what Grigoriy’s father did to him, and even they were
disgusted. They got their agents back, the colonel could do no more
harm to his son, and Grigoriy became Yuri Ivanovich, the adopted
son of General Arseny Ivanovich.”

“Why didn’t they charge Demitrov with a crime
and put him in jail?”

“A man that powerful, Bea, will always find a
way to escape. The man was a psychopath, and if he couldn’t take
out his rage on Marina, he was going to take it out on the boy,
even if Yuri had such a strong protector.”

“Grigoriy never stood a chance, did he? Even
though his mother loved him that much, he was lost anyway, a victim
of the Cold War.”

“That’s one way to look at it, Bea, but
there’s another. The colonel would still have abused his wife and
son without the Cold War as an excuse. You’re forgetting how far
the colonel went to punish me. He tied Hortense to those train
tracks. He kept her a prisoner for two long years. And he used her
as a hostage, to stop me. In the end, he was a danger to the Soviet
GRU, because he was so bitter and so inhumane. He showed up at the
general’s house, to reclaim his son. When he couldn’t find him, he
raped the general’s wife, an act that was interrupted by the
general himself.”

“How very, very sad. It sounds like Demitrov
would have been a serial killer if he hadn’t been a spy.”

“A really good intelligence officer isn’t a
psychopath or a sociopath, Bea. Gratuitous violence or cruelty
isn’t to be confused with pleasure, and it should never be
personal. Coercion is sometimes used to achieve a goal because the
goal is critical. But you’d be amazed to learn how easy it is to
convince a normal human being to cooperate without having to resort
to torture. It’s the really bad guys and sometimes the really good
guys who resist. Then it becomes necessary to use pressure, and
often the greatest pressure is psychological. Colonel Demitrov knew
just how much Marina loved her son, Grigoriy, and how much the boy
missed his mother. His plan was to turn his son into a killer and
eventually to turn the killer loose on the woman who got away.”

“Poor Marina.”

“You don’t know the half of it. When the
colonel learned she had given birth to another son with Stephen, he
began in earnest to also condition Grigoriy to kill his
half-brother. The Soviets sanctioned an operation in 1976 to kidnap
Ben in retaliation for the taking of Marina, but the CIA knew they
were coming and made it hurt. The GRU lost six men and the CIA made
it clear that any further efforts to snatch the boy would result in
even greater casualties. Demitrov had to resort to programming his
son to kill, because the GRU director refused to approve any
further efforts.”

“I hate this spy game,” I decided. “It’s so
unconscionable. People like Ben and Grigoriy get caught in the
crossfire. Neither one of them ever really got to be a child.”

“As long as there are bad people, Bea, there
will be spies to gather information, mount operations, and get
things done that soil the hands. It’s less by choice and more by
duty.”

“Yes, but you can catch more flies with
honey. Surely there are ways to conduct spy operations without
killing everyone in sight.”

“Is that what you think, that CIA officers
and operatives go around whacking people everywhere they go? The
best are so adept at keeping cover, they are rarely even spotted.
They gather their information and conduct their operations without
causing any alarm. They slip in and out without leaving a
footprint, unless that footprint is necessary.”

“Meaning that the honey bees don’t always
swat the flies?”

“The trouble with honey, Beatrice, is that
the bees don’t like it when it’s stolen away. They get angry and
they swarm. Sometimes flies get caught when they come too close to
the hive. Sometimes they fly into places and situations where they
don’t belong. Not every spy is a bee with a stinger. Sometimes
espionage agents are the flies on the wall, listening in on
conversations and reporting back on what they heard. You might want
to swat a fly, but most times you will miss. It’s the advantage of
having wings.”

“What’s Ben? A fly or a bee?” I asked Uncle
Edward. He looked back at me and smiled.

“Think about it, Bea. Think about the
position that Stephen and Marina were in, unable to rescue her son,
desperate to protect their own. That was Ben’s childhood. What
would you have taught him to do?”

“Survive,” I replied. “And protect.”

“Exactly. And what does it take to do that
job, to not run away from that kind of duty? He either has to
become a monster or a man of such high principles and clarity of
mission that he acts and reacts with his head screwed on
tight.”

“All this time, I never knew these things
about Ben. I’ve always given him a hard time.”

“Don’t stop doing that, woman!” Uncle Edward
laughed. “If you go soft on him now, you’ll mess with his head. No,
Ben fell in love with you because you are what you are, the good
part of his life that allows him to be proud of what he does.
You’re the epitome of the moral compass he keeps inside of himself,
so that he doesn’t lose his way. That’s why he loves you.”

“That, and the sex,” I blurted out without
thinking.

“Yes, that too. He is, after all, a man. But
it’s really knowing that you won’t take anything less than his best
is what keeps him on the straight and narrow.”

I sat there, thinking about this life I
lived, caught in a world of smoke and mirrors, of guns and dead
bodies, and little girls who were torn away from their mothers and
fathers when war raged. This little piece of heaven here on Lake
Champlain would have to be a respite from that world of cruelty and
chaos. Wardah and Fatima would have what Ben and Grigoriy did not.
They would know what it was like to feel safe and loved. I would
insist upon it. And now I understood why Ben had insisted that the
time was never right to have children. It was far too dangerous as
long as the damaged Grigoriy was on the hunt.

“Uncle Edward, what will we do if Grigoriy
shows up?”

“If? I think we can be sure that he will show
up, Beatrice, and when he does, we must decide how much madness we
can afford in our lives. We can share his mother’s treasures with
him and it may not awaken the decent man within. It may only serve
to anger him even more. As much as we understand the pain he was
subjected to over many years, and we understand that it shaped him,
we must consider the people we can still help in this world and the
people who will suffer if we are not here to carry on the work. If
Grigoriy crosses that line, we will have to take him out, no matter
how much compassion and empathy we have for him. We must focus on
the greater good, because our goal is to make a better world.”

Chapter Seventeen --

“Howdy, stranger. Long time, no see.”

“Ben!” My heart began to beat faster at the
sound of my husband’s voice on the other end of the phone. “Where
are you?”

“I’m on my way home. Can you pick me and my
luggage up? The train gets into Burlington at quarter to nine. And
bring Rosalind. I have a surprise for her.”

I glanced at the kitchen wall clock. Ten
after five. Time to make dinner, get Wardah into the bath, and
dressed in her pajamas for the trip to the station.

“Sure. No problem. Why are you taking the
train?” I asked. It would have been quicker to fly, even to
drive.

“I’ll explain when I see you, Bea. Love
you.”

“Love you too. I can’t wait to see you.”

As the hours passed, I realized how excited I
was at the thought of finally seeing Ben again. So much time had
passed and I still didn’t know all the details of what had happened
in Damascus. I was just relieved that it would soon be over and Ben
would be back where he belonged. And if he played his cards right,
he might even have his way with me tonight, when we were back home
in our bed. And in the morning, too. I just wanted to feel my arms
around him and know the taste of his lips again. I ached for his
touch.

At seven-thirty, I towel-dried Wardah’s hair
when she came out of the bath tub, pulled it back in a ponytail and
added a colorful scrunchie. She leaned against me as I brushed her
locks, hungry for that human touch. I was excited for her, knowing
that she would soon be reunited with the real Fatima. The only
thing sweeter would be when Azeezah joined us.

We had developed a non-verbal rapport as the
days passed. When I wanted Wardah to come with me, I took her hand
in mine and led the way. I would often give her single word clues.
As we walked to the garage, I said “car” and she smiled. She didn’t
know where we were going, but she was content to go along for the
ride.

I flicked the overhead lights on, opened the
garage door with the automatic opener, and helped Wardah into the
seat in the back. I had tucked a pillow and blanket back there for
her, in case she wanted to doze. Once she was strapped in, I
climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and backed out
of the garage. Still in reverse, I kept my foot on the brake while
I shut the garage door. I was so focused, I didn’t hear the back
door open, but I heard Wardah’s startled cry. Yuri was grinning at
me when I looked into the rearview mirror.

“Good evening, Beatrice,” he greeted me.
“Please don’t make any sudden moves or I will have to kill this
little girl.”

“What’s going on, Yuri...Grigoriy?” I asked,
as calmly as I could.

“I see Edward had briefed you on my
situation. How convenient for me. That will save some time. Drive,
Bea. I will tell you where we are going and what we are doing when
we are almost there.”

“I see.” How I wished I had a gun handy, a
weapon of some kind. I hated that he was in the backseat with that
little girl, using her vulnerability to manipulate me. I glanced
around, wondering what I could use. Did my eyes deceive me? Was
that my trusty little Tinker Swiss Army knife? It sat in the
forward cup holder, hidden from Yuri’s view by my bottle of water.
Ben must have found it in the woods and returned it to my car. I
tried to figure out how I was going to grab it without Yuri seeing
me do it. I waited ten minutes, until we were on a dark stretch of
I-89.

“Is it okay if I drink some of my water?”
Yuri looked over my shoulder at the bottle of Poland Springs.

“Who am I to refuse such a request, Beatrice?
Just don’t get cute.”

I made a big deal of keeping my eyes on the
road and fumbling with the cup holders. I palmed the small knife,
picked up the bottle by its cap, and dropped the
three-and-a-half-inch weapon into my blouse while I made a big
effort of unscrewing the cap. I took a couple of long swigs, as if
I was thirsty, and then I returned the bottle to its compartment.
Just outside Colchester, Yuri grunted.

“Take Roosevelt Highway.”

We drove in silence for several minutes
before he directed me to go down Main Street. There wasn’t much
action at this time of night. The sidewalks had been rolled up.
Yuri seemed pretty confident that his game plan would work, that I
wouldn’t bolt from the Subaru, but that was because of the little
hostage he was holding in the back seat. He was busy texting. I
could see the glow of his smartphone.

“Take the next left,” he said. He snapped a
photo of the frightened child. A moment later, I felt my locket
vibrate and I put my fingers around it, hoping to hide slight
movement, as I slipped it into my tee shirt.

“The next right,” Yuri said, “onto Depot
Road.”

I followed his instructions, not really sure
where we were going or what our destination was. I only knew that
he had a plan, and that meant he was going to carry it out. Dread
rose up in my throat as we moved away from civilization, away from
lights, cars, and other people. All I could hope was that we
weren’t going back into the woods. Little Wardah was silently
watching the man in the backseat with her, and she seemed to sense
his evil intent. She was pressed up against the door, cowering.
When we came to the train tracks, I knew what Yuri was going to do.
The shaking started in my stomach as if a hoard of butterflies were
set free, their fragile wings battering my insides with every
flutter. Soon my legs and arms were shaking, too, as the message of
panic began to spread through my terrified body. When the tires
began to roll over the track, Yuri said the word I had been
dreading.