Chapter 5: Novus Ordo Seclorum

February 8, 1990, Chicago, Illinois

“Good afternoon, Stephen Rayevich!” declared when I answered the phone.

“Good afternoon, Comrade Colonel!” I replied. “How are you? How is Aleksey?”

“Very good, thank you. I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

“And I’m sorry we were unable to see you during the Christmas break. How is Lyusya Alekseyevna?”

“Good!”

“That’s good. And everyone is fine here, as well. How may I be of service, Comrade Colonel?”

“You are always so correct and formal, Stepa! You are aware of what has happened in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe?”

A lot had happened over the previous four weeks, besides the appearance of Eric James Ferguson on January 15th. A few days before he was born, over 300,000 Lithuanians had demonstrated for independence as part of the ‘Singing Revolution’. A few days later the Bulgarian National Assembly voted to end Communist rule, and more dramatically, East German citizens had stormed the headquarters of the Secret Police, the Stasi.

A few days after that, on January 20th, Mikhail Gorbachev ordered Soviet troops to occupy Baku, Azerbaijan, and they killed 130 protestors. Two days later, Yugoslavia had ended Communist rule. And, more importantly, and more likely to be the reason for Colonel Anisimova’s call, was that the day before, the CPSU, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, had voted to end its own monopoly on power, clearing the way for multiparty elections and effectively ending Communist rule in Russia.

“Yes, I’m aware that the CPSU agreed to give up power.”

“This is the end of the Soviet Union. Perhaps not right away, but very soon. I wish to speak with your friend, Mr. Shaughnessy.”

“I can arrange that,” I said. “And Aleksey?”

“I wish to talk to Mr. Shaughnessy before I say more. Do you have his number?”

“Yes. I’ll give you his office number and the number to his mobile cellular telephone.”

I looked up the numbers and gave them to her. She thanked me and we hung up. I’d expected her to call at some point, just not quite so soon. I’d thought things were moving fast in Europe before Christmas, but the pace had accelerated. And it wasn’t only Europe that was making news. Robert Tappan Morris, the creator of the worm I’d seen attacking systems on the ARPAnet was convicted of releasing it. And in South Africa, the ANC was unbanned, and the government was promising to release Nelson Mandela.

We really were witnessing the birth of a New World Order, one in which there might be no communist dictatorships except perhaps the Hermit Kingdom, North Korea. But if China ended Communist Party rule the way all the other countries were, Kim Il Sung would have no benefactor and his country would quickly fall into chaos.

My mind went to my friends Vanya, Dmitry, and Tanya, and of course, Tanya’s daughter Lara. I wondered how they would come through all of the changes. I wondered how WE would come through all the changes. So far, it seemed like the forces of freedom were winning, but all it would take would be a coup from the hard-liners in Russia to send things spiraling out of control as they tried to reassert their power in Eastern Europe and around the world.

One friend, though, might well be the happiest Russian college student on the planet. If the entire family defected, she would never have to return to Russia. I didn’t think she’d have a problem paying for her remaining years at Stanford, given what I expected Colonel Anisimova would make working for Patrick Shaughnessy.

February 18, 1990, Chicago, Illinois

On Sunday afternoon, we drove to the Chicago Stadium for the Penguins game against the Blackhawks, which turned out to be the correct spelling of the name. They’d gone by ‘Black Hawks’ for as long as I could remember, but when the tickets had arrived, I saw the changed spelling. I checked into it, and it turned out that the one-word spelling was on the original team charter, and so they had changed it after the 1986-87 season. I’d somehow missed it on the tickets, in the newspaper, and in The Hockey News! It was funny how the brain worked on things like that!

As I drove, I reflected on the continued rapid changes which were occurring. Nelson Mandela had been released after 27 years in prison. The two Germanys were discussing a path to unification, and, to the great delight of Belinda Barton, Voyager 1 had sent back a picture of Earth from 3.5 billion miles in space.

“Thanks for bringing us to the game, Boss!” Terry said.

“You’re welcome! Though you should thank Dave and Julia, because technically you are using their tickets! Next year, I’m going to have to get more tickets. I just hope Lemieux is healthy by then.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Penny asked.

“Back problems. They’re bad enough that he left a game against the Rangers on Thursday when he had a 46-game scoring streak going. He probably could have beat Gretzky’s 51-game record, so you know he’s hurting. I’d guess that he will likely need surgery at some point.”

“Bummer,” she said. “How are the Penguins doing overall?”

“Lousy. They won’t make the playoffs this year. And if Lemieux isn’t healthy for the start of next season, that might be a write off as well.”

And the game was lousy for the Pens. Despite goals by Bob Errey, Troy Loney, Mark Recchi, and Kevin Stevens, the Penguins lost 6-4 on Hawks goals by Steve Larmer, who scored twice, Adam Creighton, Duane Sutter, Steve Thomas, and Jeremy Roenick.

“Well, once again, that sucked,” I sighed as we followed the crowd out of the stadium.

“Are we going for Thai food like we usually do?” Jessica asked.

“That was the plan, unless someone objects.”

Nobody did, so we headed to Star of Siam for our traditional post-hockey meal.

When we arrived home, my wives and I sat down to watch the tape of the Daytona 500. Kara had been surprised that I would let hockey supersede an important race, but as I’d told her, NASCAR just didn’t hold the same attraction for me that it had while Stephie had been alive. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it; it just wasn’t a priority.

Right up until the end, the race looked as if it would be no contest. Dale Earnhardt simply dominated the race, and had built a 40-second lead when a late caution came out due to a spin by Geoff Bodine. When the green flag dropped on lap 196, Earnhardt quickly got past the cars that hadn’t pitted. It was obvious he was going to win, until on lap 199, he ran over debris dropped by Rick Wilson’s blown engine on the backstretch, causing his right-rear tire to shred. Derrike Cope, Terry Labonte, Bill, and Ricky Rudd all streaked past Earnhardt who managed to hold his car off the wall and finish 5th.

“Now THAT was exciting!” I said.

“No fair!” Jesse protested. “He was winning! Nobody was fast like him!”

“The only thing that matters is how you cross the finish line at the checkered flag,” I said. “And you remember we don’t use the ‘f-word’ in this house!”

Veronica laughed, “I still can’t believe you call ‘fair’ the ‘f-word’.”

“I find it far more offensive than ‘fuck’,” I said. “The whole connotation of ‘fair’ is that somehow, someone is owed some specific result. Life doesn’t work like that, and I want the kids to know that.”

“Can you imagine seven kids all saying that something isn’t fair?” Kara laughed. “And what does that word even mean in that context? We treat each of the kids differently because they’re different people with different needs and different personalities. You do it, too, Veronica.”

She nodded, “Sure. But I just don’t know that ‘fair’ is worse than the real ‘f-word’.”

“Bah,” I chuckled. “I’m actually looking forward to the day when I get told to ‘eff off’ by one of my kids.”

“You are a strange man, Mr. Adams!” she laughed.

February 22, 1990, Chicago, Illinois

I was still running with Jacquelyn in the mornings, but our time was quickly coming to an end. She’d been accepted to Princeton, and was planning to head out to New Jersey for a summer seminar which started in July. I was going to miss my runs with her, and miss her company, but I’d known from the beginning that she was going away to college. I’d started looking at treadmills, and had already made some minor changes to the basement setup to accommodate whichever one I ended up purchasing.

Things at NIKA had been routine, with the exception that Chris Gibson had started as a new accounting clerk, and Elyse had named Kimmy ‘Office Manager’ because she’d been doing that job since she’d been hired. She still had her accounting duties, but the title change let Elyse make the office manager duties official. Sales of the legal and medical software were good, our consulting business was booming, and we were making very good progress on version 4.0 of the legal software.

I was still spending time at the dojo, though I’d cut back to four days a week from six, because I needed more time with the kids and my wives, and I’d missed a couple of Saturdays when I’d gone to Milford to see Bethany and Nicholas. Our friends and I were making good progress on ‘Lieutenant Nicholas Evans: In Loving Memory’, as we’d dubbed our project. Just my pictures and stories filled four photo albums, from a photo of him at the very first party that Kara had taken, to the last time we’d seen him, when we’d all posed for a photo that Veronica had taken.

At home, things were very good. Jessica, Kara, and I continued to work through our ‘couples’ counseling with Doctor Green. Jessica was surviving her 12-hour shifts in the ER. And even though for February she was on nights, she had weekends free. We’d had to do a bit of shuffling to have time together, but we were making it work. Doctor Green had accommodated us with Saturday afternoon appointments, which was something he rarely did. We’d be back to Wednesdays starting in March, when Jessica’s schedule changed again.

Colonel Anisimova and I had several conversations, and I had a few with Patrick Shaughnessy as well. It was clear to me that at some point, later in the year, the Colonel would retire, or defect, or whatever it was that Patrick thought would work best. Given the changes in the Soviet Union, I didn’t see any real risk for her if she simply quit and applied for asylum, or even a simple residence and work permit, and Patrick was working his contacts to ensure a smooth transition.

Most importantly, at least according to Bethany and Doctor Mercer, I was writing in my journal. I was writing a lot. I hadn’t reached any formal conclusions, but I’d poured out my feelings and thoughts about the deaths of my close friends and what they meant to me and what it meant to me and how I had done my best to overcome the grief. With a LOT of help from my friends.

“Dada?” Jesse said from the door of my study.

“Yes, Jesse?”

“Dinner! Then cake and presents!”

“Cake and presents? Why?” I teased.

“I’m four today! It’s my birthday! You know!”

“Your birthday? Wow! I forgot, Jesse! I hope your moms bought you some presents!”

“You didn’t forget, Dada! You told me ‘Happy Birthday’ when I got up! You forgot you remembered!” he laughed.

“Oh, that’s right! It must have slipped my mind!” I replied, chuckling with him.

I heard Jennifer laugh, “You do have a very slippery mind, Steve!”

She moved to where I could see her through the open door.

“Hi, Jen! I guess I should come to dinner.”

“Your son would appreciate it!”

I saved my files and shut down my Mac. I got up from my desk and picked up Jesse and the three of us went to the dining room where dinner was already on the table. We were having Jesse’s favorite - oven fried chicken, potatoes, and corn. I’d come home a bit early to help with the cooking, though Veronica and Kara had done most of the work. After the meal, Josie and Jennifer brought in a chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream, as Jesse had demanded. After we sang Happy Birthday to him, he blew out the candles and we had our cake.

“Presents!” he said when we finished dessert.

“That’s not polite, Jesse,” Veronica said softly. “We don’t ask for presents. People give them to us because they love us.”

“Everyone loves me!” he said with a very smug look on his face.

“You know, one of these days...” Jennifer whispered to me.

“Bang, zoom, straight to the moon!” I whispered back.

We moved to the great room where Jesse opened his presents. He was happy with everything that we’d bought him, including the clothes. Recently he’d started picking out his own clothes for each day and his fashion sense was, well, questionable. For Jesse, if two pieces of clothing had the same color on them, no matter how small the swatch, they were declared to be matching. That made for some of the craziest color-combinations I’d ever seen. But he loved it, and it was one of those things which we’d decided was his choice.

“How was your lunch today?” I asked Jesse afterwards.

“Fun! Francesca and I got to kiss! And I got a present from her! And Peter and Kristin were here! And Ken and Lou!”

“There were a couple of playgroup kids as well,” Veronica added.

“And all your brothers and your sister?”

“Yes! We had cake. We played Pin the Tail on the Donkey!”

“I wish I’d been here to see THAT,” Josie laughed. “A bunch of four to nine-year-olds blindfolded!”

“I took lots of pictures,” Veronica said. “And so did Carol.”

“Did Kristin spend most of the day here?” I asked.

“Yes,” Veronica answered. “Kurt dropped her off just after you left for work, and then Kathy picked her up right after school.”

“Aunt Kara, when will you have your baby?” Jesse asked.

“In July. Why?”

“Remember, no sisters!”

“It’s a little late for that you little turkey,” Kara laughed. “That was decided when Dada and Aunt Kara kissed!”

He giggled, “I like kissing!”

“If he only knew...” I whispered to Jennifer.

“I think we can wait,” she said, giggling softly.

When it was time for Jesse to go to bed, I got a very nice, soft kiss from Jennifer. She reserved those for special days, and Jesse’s birthday was the most special of them all.

February 28, 1990, Chicago, Illinois

I stopped by Elyse’s office after the mail arrived.

“The tickets arrived,” I said.

“Both games?” she asked.

“Yes. Monday, May 21st, at 7:00pm and Saturday, September 1st, at 1:20pm. Just inside 3rd base, about 10 rows back.”

“Perfect! How many tickets?”

“Eight. We’ll figure out who goes to which game. I figure Jesse only goes to the Saturday game. I sure don’t want to deal with him getting home at midnight on Monday!”

Elyse laughed, “Wimp!”

“Self-defense. Not just from Jesse, but from Veronica when she has to deal with a cranky four-year-old the next day!”

“Do you think they have a chance?”

“A chance? Sure. It’s baseball, after all! They have a decent team, and their bullpen is one of the best around with Charlton, Dibble, and Myers. Browning and Rijo are damned good pitchers, and Barry Larkin, Eric Davis, and Chris Sabo are legitimate All Stars. All we can do is wait to see if we finally have a non-disappointing year. It’s sucked since the late 70s after things looked so good in ‘75 and ‘76.”