Chapter 23

"How's your head?" asked Matika.

Thule reached up and touched the sore spot tenderly, "Still sore. John really cracked me."

"You just startled him," said Matika, "He's not a violent person at all."

"I've really got to start asking people to hit me on the other side of the head for a while," said Thule, "I'm going to start looking asymmetrical if I get any more lumps on this one."

Matika nodded, "I noticed an old cut and bruise behind your ear. What was that from?"

"It was..." said Thule, "I don't remember--an accident of some sort. Turn here."

After the turn, he asked, "Do you think you have enough to move forward?"

Matika nodded, "One way or another, we have to. Anne is preparing her case for getting sealed indictments first thing Monday morning. If your girlfriend doesn't recant everything she said tonight once she gets a lawyer, we may still have jobs Monday afternoon."

"Brianne is rather emphatically not my girlfriend," said Thule. "Once she starts talking about what she did for Randy over the last four years, you'll understand that better."

"She certainly seemed to think she was," said Matika darkly.

"Jealous, Agent Nazarov?" asked Thule.

Matika snorted, "Please. If that's how you treat your girlfriends, I'd be afraid you might fall in love with me and I'd wind up on death row."

Thule held the mostly-warm ice pack back up to his temple, "If I let it, touching Brianne would make my skin crawl. She is one of the most despicable people I know. And, in this town, that's saying quite a bit. I did what I had to do to make her trust me. I couldn't let my revulsion matter. The truth is that I wish she were getting the chair. Whether the law recognizes it or not, she's responsible for a lot of misery and at least one death."

"So," asked Matika after a stretch of silence, "where did you learn such duplicity at your age?"

Thule looked at her, "Are you asking because it's a skill you're hoping to acquire or to justify some moral judgment you've already made?"

Matika didn't answer for a long minute, "I wish I could do it as well as you do. But, it's chilling to watch. I guess I want to know what it feels like. Does it feel like anything?"

Thule chuckled, "Do you realize how strange this conversation sounds? Matika, you're an FBI field agent. Don't they teach that sort of thing at spy school?"

"In the abstract," said Matika, "But, it seems to be assumed that there's a gift to it. And, yes, I know how strange this conversation sounds. But, if you could hear them talk about you when you're not around, you would understand."

Thule winced, "I try not to think about it. I know how badly I've screwed up some of this and that I'm a dilettante, trying to play outside my league. I didn't do this to make friends."

Matika laughed sharply, "Is that what you think? Thule, they talk about you like you're some kind of natural-born superspy. John and Anne couldn't be prouder of you if you were their own child. And, you should have heard Helene spitting and hissing about Brianne. Every time she talks about you, it's like she's a schoolgirl with a crush. If she had a notebook, she would probably draw little hearts with your name in them all over it."

Thule grinned, trying to absorb the new information. Finally, he said, "I've been deeply impressed with what you all have pulled off. But, the opinions of librarians, lawyers, and file clerks probably doesn't count for much on these matters. What does the field agent think of my techniques?"

"I think," said Matika, "that I would like to know what it feels like to convince someone that you're they're best friend in the world and then turn around and hand them over to the FBI."

"It feels exactly like you would expect it to feel," said Thule, "like you're the most vile, disgusting, reprehensible individual on the whole planet. The trick to getting through it is that I don't let myself feel like that right away. If I keep busy, I can hold it off for weeks. As soon as this is over, I'm getting into therapy."

"So, that's it?" asked Matika, "Just give yourself permission to delay feeling bad?"

Thule laughed, "You make it sound so new agey. But, there's more. Do you know what chauvinism is?"

"Like male chauvinism?" asked Matika.

"Yeah," said Thule, "except that the broader definition just means an irrational preference for the group you're in over the groups you're not in. Quick, who does more for the country, the FBI or the CIA?"

"The FBI," said Matika immediately.

"That's chauvinism," said Thule, "If you were in the CIA, you probably would have answered the opposite."

"Maybe," admitted Matika, "but I would be wrong. What does that have to do with duplicity?"

"Chauvinism is a natural instinct, one of the few humans have," said Thule, "In order to combat it, we've created laws and institutions and polite fictions like 'celebrate diversity.' The trick to cuddling up to someone like Brianne or Randy is to embrace chauvinism. I could let Brianne think that I was her best friend in the world because, for that brief time that I need to be, I am and I would do anything for her that I would do for any friend."

"Then, how do you keep from blurting out that the woods are full of FBI agents?"

Thule grinned in the darkness, "Because my chauvinism only goes so far. If a friend, a real friend, did what Brianne did, I would turn them in... or stop them myself."

Thule could see Matika shiver at the last bit. He wondered if he'd said too much.

"So," asked Matika after a long silence, "Are you ready to tell me what you're planning to do to get Vladi to show you where the bodies are buried?"

Thule told her. Matika didn't answer for a long time. Finally, she asked, "Will you at least drill some air holes?"

Thule nodded, "I'll have to check with my mechanic. But, we should be able to arrange it."

Matika took a deep breath, then said, "I'll do it."

Thule let out a sigh of relief, "Good. From now on, you're my point of contact. I don't want to see any of the others until this is over. Tell them to stay in New York. Vil Umanski is watching me and he would not miss a gaggle of FBI agents. You'll want to question Randy as soon as possible about the cocaine connection. Let him think that's what you're here for. Make sure you do it publicly. Whenever you can, swing by. I don't want people wondering why we're hiding our association. Besides, it will make it more credible when I kill you."

Matika nodded, "The others won't like being told to stay away."

Thule shrugged, "They won't have time to be hanging around. They need to set up an operational plan for this sting and pull it off. And, they need to do it fast. The Vandevoorts have so many friends that I don't expect those indictments to stay sealed forever."

That was the end of conversation until they pulled into the driveway. Thule saw his old car up on ramps and Dawn's legs sticking out from under it. When she heard the car pull up, she emerged, dropped the wrench she was holding, and flew across the lawn, launching herself into Thule's arms.

"You're okay," she exclaimed, burying her head in his chest, clinging to him like he was the mast in a storm.

"Matika," said Thule, "this is Dawn. Dawn, this is Matika, also known as Agent Nazarov."

Dawn detached herself from Thule, standing up straight to give Matika the eye. Then, she extended her hand coolly, "Nice to meet you. Thule has told me about you." Then, she turned to Thule, "Marigold is inside. When your car came back without you, I got worried and called her."

Thule leaned down and kissed her, "I'm sorry, Dawn. I had some things to take care of."

"You should have called," said Dawn, "And, I have a bone to pick with you."

"Oh?" asked Thule.

"I thought you said you know how to change your oil," she said, annoyed, "You're lucky you didn't do more damage than just not being able to start."

"Sorry," said Thule, grinning, "I've been sort of busy."

"No excuse," said Dawn, waggling her finger at him before she bounded back to her work.

"Girlfriend?" asked Matika as they walked up the path.

"Yes," said Thule, "Try to be nice to her. She's also my mechanic and will get to decide how big the air holes are."

Inside, Marigold looked up, blinking from the couch. Their entrance appeared to have woken her. She rose, came over to him, and hugged him.

"Thule," she said groggily.

"Marigold," said Thule, hugging her back, "this is Agent Matika Nazarov."

Marigold hugged Matika sleepily, smiling, "Nice to meet you. You're the FBI agent?"

Matika said, "Yes. Nice to meet you, Marigold."

Marigold said, "I was worried about you," swatted Thule gently, and padded off to Dawn's room.

"Sister?" asked Matika.

"Girlfriend," said Thule. At Matika's confused look, he added, "It's complicated."

Matika raised her hands, "It's none of my business."

Thule put the ice pack in her hand, "Thank you for the use of that."

"I should be heading back," said Matika.

"How badly does your partner disapprove of all this?" asked Thule.

Matika looked surprised, "You have got to stop doing that... skipping half the conversation."

"Sorry," said Thule, watching her, still waiting for an answer.

"He disapproves pretty badly," said Matika. "He's a distant cousin of the Vandevoorts."

Thule hissed through his teeth. Then, Matika said, "So am I."

Thule looked surprised, "Excuse me?"

"Careful," said Matika, "your reputation for telepathy is suffering. Ivan Vandevoort's paternal grandmother was Russian. She was also the mother of my grandfather, who scandalized the family by marrying a black woman in 1951, in case you were wondering." When Thule didn't interrupt, she went on, "It caused a schism in the family. Half bound themselves to the Vandevoorts. There have been nearly a dozen marriages since then. They went to great lengths to distance themselves from us."

"So," asked Thule, "this is some Russian version of the Hatfields and McCoys?"

Matika smiled wryly, "Yes, but leave it to Russians to give both sides the same name."

-=-

Thule woke up alone the next morning, fresh aches and pains in his back and shoulders. Looking in the mirror, he saw that the eye Jonas had blackened was black again. He sighed, hoping it would fade before the prom.

Dawn stuck her head into the room, "Breakfast is ready."

When Thule emerged from his room, he saw Marigold serving breakfast. She came over and kissed him on the mouth. Thule noticed that the sweatpants she was wearing were too long for her, probably Dawn's.

Just as he was finishing breakfast, Thule's cell phone rang. It was Matika.

"Our friend is being uncooperative," she said, "She says she wants to see you."

"Where?" asked Thule.

"County," said Matika, "in Middleton. Think you can find it?"

"Yeah," said Thule, "I'll find it."

After Thule hung up his phone, he asked Dawn, "Do I have a working car?"

"Yeah," said Dawn, "The old one is working fine. If one of you can bring me into town, I can have Carl order the parts I need for the Caddy."

"I can bring you in, sweetie," said Marigold.

That settled, Thule decided to grab a shower before he went to meet Brianne. After all, she wasn't going anywhere. As he stood with his eyes closed, letting the water pound down on him, someone slipped in behind him, scrubbing his back.

"Ah, Little Flower," said Thule, "don't get any funny ideas. I've got a lot to do today."

Marigold laughed behind him, "Curses. You know it was me by my superior loofa skills."

Actually, he'd glanced in the medicine cabinet mirror and seen blonde hair through the shower door, but he saw no reason to tell her that. Instead, he turned around, wrapping his arms around her, "Did you two have a good night."

Marigold nodded against his chest, "Mmm hmm. If you weren't so dead to the world, you could have joined us."

Thule chuckled, "I suppose that I will eventually. It doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter."

"Prom night," said Marigold, "unless you object."

"What?" asked Thule.

"Dawn and I discussed it and we'd like to do it on prom night," said Marigold, "provided that meets with your approval. We'll go to the prom, then drive down to the shore. Then, the three of us will spend the night together."

Thule laughed, "Are you sure you don't want me all to yourself on prom night?"

Marigold rubbed her nose in his chest hair. She might have been scratching and itch or making a negative gesture, "I'm going to spend my prom night with the two people I love best. What could be better?"

"Little Flower," said Thule, "we really need to talk about your feelings for Dawn, but now is not the time. Maybe tonight..."

"I'm in love with her, Thule," she said quietly.

"Or we could discuss it now," said Thule, "Are you sure?"

Marigold nodded, "Every time I think about leaving her behind when we go to Boston, it makes me sad. What would you think if I suggested she apply to colleges in the area?"

"Well," said Thule, "if it was anything like this, I would probably be too stunned to think. You two really haven't known each other very long."

"Thule," asked Marigold, "do you believe that I love you?"

Thule nodded, "Fair enough. Have you talked to her yet... about Boston?"

"No," said Marigold, "I would like to tell her that we want her to join us, if it's true."

"You'll have to give me some time," said Thule, "This is a lot to think about."

Marigold hugged herself to him and looked up into his face, "Do you love her, Thule?"

"I don't know," admitted Thule, "I haven't let myself think about it. Either answer would have been... problematic."

"I love you, Thule," said Marigold.

"I love you too, Little Flower," said Thule.

-=-

Thule barely remembered the ride to the county women's correctional facility. How he managed to keep from having an accident while so deeply in thought was anyone's guess. As it was, he sat in his car, trying to compose himself, for so long that a guard came over and tapped on the window to make sure that he wasn't up to anything suspicious.

Brianne was being held in a building set aside from the main lockup and commandeered by the FBI. When he was shown in, John looked up from where he was sitting.

"How is she?" asked Thule.

"Stubborn," said John, "She had a ton of information about her drug contacts. Apparently, she's been hoarding it for a while. But, as soon as we ask anything about the Vandevoorts, she clams up and says she wants to talk to you. Anne is in there with her now."

"Have Anne come out here, please," said Thule, "It's almost lunch time. Can you get some food for me to bring her?"

"She's refused to eat," said John.

"Even better," said Thule, "She'll be hungry."

"How's your eye?" John asked. Thule was wearing sunglasses.

"Black," said Thule, "Don't worry. It will add realism to what I have to do."

Anne came out, "Thule, she's been asking for you all day."

"I heard," said Thule, "What sort of deal did you offer her?"

"Criminal possession, down from intent to sell for the drug information," said Anne, "I promised I'd ask the judge for a suspended sentence on the drug charges if she would testify against Randy."

"What about the conspiracy charges?" asked Thule.

"I can't touch those," said Anne. "I'm not authorized to cut deals on that sort of thing."

Thule sighed, "All right. Maybe I can get her to talk."

"This, I've got to see," said John, admiration clear in his voice.

"No," said Thule, "I don't want anyone watching this. It will be hard enough to do it as it is." John looked like he was going to protest. Thule said, "Promise me, John."

John nodded, "No one will watch."

Helene came back with a tray of food. Thule took it from her and nodded to the guard, who opened the door between rooms. Brianne was sitting in a wooden chair at a metal table, looking away from the door.

"Orange really isn't your color," said Thule.

Brianne was up, running towards him, and hugging him so quickly that Thule almost dropped her lunch. After he'd put the tray down, he hugged her back, "How are they treating you?"

"Bad," said Brianne. She was crying now.

"You didn't tell them anything about Randy, did you?" he asked.

She shook her head emphatically.

"Good," said Thule, "they're on some sort of witch hunt about him. They tried to tell me you had already ratted him out."

"Bastards," Brianne spat.

"Have some lunch," said Thule. "You look hungry."

Brianne sat down again, "I don't suppose there's a file in this piece of cake?"

"Nah," said Thule, "your nails look fine."

"I look like shit," said Brianne sulkily.

Thule sat down across from her, taking both of her hands in his, "Brianne, you're always going to be beautiful. They can't take that away from you."

The smile and look of relief on her face wrenched Thule's stomach so badly that he almost vomited.

"Thule," asked Brianne, "why are you in street clothes?"

"Jonas sent a lawyer to get me an early bail hearing," said Thule, "I got bailed out this morning."

"What about Jake?" asked Brianne.

Thule made a face like he had tasted something bad, "That son of a bitch. They never even arrested him. The whole fucking thing was a setup."

Brianne's face grew white with rage, "What? I thought you said you'd worked with him before."

"I did," said Thule, "he was definitely legit at this time. I don't know why he would be working with the feds on this sort of thing. Unless..."

"What?" asked Brianne.

"No," said Thule, "never mind. I'm just being paranoid."

"Oh," said Brianne. She poked her lunch suspiciously with a fork. Thule gave her a few minutes to eat. He didn't speak, letting the silence extend itself. Finally, when she was almost done, he asked, "Brianne, can you think of any reason that the Vandevoorts would want you out of the way?"

Brianne's face got white again, "Why?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," said Thule, "Jake works for Ivan. Ivan wants to get me. Did Randy want you out of the way enough to set you up?"

"That son of a bitch," said Brianne angrily.

"Don't jump to conclusions," said Thule. "That's what they want us to do."

Brianne nodded, "Okay."

Thule took her hands again, "Brianne, they're going to keep trying to split us up. It's an old trick. If only one of us talks, the one who doesn't is going to go up the river, hard. The only way we'll get out of this is if we promise each other that we won't talk. Promise me."

Thule could already see Brianne calculating. "I promise," she said.

"So do I," said Thule, "no matter what they tell me, I won't turn on the Vandevoorts. Besides, I can't believe that Ivan would turn on me for something so petty."

He was already up and hugging her goodbye when Brianne asked, "What is Ivan after you for anyway?"

Thule pulled away, going towards the door, knocking to be let out, "It's nothing," he said. "I just fucked that slut wife of his."

The last thing he saw on Brianne's face was a look of betrayal and rage. Turning to Anne, he said weakly, "Give her fifteen minutes to stew. Then, go back in."

Matika followed him outside, waiting until they were clear of the wall to ask, "Are you okay?"

"No," said Thule, "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

Matika rubbed his back reassuringly, "Do you think she'll talk?"

Thule nodded, "She'll talk."

Matika said, "And your reputation as a superspy will be intact. Do you know anywhere good to eat around here? I haven't had anything since lunchtime yesterday."

"I can show you a place," said Thule, "Once I clear my head, I'll probably be hungry too."

"Are you sure your girlfriends won't mind?"

Thule chuckled, "No. Marigold has a weird thing about food, but as long as you don't actually make me lunch, I think it will be all right."

Thule didn't realize until they were already eating lunch that he'd taken her to the same diner in which he'd eaten with Svetlana. By that point, Matika was already asking him a half dozen questions at a time about the material he'd handed over to her.

Eventually, he managed to get in, "I should ask Helene to come into the city with me one of these days."

Matika frowned, "Why?"

"I need to get Sveta, Mrs. Vandevoort, in touch with the Bureau," said Thule, "I think she would be willing to help with the investigation and prosecution."

"Helene's just a file clerk," said Matika, "I should be the one to talk to Mrs. Vandevoort."

"After she dosed you with ecstasy?" asked Thule, "I didn't think you would want to deal with her."

Matika shrugged, "I can be a professional."

"Fair enough," said Thule, focusing on his meal.

A few minutes later, Matika asked, "Thule?"

"Yes?" asked Thule.

"Did you mention Helene just so that I would volunteer to interview Svetlana myself because you thought I would balk at the duty if asked directly?"

Thule said, "As you said, Agent Nazarov, you're a professional. I'm sure you would have wanted to fulfill your duty to the best of your ability without any such games."

By the look on her face, Matika wasn't sure if she should believe him or not.

-=-

The weekend went relatively uneventfully. Thule insisted that Marigold go home Saturday night to "at least make a pretense of still living with her parents." She did, returning the favor by insisting that Thule and Dawn join her family for Sunday dinner. There were a few awkward moments when Jonas asked some seemingly innocent questions that couldn't easily be answered without revealing some heretofore unexplained aspect of the Thule-Marigold-Dawn relationship.

When he'd first shown up, Holly had seemed determined to give Thule the stinkeye. It became clear that she was angry at Jonas for letting Marigold stay the night at Thule's house and Thule by extension. Thule eventually charmed his way back into her good graces, but even while she was glaring at him, he found that he did not mind so much. At least someone was behaving in a sane and predictable way.

After dinner, out on the porch, Jonas had pointed to Thule's black eye and asked if some other girl's father had caught up with him. Thule caught him up on what was going on with the case.

That night, Matika called to let him know that Brianne had spilled her guts about Randy as soon as he'd left. She also told him that there had been a lot of resistance to his plan for dealing with Vladi, but that the team had eventually fallen in line and expected to have everything in place for the sting by the following Monday. Thule wished it could be sooner, but at the same time, it meant that he would have a week to prepare and wouldn't have to deal with the investigation until after prom weekend.

Monday, as he was waiting outside on the steps, one of the cheerleaders approached him. It took him a minute to recognize her as the freshman who had been double-teamed by Randy and Ian at the party. She said her name was Ilia.

"How are you doing, Ilia?" he asked gently.

"All right," said Ilia, "Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I just had some thinking to do."

"Oh," asked Thule, "what about?"

"Well," said Ilia, "a friend of mine said that what Randy and Ian did to me was rape. What do you think about that?"

"What do you think, Ilia?" Thule asked.

"I don't know," said Ilia, "I mean, I see his point, but it's not like I said no. It's just like everybody's trying to protect me from myself, like a girl my age shouldn't be allowed to have sex."

Thule nodded. She was looking to him for guidance. If he told her she'd been raped, she might well have believed him and they would have another nail in Randy's coffin. But, she seemed to be muddling through on her own, looking to put a bad experience behind her and get on with her life. If she decided she'd been raped, she wouldn't be able to do that as easily.

Thule lit a cigarette as he considered his answer. Finally, he said, "Everybody should be free to make their own decisions."

Ilia nodded, her face brightening, "Right. Thanks, Thule."

-=-

"So," asked Jonas, "are you looking forward to this weekend?"

Thule looked up, not sure how to answer that question. He looked to Jonas for some indication of nuance to the question. If he didn't know better, he would swear that Jonas was smirking at him.

"Marigold seems more excited about getting to stay in that house than anything else," he said noncommittally.

Jonas chuckled, "I haven't seen that place in like twenty years. The last time I was down there, it was the summer after high school graduation. Holly, Thom, Ivan, and I spent the whole season down there." He got a faraway look in his eyes.

"Thom was Marigold's father?" asked Thule.

"Yeah," said Jonas, "The three of us were inseparable in high school. I think, if you had met Ivan back then, you would have liked him."

Thule couldn't help scowling, "I doubt that."

"People change," said Jonas. There was no reproach in his voice, "Ivan's home life was... very regimented. His mother was born Russian Orthodox. His father converted before Ivan was born. In high school, Ivan was kind of quiet and nervous. That summer was the first time I started to see the man he would become."

"That must have been a disturbing transformation," said Thule.

Jonas almost chuckled, "Not at the time. I thought that a little bit of confidence would do him some good. I set him up with this friend of mine, Star."

"Star?" asked Thule skeptically.

"From my lips to God's ears," said Jonas, "She was a real party girl, not so different from the most recent Mrs. Vandevoort, quite a beauty. She really latched onto Ivan, too. We hardly ever saw them, but we heard them often enough. After that summer, he was a different person. It wasn't until I got back from college that I started to understand how different."

Thule wondered if Jonas was seeking some kind of absolution for creating Ivan, issuing some sort of veiled warning, or just reminiscing. Before he could formulate a response, his desk phone rang.

When he got off the call, he asked, "Jonas, do you know if Mac got that secure conference room he was talking about set up?"

Jonas nodded, "Yeah. He made it a very high priority. Why?"

"My Grandpa Vanya is here and wants to talk to me," said Thule.

"I didn't know you had Russian blood," said Jonas.

"I don't," said Thule, "I also don't have any living grandfathers. In fact, there's probably only one Russian man old enough to be my grandfather who knows that I work here."

"I can have security escort him out," said Jonas.

"No," said Thule, "I should meet with him."

When Thule emerged into the reception area, Vil Umanski stood at the front desk, leaning on a cane and chatting up the receptionist. Thule couldn't hear the actual words, but whatever he said, the girl laughed and clapped her hands.

"Grandfather," said Thule in a tone between greeting and warning, "what a... surprise." Taking Vil by the arm, he added, "Why don't you come in the back, where you can sit, relax, and tell me what this visit is about."

"Your grandfather's a real character," said the receptionist.

"He certainly is that," deadpanned Thule.

As soon as they were out of sight of reception, Vil straightened up, matched Thule's stride, and pulled his arm away. His face went from mildly befuddled to sharp and suspicious.

"You're playing a very dangerous game," he croaked at Thule.

Thule scowled and didn't say anything until they were in the conference room.

"Have a seat," he said, then set to turning on the baffles that would make audio surveillance impossible.

Vil sat and chuckled, "Ah, you have your shiny new toys, I see."

Thule ignored the comment, sitting across from the old man, "So," he asked, pouring himself a glass of water, "what sort of games am I playing, Mr. Umanski?"

Umanski chuckled, "Far more than an old man can keep up with, I am sure."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "Save the feeble old man act for receptionists. I'm sure you know everything I'm doing right down to what I had for breakfast this morning."

Umanski laughed harder, hinges and crumpled paper, "If only that were so, Mr. Roemer. I must say that many of your actions of late have kept me up at night, wondering what the hell you are up to."

Thule leaned back a little in his chair, "I did some reading on the problem you showed me in the park. The defense you were looking for is very controversial."

"Only to people who do not understand the game. In chess," said Umanski, "victory is never controversial."

"It allows white to force a stalemate," said Thule.