The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

CHAPTER 23

LAUREN SAT ACROSS from her boss, Richie Glass, in the Italian restaurant’s rustic dining room. The spices from the Tuscan steak exploded on Lauren’s tongue. The red wine tasted like the nectar of the gods. The kind and merciful gods. The ones who watched over her in jail cells in Big Diomede, Magadan, and Moscow. The ones who delivered her alive and in good health back home to Connecticut.

“When you said you were taking me to Toscana on a Monday night for early dinner I was touched,” she said. “I thought you’d be furious. I was afraid you’d fire me as soon as I walked in today.”

Richie lowered the glass from his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I respect you too much to do that.”

“I’m halfway there, Richie. He didn’t grow up in Alaska. He’s not from Kotzebue.”

“Who?”

“Bobby Kungenook. Who else?”

“Oh, right. Then where’s he from?”

“He entered the U.S. via Little Diomede Island and he crossed Big Diomede to get there.”

“I thought you said he’s not from Alaska.”

“He’s not. I didn’t say he was from Diomede. I said he entered the country via Diomede. Because he was coming in from Russia.”

“Russia?”

“Yes. He’s fluent in Russian and Ukrainian. And he entered the country via Little Diomede. What’s close to Little Diomede? Big Diomede. That’s Russian soil. Beyond that? Siberia. I think he might be Russian.”

“Russian? How did a kid named Bobby Kungenook end up in Russia?”

“I don’t think Bobby Kungenook is his real name.”

“Why not?”

“The real Bobby Kungenook vanished as a child. No one wants to talk about him. He doesn’t feel real.”

“What about his parents?”

“Supposed parents. They died eight years ago.”

“Maybe that explains it. There’s a big Russian influence in the Arctic Circle. Maybe he went to live with family in Russia. Or Ukraine. Or wherever.”

“No. If that was the case there’d be nothing to hide. There’d be no reason for a cop to threaten my life in Kotzebue, or show up on Little Diomede and send me on a one-way trip to Russia.”

“Right.” A shadow of doubt passed over Richie’s face. “Tell me how that supposedly went down again?”

Lauren told him about her experience on the snowmobile and how she ended up a Russian prisoner. She’d told it to the FBI agents so many times it didn’t sound ridiculous to her anymore. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She was the victim.

“And why was there alcohol on your breath?” he said.

“A woman forced me to have a drink with her.”

“That’s funny.”

“Why is that funny?”

“You’re not exactly the type who gets forced into doing anything she doesn’t want to.”

“She tricked me into thinking I was bonding with her,” Lauren said. “It would have been rude to say no once she poured the shots.”

“And your wallet? Your passport? Why would you leave those behind if you were going on a joyride on the Bering Strait?”

“It was not a joyride.”

“So, you admit it. It was a calculated move. You did it on purpose.”

“What?”

“I know you. You have poor self-control when you’re obsessed with a story. You wanted to see what you’d find out on the Russian island so you decided to just show up, thinking you could convince them you were there by mistake, and that they’d let you go.”

“That’s bull. I did no such thing.”

“Was the trip worth it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you learn anything from the Russians?”

Lauren leaned forward. “The officer that interrogated me on Big Diomede. His name was Krylov. He was an FBI type. He said there was a similar incident last year. Richie, he said it was a woman and a boy. A woman and a boy, Richie.”

“My God. You did do it all on purpose.”

“No. Richie… ”

“And caused an international incident.”

Lauren sat back. “No one said anything. There was nothing in any papers. There was nothing online. In America, or in Russia, last I heard.”

“Just because it’s not in the papers, doesn’t mean it wasn’t a disaster. For you, the Sports Network, the country.”

“What do you mean, the country? I mean, I know some people had to waste a little time on me, but it didn’t cost anything to get me back. It’s not like there was a prisoner exchange or anything like that.”

“Lauren, the Russians accused you of being a spy. Of using your journalistic credentials as a cover to get a look at Diomede. Did you know they relocated all their natives off the island to Siberia? Did you know Big Diomede is a military installation two miles from the border of its arch-enemy, the United States?”

“What do you mean it was a disaster for the country?”

“Remember the Russian spy they found in Manhattan? She went by the name Lana Channing.”

“The hottie. She was on the cover of all the papers.”

“Her real name was Lana Alexandrova Blin. She had a bunch of affairs, including one with the CEO of a conglomerate that controls a major defense contractor. There were concerns she had access to plans for advanced weapon development. Word is she’s back in Russia. As part of a prisoner exchange.”

“Oh shit.”

“The Sports Network is in hoc to Washington for getting you out, baby. So you see, I’m afraid you crossed the line on this one. And I don’t mean the International Date Line. By the way, what was that like, did you feel older when it happened? I sure hope so. Because you’ve given all of us a lot of gray hairs in the last few days.”

“Richie, I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything on purpose. I swear to you. But this is the story of a lifetime. I’m telling you. In the end it’s going to be worth it.”

“Are you kidding me? Some might-be hockey player is actually Ukrainian? Who cares?”

“No. It’s more than that. It has something to do with this locket.”

“Locket? What locket?”

“A locket that he kept around his neck. It fell off during a game and he stopped playing. He stopped playing. Who does that? I have the video on my computer. On my computer.”

Richie looked disgusted. He turned and nodded at two heavyset guys at a table across the dining room. They stood up and approached.

Lauren had spotted them early on. They had looked familiar, like former football players, but she couldn’t put names to their faces. Now she realized they weren’t former football players. They were former cops turned private security guards. She’d seen them at the Network’s headquarters before. To escort a volatile anchorman out of the building when he was fired.

“You didn’t invite me to dinner for old time’s sake,” Lauren said. “You invited me here so I wouldn’t make a scene in front of the others.” A nail dug into her palm. Lauren realized she was gripping the steak knife with all her might.

Richie removed a folder from his briefcase. He placed it on the table beside her half-eaten tiramisu. “This is your termination agreement.”

“You prick.”

“It provides you with medical benefits and severance for twelve months. That’s generous.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t fight for me. They say once you sleep with your boss, it’s only a matter of time until you’re fired. Especially if he’s married.”

“Fight for you? You still don’t understand the magnitude of what you’ve done. The benefits and severance are contingent on your signing a confidentiality agreement. If you breach it, we will pursue any and all legal remedies.” Richie leaned closer. His tongue darted between his lips. “Which means if you try to tarnish my reputation in any way, I’ll make you wish you were still in a Russian prison cell.”

Lauren remembered when she first met Richie. He dazzled her with charisma, romantic dinners, and five-star hotel rooms. Until he hired the next girl. “You mean your reputation for screwing the new girls?”

“You’d just finished law school and realized you didn’t want to be a lawyer. I gave you your shot. I made you. And this is how you repay me? Go ahead. Call a presser. Say what you want. No one’s going to listen. Your integrity is shot. Your career is over.” Richie stood up. “The boys will drive you home. Your personal possessions are in boxes in the trunk of their car. Have a nice life, sweetheart.”

“You, too, Richie. Drive fast. And when you see those red lights at intersections, ignore them. They don’t mean anything.”