Part 21 (2/2)
”His name is Cornell Brown.”
TWENTY-NINE.
With a gla.s.s of red wine in hand-her second-Claire leaned back in the sofa and watched the talking heads on TV. The local public station was rerunning the evening news, a panel of experts talking about multi-national relief efforts in Africa. Claire muted the sound but let the pictures roll on, the silent flickering of the screen imbuing the desolate apartment with a gloomy blue glow. The apartment was so quiet now, and empty.
Another weekend alone. When would change come? she wondered. How much of her old life would she have to let go of before she could move ahead?
The house phone rang and Claire picked up the portable handset.
”Yes?”
”Mrs. Stoneman?”
”Is that you, Raoul?”
”Yes, ma'am. Uh ... Mrs. Stoneman? Your Wallis is on her way up.”
Claire's breath caught in her throat.
”She's very upset, Mrs. Stoneman,” said Raoul hesitantly. ”There is ... she has blood on her-”
Claire was out of the sofa at that very moment, tossing the telephone aside and rus.h.i.+ng out her door to the elevator landing. The nearest elevator opened to reveal Wallis, in much worse condition than Claire had ever seen her: she wore a too-large army-surplus bomber jacket that made her look like a wounded bird, and underneath it her sweater was torn halfway into shreds. Wally's eyes and cheeks were smudged with mascara from crying, and her neck ... there was some sort of splatter there. Blood? Wally's face seemed frozen in a look of torment.
”Oh my G.o.d ... Wally ...” Claire wanted to rush and embrace her daughter, but it had been so long since Wally had welcomed her affections that she held back.
”Mom ...” Wally's tearful voice was angry and woeful at the same time as she stepped slowly out of the elevator and stood before Claire. ”I've been strong, Mama. I have. But I don't know what to do now.”
Claire couldn't resist any longer; she reached out for her daughter, wrapping her up tightly and leading her back to the apartment. Once inside, they both slumped to the floor, still embracing.
”It's all gone so bad ...” Wally sobbed.
The entire battle at the Navy Yard had lasted no more than two minutes, but it had been the most disastrous event of Wally's life. Once she had leapt the fence and escaped Klesko's gunfire, Wally lurked nearby in the shadowy perimeter of the Navy Yard, looking on helplessly as Klesko grabbed up Johanna and beat her with the b.u.t.t of his handgun before heaving her limp body into the cab of the tow truck. The Russians jumped into the truck and raced away from the scene, taking Johanna with them but leaving Tevin where he lay, motionless and gus.h.i.+ng blood on the tarmac, so alone. Wally's first instinct had been to run to Tevin's side-hoping against reason that he had somehow survived-but before she could reach him, the sirens of cop cars and fire trucks could be heard closing in on the scene, a swarm of them.
Wally knew that if she stayed at the site, she would be taken into custody, and she didn't trust the police to believe her story or take the immediate action that would be needed to save Johanna. As Wally walked quickly away from the Navy Yard, she discovered that the army-surplus jacket she was wearing-Tevin's jacket-held the keys to the Lincoln in the front pocket. She was at the wheel of the Lincoln and driving away when she realized that there was only one place she wanted to be, only one place where she would feel truly safe and sane and cared for.
”I went looking for my mother,” Wally began, Claire's arms still clutched around her as they sat on the floor. ”My Russian mother.”
”You did what?”
”I'm sorry if that hurts you, Mama, but I had to.”
”But how could you possibly-”
”And now Tevin is killed.”
Claire was in shock, trying desperately to process what Wally was telling her. ”One of your friends? Dead?”
Wally nodded, the tears now pouring down again.
”My G.o.d, Wally ...”
”All he wanted was to take care of me,” Wally said. ”And now he's gone, and they took her. They took Johanna.”
Claire eased her embrace and held Wally by the shoulders, looking into her eyes with piercing intensity.
”Johanna?” Claire said. ”I don't understand. Who took her?”
”It's too much to tell,” Wally sobbed. ”I found a place, in a part of Brooklyn, the Navy Yard. It was like ... like a safe house or whatever, a place set aside by my Russian mother in case something bad happened. You see, she's been here all along, watching me. It's Johanna, Mom. Her real name is Yalena Mayakova. My Russian mother.”
”Wally-”
”Then everything went bad, so bad,” Wally went on. ”First there were three agents, ATF or FBI or something. But then the two Russians came. They're the ones who killed Dr. Rainer-”
”Dr. Rainer? Charlene Rainer? She's dead?”
”And the men came to the Navy Yard too. They killed Tevin and took Johanna. One of them, Mom, he's my father. My Russian father. He took Johanna.”
”Your father? What are you saying?”
The barrage of information stunned Claire speechless for a few moments-she struggled to process all that Wally was telling her.
”I could see it,” Wally said. ”He has the same dark eyes, like mine.”
”Oh G.o.d.”
”I'm sorry, Mom. It's all my fault. I had to go looking and I made all of this happen.”
”There were two?”
”What do you mean?”
”You said there was the Russian man and another.”
”A young one. With Klesko.”
”Klesko.”
”My father. The two of them took Johanna and now she's gone. I don't know where.”
Claire closed her eyes for a long moment, as if in silent prayer, and when she opened them again, she spoke: ”I know where,” she said.
THIRTY.
<script>