Page 75 of Enemy of My Enemy
Slowly, Jack nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll be a pallbearer.” Standing next to Sergey at the front of Evgeni’s Konnikov’s coffin, carrying him from his repose in the Hall of the Unions to a gun carriage, and then walking with Sergey and the funeral parade to the Red Square.
It was Scott’s—and Ethan’s—nightmare.
But he would do it. For Evgeni Konnikov, and for everyone.
* * *
The Hallof the Unions had been decked out for Evgeni’s state funeral. Huge Russian flags draped the far end of the hall, along with heavy black curtains. Black gauze had been wrapped around the glittering chandeliers above, casting a somber glow throughout the dim room. Mourners had come to pay their respects for five days, and a flood of flowers lay on top of and around his flag-draped casket. Candles littered the floor amidst the blooms, soft flames flickering with the hushed footfalls of visitors. Cards were scattered around the perimeter, tucked into flowers, and lying beneath candles.
An explosion of rainbow had enveloped the dour scene, an overpowering statement in the midst of darkness. Rainbow flags stuck out of bouquets, and rainbow posters and wreaths and necklaces and bracelets bracketed the entire tableau. “Pride” and “Never Forget” shouted from placards, alongside “Never Silent.” A framed picture of Evgeni Konnikov sat on a stand beside it all, resting on an unfurled rainbow flag.
Jack’s heart lodged in his throat, seizing up as his stomach tightened. A chill swam down his spine as he laid the bouquet Jennifer had arranged and given to him beneath the portrait and on the corner of the rainbow flag. His hands clenched, and when he went back to Sergey’s side, he reached out to his right, seeking Ethan.
His hand hung in the empty air.
He took a steadying breath, slowly, and tried to keep it together.
Sergey wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He rested his head on Sergey’s shoulder and let the tears roll down his cheeks. Cameras flashed, but Jack didn’t care.
This was on him. This was entirely on him.
Rage rose, stealing his breath away. Madigan wouldpayfor this. He would pay for all of this. Jack would see to that personally. He felt walls crumbling within him, limits he’d had once before tumbling down. Madigan would pay if it was the last thing Jack did.
Sergey delivered his address, promising retribution against Evgeni Konnikov’s murderer. He told of meeting his family and how he’d come to admire the young man for living his life proudly with no regrets and no excuses. How he exemplified everything that made a Russian man great.
He’d hesitated for a moment, stuttering as he stared at the crowd. Jack’s eyes followed his stare until he found Sasha seated at the end of their row, pale-faced and looking like he was about to puke.
The family declined to speak publicly, and after Sergey’s statement, it was time to escort the coffin to the gun carriage, waiting outside the Hall of the Unions. Sergey rested his hand on Jack’s back as they walked to the dais and to the coffin.
His mind went to a strange place as he carried the coffin, a numb, silent place. The crowd faded away, the thousands who had gathered to watch, and he felt the weight of Evgeni Konnikov on his shoulder like a weight upon his soul, a conviction of his failure to catch Madigan. A conviction of his presidency. A conviction of who he was as a man.
Who was he to put himself outside the margins? Who was he to hold himself apart, and different? He loved a man, just as Evgeni Konnikov had. Whatever he chose to label that within himself, for himself, the world had already chosen to label him. And the criticism of the world would still come, no matter what he said to mollify the fears that tried to keep him up at night.
Why did he fear, though? What fear could change his love for Ethan? Why did he keep himself at arm’s length?
He was no different from Evgeni Konnikov, and he didn’t want to be anymore. It was time to stand up. Be seen, and be known. The decision settled into his soul, hammered down by the coffin weighing upon him.
The gun carriage appeared before them. He followed Sergey’s soft instructions as they slid the coffin onto the platform. Ahead, horses brayed and the Sergeant at Arms called for a moment of silence. The color guard, in front of the horses, dipped the Russian flag and stepped off, leading the procession to the Red Square.
Jack walked behind the gun carriage, flanked by Sergey on his right and the family on his left. He took Mrs. Konnikov’s hand.
Sasha and Scott shadowed their steps, and more Secret Service agents and Presidential Security Service agents walked on the outskirts of the procession.
Behind them were a scattered few Russian politicians who supported Sergey, but no other world leaders. Just him and Sergey, and then the marchers. Hundreds joined in carrying pride flags and pictures of Evgeni Konnikov. Men and women had draped themselves in full-length rainbow flags and painted their faces.
Along the parade route, Russians stood on the sidewalk, watching with solemn faces. Some waved pride flags. Not enough, though. Others watched, scowling, or turned away when they passed.
The sun was falling from high in the sky, the brilliance of the sunlight warming through the Russian cold, and St. Basil’s Cathedral burned like an aurora as they entered the Red Square. Jack raised his face and closed his eyes.
Thunderous booms quaked the air. The pavement beneath Jack’s feet rumbled. Silence, as Jack opened his eyes for a moment, and then he saw the column of smoke rising. People running.
Shrieking tore through the Square.
Loud pops broke the perfect afternoon, bangs that Jack had heard before and still heard in his nightmares.
Beyond the parade, another boom echoed, somewhere deep in Moscow.
Sergey whirled, meeting Jack’s gaze. Shock lined his wide eyes, and his pale face was slack, his jaw hanging open.
