The History Thief: Ten Days Lost (The Sterling Novels) (63 page)

Sonia watched as the rather attractive young, black-haired woman leaped into Michael’s arms. She watched as the woman kissed Michael over and over again.

Sonia’s heart sank as she looked at York; he shrugged in embarrassment.

“I’m okay, Danielle. I’m okay,” said Michael as he peeled her lean body from his.

“Oh, my Michele, my Michele, I was so afraid for you!” cried Danielle as she planted more kisses upon Michael’s cheeks and lips.

Sonia had never seen another woman give so much affection and intimate attention to her husband. She was both hurt and angered at the same time, an interesting combination of emotion. Her legs felt suddenly weak.

In a soft voice that was laced with pain, Sonia asked, “Michael?”

Michael looked at his wife and immediately understood her hurt.

Sonia took a step backward.

Bu it was Danielle that spoke as she fell from Michael’s arms. “No, no, no! It’s not what you think. Please come in, Sonia. Please.” Danielle moved to the side and motioned for them to enter the safe house.

Sonia was frozen.

Danielle reached out and touched her gently. “Dr. Sterling—Sonia—I have wanted to meet you my entire life.” New tears filled the young woman’s eyes.

“Michele has told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you; I have hoped that this day would come. There is so much to tell you. Please, come in.”

Sonia looked to her husband. He was smiling.

She thought this a bit odd.

Uneasily she walked through the doorway; the men followed. Her eyes covered the vast interior of the home, but she hadn’t the energy to be impressed.

Danielle, again, reached for her arm and guided her to a chair. “Please, Sonia, please sit down. I will fix you a drink.”

Sonia wasn’t much of a drinker: the occasional glass of wine with a meal, and, when she was feeling really adventurous, a cool martini—slightly dirty.

But she accepted the offer, feeling that she needed something to numb what had felt like the crack of a hammer on her heart. “Vodka, neat,” she stated.

Michael was surprised and nodded to Danielle to make one for him, too.

“Of course, Sonia,” said the smiling and clearly excited Danielle. As she walked away to make the drinks, she could hardly take her eyes from Sonia.

Michael walked to his wife and took a knee in front of her.

Sonia didn’t want to look at Michael, and with her eyes cast downward, she asked, “What’s going on, Michael?” She felt foolish.

Michael placed his hand warmly atop Sonia’s; she wanted to pull away but didn’t. Michael answered, “About eighteen years ago, I had an asset here in France. She was married to the French ambassador to Russia. One day, one horrible day, she and her husband—” Michael looked over his shoulder at Danielle. She appeared saddened.

“It’s okay, Michele; please continue. I am just happy that the time has come for Sonia to know,” said Danielle.

Michael cleared his throat and continued, “The ambassador and his wife were attacked—an assassin was sent to murder them. The ambassador died instantly, but his wife survived for a few hours.”

Michael paused and collected himself. The death of a friend never leaves one.

Regaining his composure, Michael continued, “I tried to get to them as fast as I could. It was my fault. I was young, inexperienced, and impetuous. They were coming to meet me, but they were killed trying to do so. The ambassador’s wife called me as she lay dying. I found her; most of what life she had was gone. I held her in my arms; I was helpless. Before she died, she asked me for one thing.”

Sonia understood. She looked over at Danielle. She looked at Michael.

It was Sonia’s turn to speak. “She asked you to look after their daughter, didn’t she?”

Michael nodded.

Danielle left the room.

Sonia cupped Michael’s chin, lifted his head upward, and smiled at him. She understood. Danielle wasn’t his French mistress; she was the closest thing to a child that Michael had.

Danielle returned, carrying a photo album. She sat on the arm of the chair in which Sonia sat and opened the album to its first page.

“Michele raised me like his daughter. He did what he could to give me back a father. He was so good to me. I’m not sure how life would have been without him.”

Sonia took the album and slowly turned its pages. The photos told the story of Danielle’s life. Nearly every one of them had two people: Danielle and Michael.

Birthdays, holidays, graduations, and special moments.

The photos were chronologically ordered. Danielle as a young girl with pigtails, clinging to Michael’s leg—in her hand a fast-melting ice cream cone, on Michael’s pant leg a long smear of the treat. A few pages later was a photo of a teenage Danielle holding an awkward-looking teenage boy’s hand. Michael stood behind them, looking a bit unhappy. Sonia smiled. Each page told a story. Each page told of love.

As Sonia continued to study the photos, tears of her own formed as she saw the love grow between the two.

But her tears spoke of sadness, too.

Sonia soon realized that there were no photos of a maternal figure, no female to guide a young girl into a young woman. No one to explain how to be a woman; no mother to brush her hair, to explain why her body was changing; no one to hold her head when the pain of her first love struck; no one to explain the world through a woman’s eyes. As the photos progressed, Sonia watched the young girl grow from a tiny, innocent, and wide-eyed little thing to a beautiful, strong, and exquisite blossom.

She saw the love of a daughter for a father.

But there was no mother.

Sonia reached up and caressed Danielle’s arm. No words were spoken between the two women.

Each understood.

Another page was turned, and Sonia gasped.

Danielle gently said, “You were there for me, too, Sonia.”

On the pages were photos of Sonia, photos of she and Michael, of their trips, their moments, of their love.

Danielle continued, “Michele did his best to use you as a guide when raising me. He taught me in the best way that he could how to become a woman, and he used you as his example.”

Sonia looked at her husband; she saw him in a new light.

“Everything that I am is because of you and Michele.”

And then it dawned on Sonia. Over the years, Michael would always talk about having a daughter; how they would raise her, things they would say to her. They had decided to wait to have children. The timing wasn’t right; their careers were too demanding. But, yet, Michael often spoke of being a father to a young girl and the challenges that it would bring. He would always ask her what she would do; she had thought this was a game between the two.

But it had been more than that.

As if Danielle knew what Sonia was thinking, she said, “Michele always told me what he thought you might say as a mother to her child. In a way, you raised me, too.”

Sonia closed the album and asked, “Michael said this was a safe house. Are you in the intel business like him?”

Danielle smiled and answered, “In a way. You see, I went to medical school; like you, I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Oui,” answered Danielle; a broad smile stretched across her face. “Michele raised me as you would have; you were his example of what a woman should be. Even though we had never met, you were very much like a mother to me; you were my example. Michele made sure of it. I have loved you for so long and worked very hard to be the kind of woman that you are.”

Danielle reached forward and caressed Sonia’s face, and then she did something that surprised Sonia.

Danielle leaned in and kissed her.

She pressed her lips against Sonia’s. It was a kiss that carried years of missing affection from a daughter to a mother. It was a kiss that connected them.

Sonia suddenly felt very close to the young woman. She wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly—the love between the two was instant and vibrated through them both.

Danielle cried as the long-housed emotions poured out of her; her body shook between her tears. Sonia cried, too.

“So,” whispered Sonia into Danielle’s ear, “what’s your specialty?”

Danielle wiped her tears and replied, “Psychiatry. I work to counsel the men and women of our services. The job can be quite stressful. This flat is my office. It is a safe house, in a manner of speaking. Those that come here do so privately.”

Sonia realized that Danielle was a blend of them both; she worked in both intelligence and in medicine.

Michael reached out with the drink that Danielle had poured. “Do you still want this?”

Sonia never took her eyes from Danielle, and she replied, “No, I don’t need it anymore.”

Danielle smiled.

Michael held out his arm, pushing the extra drink toward York, who hesitated at first, but then thought,
what the hell
, and took the glass.

Michael didn’t dare look at the young soldier. Tears streamed down both cheeks as he watched the two women he loved the most in an embrace.

“Kid, go check on the senator,” commanded Michael briskly. It wasn’t that he had any real concerns about Faust; it was that he just didn’t want York to see him like this.

York walked away, and Michael quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

After a moment, Michael walked to the two women and interrupted their newfound connection. But before speaking, his eyes found both of theirs. Both women reached up and took one of Michael’s hands.

Sonia gave a slight squeeze. “So, my dear husband, it would seem that there is a lot to talk about.”

Michael shrugged and was thankful that he had the chance to belay that conversation for a bit. “We have some business to handle first. Danielle, if you would please get Mr. Garrido on the com.”

Danielle nodded, smiled at Sonia, and then stood to walk to the safe house’s command center. Immediately, she went to work.

Michael kneeled once more in front of Sonia. Smiling at him, she said, “I thought that…”

“I know,” Michael interrupted.

“I never should have; I’m sorry,” Sonia replied.

“Don’t be. It’s understandable. I’m happy that she finally gets to know you, and you her. I hope you understand why it couldn’t be that way before.”

“I do, Michael. It was for her protection.”

“For yours, too.” Michael’s short statement reminded Sonia that they still were in Paris, and both had nearly been killed, and that the murderer of Danielle’s parents was probably still out there. Sonia saw the tip of the vellum poking out from the inside of Michael’s coat. She was reminded that it wasn’t yet over.

“Michael?” asked Sonia. “You said we were going to Rome. Why?”

The answer began with Danielle as she called out, “Michele, I have him.”

All occupants of the flat stood in front of the dual monitors. The explanation would come another way.

Garrido saw Dr. Sonia Sterling and smiled, but said nothing to her.

Michael took a tone of seriousness. “Mr. Garrido, when I was picked up by my men and detained, one of them told me that Operation Merlin wasn’t the only thing of value that the late Senator Door had come across. You know what they were referring to, don’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Garrido, his response unusually short.

“It wasn’t about nuclear weapons, was it?”

“No, Dr. Sterling, I don’t believe that’s the case.”

“Tell me, Mr. Garrido, to what were they referring?”

“About five months ago, I was part of a team that analyzed images of geological striations and markings taken by satellite of specific areas in the Middle East.”

Garrido cleared his throat and continued, “We were looking for caves, military camps, materials; anything of intelligence value for the troops. I was working seven days a week and was really tired—bored was more like it; there wasn’t much of anything to see that we hadn’t already found. The main focus of the work was to provide an updated series of maps to our special forces working in the Middle East and conflict areas.”

York’s eyes snapped up when he heard this. He stepped closer to the screen and asked, “Your work: was it provided to the 7th Special Forces Group?”

“It was, Staff Sergeant,” replied Garrido.

York reached into his pocket and pulled out the map book he had used to guide his Alpha team up the mountainous terrain outside of Jalalabad in Afghanistan. At the thought of his now-dead team, York’s face went red with anger, and he stepped closer to the screen.

Extending the book outward, York’s grip tightened on it; the muscles that striated his thick forearm rippled as he squeezed the book even harder. The blood drained from his knuckles. There was a pronounced growl in his voice as he clearly stated to Garrido, “The next words out of your mouth would do well to explain that the killings of my team had nothing to do with this!”

Garrido paused and took a deep breath. “Sergeant, I wish that were the case, but your Alpha team was just the beginning; they were bait.”