“We can use the tunnels,” Noah says.
“And come out where?” Megan asks. “Where are we supposed to go? Where is Alexei supposed to go?”
“I don’t know,” Noah snaps. “But I know we can’t stay here.”
“You’re right,” I say. For a moment, I consider the Society and its massive underground headquarters. Ms. Chancellor said that she didn’t think Alexei was guilty, but she didn’t offer to prove that he’s innocent either. I could ask her to hide him. I could ask the Society to help. But they’ve already become embroiled in one international conspiracy on my behalf. And if I’m being honest with myself, it scares me.
If I’m being really honest, a part of me can’t help but fear they might be in the midst of another.
“Grace?” Noah is at my elbow. “Grace, what do you think?”
“You’re both right. We’re probably stuck here until the sun goes down. We’ll find someplace safe for tonight, but eventually we’ve got to get Alexei out of the country. Noah, can you get your mom’s van?”
“Yes, but I won’t.”
“You have to!”
“We can’t just smuggle a hot Russian across the border,” Noah snaps, then realizes what he’s said. “I mean, a fugitive Russian. Not a hot Russian. Not that Alexei isn’t extremely attractive. You are, it’s just that …”
“We get it.” Megan places a hand on his arm and stops him, saving Noah from himself.
Through it all, Alexei is silent. He hasn’t spoken since the street. Maybe it’s the trauma. He almost died. I know how that feels, and the sensation takes a while to get used to.
Megan and Noah are watching him, too. He doesn’t rock, doesn’t shake. It’s more like he’s still seeing it, a nightmare on a loop inside his mind.
He’s so quiet that when he finally whispers, “I knew him,” I’m not sure if Alexei even realizes that he has spoken aloud.
Then he looks at me.
“The man in the car. His name was Mikhail. He was my father’s personal driver. I know him. I mean … I knew him. He taught me to ride a bicycle.”
“I’m so sorry, Alexei,” Megan says, patting his hand. “We’re all so, so sorry.”
Spence is dead. And now Mikhail. People are dying! I want to scream as I look out the window at the chaos that still fills Embassy Row. I’m three years and thousands of miles away from my mother, but it feels like I will never outrun the smoke.
“Grace!” I hear a voice echoing up from the basement. “Grace, are you in —”
“Second floor!” I call, but Rosie is already racing up the stairs. She has a large bag in her hands and the look on her face is sheer terror.
“Grace, I got your text. Where is he? Is he …” But then Rosie sees Alexei, sitting on Iran’s old couch, all color drained from his face but very much alive. She hurls herself across the room and into his arms. Alexei rests his cheek on the top of Rosie’s head as she comes down to rest, cradled in his lap.
“I was so worried,” she croaks out.
“I am okay, Rosemarie. All is well.”
All is not well, but now might not be the time to say so.
“Did you get it?” I ask Rosie, who hands me the bag.
“Of course. It’s a madhouse out there. The embassies are all closed off and the street is blocked and there are television cameras everywhere. But it was easy,” Rosie says, then shrugs. “No one paid any attention to me.”
I open the bag and look down at some men’s clothes and bottles of water, a few protein bars. And, finally, four shiny cell phones. I pull one out and eye it.
“The embassy keeps those for staff and visiting dignitaries,” Rosie says. “No one has used them in months. They won’t be missed.”
Perfect. If Alexei is going to go on the run, he’ll need to be on his own. Or at least it needs to look that way. No one has a reason to be watching Germany.
“Rosie, I love you,” I say.
Rosie shrugs. “Most people do.”
She snuggles closer to Alexei, and he squeezes her tight.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We’re going to keep you safe until we can find a way to get you out of Adria.”
“I’m not leaving the country.” His voice is strong now, sure.
“You’re not safe here,” I tell him.
“I will not run away like a coward.”
“If you stay here, whoever blew up the car is going to find you. And they are going to kill you. And maybe not just you. Don’t tell me you still want to turn yourself in?”
This, at least, hits home. I can almost see the gears in Alexei’s head start spinning.
“I must return to the embassy. I’ll be safe there, and in the meantime —”
“Alexei! Stop!”
Finally, it’s Megan who is screaming and not me. I’m so relieved to be the quiet, sensible one, if only for a moment.
“It was a Russian car, housed and maintained in a Russian garage. And it exploded.” Megan eyes him as if waiting to see him catch on. “Someone got to it from inside the Russian embassy. Which means …”
“You can’t go home,” Noah finishes, then places a hand on Alexei’s shoulder.
The honorable part of Alexei is struggling with the idea, but the sensible part of him knows better. What if Mikhail isn’t the only person who gets hurt?