Page 136 of Don't Look Back

And it was Reuben who, right before Kira had rattled his confidence by walking into his home theater, had called Laskin and demanded his support for a ministry position now that he’d pulled off the successful terrorist attack on two Navy SEAL bases.

As soon as the sun rose and Atlantic winds wiped away the clouds, Reuben would be toast, and Luka would go down with him.

Two hours later, Kira, Rand, and the Fire Team were back on the boat when Reuben made a frantic call to Grigory, a full 360 from his earlier crowing. They listened along with the teams in Virginia as the would-be usurper demanded to know what Laskin had done to spoil their scheme. The men spoke Russian while a translator provided English for the team.

Laskin’s words sounded cold in both languages. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but my maid confessed that you pushed her to send a message from Aleksandr’s phone to stop your sister from coming to Malta. This resulted in the attack on Little Creek that undermined your own plans for the fourth.”

Even now, Laskin was careful, making no claim on the attack. Did he know it was being recorded, or was he recording it himself?

At least they had Reuben.

“She’s lying to protect Aleksandr. He told me he didn’t want to marry Kira, so he sent Benny in to set her up as a conspirator. Her fingerprints and DNA would have been all over the bombs.”

“Benny? Who is Benny? And what bombs? What are you talking about?”

“This is Aleksandr’s fault. All of it.”

Laskin hung up without another word.

Later that afternoon, Kira, Rand, and the SEALs boarded a US military helicopter and flew to Sigonella, where Kira and Rand would catch a Navy transport flight to Norfolk while the Fire Team would catch a flight that would return them to their platoon in Rota, Spain.

The stopover at Sigonella was brief. In minutes she’d said goodbye to the SEALs and was boarding the jet with Rand. They were the only passengers for the long flight home. In Norfolk, she and Rand would be met by Navy officials, DIA, CIA, and FBI investigators, Homeland Security, and pretty much every other alphabet soup agency charged with protecting American soil and the US military.

Her part in the Malta affair was done.

She leaned against Rand as the jet took off, her mind swirling. This trip had begun with such hope and excitement when she first got her passport. She hadn’t known the seeds of excitement were being planted by a fake cousin, or that she was being lured by a father she didn’t know.

Her heart ached as she thought of her last words to Reuben before she left.“I’m glad I got to remember you, but sorry I got to know you. Still, I will always grieve the boy you once were.”

She had no words to offer Luka. She had no doubt he’d paid someone to poison Conrad, causing the stroke that hospitalized him and, when that failed, poisoned him a second time, killing him. It was probably then that the killer had stolen her portrait. Plus, she had those memories of fear that confirmed her belief that her mother would never have left and abandoned her son if the danger hadn’t been dire.

She closed her eyes as she held Rand’s hand and they flew over the Mediterranean Sea. She’d been in Malta for seven days. Just half the time she’d originally planned.

But in that time, they’d uncovered a conspiracy in time to stop it. And Rand had saved her. Again.

She hadn’t recovered a single piece of art stolen by Nazis—although she had identified several pieces in Luka’s and Grigory’s possession—but she had learned far more than she wanted to know about her parents.

She’d gained and lost a brother in that time.

And she’d fallen in love. That was the one part of her trip to Malta that would stay with her forever. The only souvenir she was taking home.

ChapterSixty-Five

Aweek had passed since their return, and it was the first day that no one was making demands on Kira or Rand to answer more questions. Kira slept in, and it was glorious to wake up to the morning sun with Rand by her side and no one, absolutely no one, grilling her like a filet.

After breakfast, they would drive to Kira’s parents’ house—hers now, but she still thought of it as theirs—so she could sort through her mother’s belongings one more time.

Her mother had lived a life of guilt and grief, and Kira was certain she’d left some kind of explanation intended for Kira—and maybe even Reuben—somewhere. She had to start looking.

Of course, it was entirely possible that was the first thing her father had burned before he died, given that his correspondence with Luka had survived.

Rand drove, and she settled into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio because she liked keeping one ear on the news. The reports about what did—and didn’t—happen on the base on July 4th were entertaining, at least, with those who wanted to believe the worst crying cover-up, while the photos and interviews with those who lived on base demonstrated again and again that there had been no harm, no foul.

The video of Reuben expressing his ambition to be president had been shared with Russian spies in the same way Freya had tapped a CIA contact to tell the FSB to collect Cousin Andre.

Of course, no one had known then that the FSB agent who’d been contacted was Reuben himself, who no doubt paid someone else to do the dirty work. Reuben was nothing if not a delegator, even in his spying.

The Maltese government had been informed of the possible Neolithic site that was located on land Luka Kulik had purchased two decades before. They’d since learned that initially, Luka planned to build a hotel there. Now they knew why he’d never moved forward with the development.

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