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Napoleon claimed he was happy to have some time off and suggested a trip to the seashore for a few days, or to the mountains, or anywhere I wanted. When I pointed out the inadvisability of leaving the city while under suspicion of betraying UNCLE, he decided we needed to go into a round of amusements in the city; Coney Island, a small traveling circus in Chinatown, ridiculous movies like the Venetian Affair and Three Bites of the Apple. Since I was grateful for his help and knew he was worried about both our futures, I went along with it although I would have preferred solitude to reflect on events.
He also tried to set up double dates with girls who just happened to have friends who would love to meet me. I refused to do that. I wasn’t in the mood after being reminded of my Nadenka.
Fortunately, before I decided that shooting him was the only way to get any rest, we were summoned back to headquarters. Given visitor badges and escorted by security to Waverly’s office, we were still in doubt as to our fate.
It was only when the security escort was dismissed that I knew we were going to be reinstated. I felt Napoleon relax at the same time.
Mr. Waverly informed us that our “story” checked out, lectured us again about “running off on impulsive personal errands”, and informed us that we were returned to duty, but with reprimands on our record, pay docked for the time we were absent, and no eligibility for raises this year.
Napoleon thanked him eloquently and at length. I contented myself with a simple, sincere “Thank you, sir”.
Then Mr. Waverly pulled out a sheet of typed paper and an unopened envelope and handed them to me.
“These were dropped off at Del Floria’s by a known Masad agent. In the circumstances, I had to read the cover letter, but the inner one was only checked for any booby traps.”
The opened letter was in Ukrainian and read:
Illya Nickovetch,
I’m sorry to have to tell you that your wife is dead. She was killed when a terrorist suicide bomber blew himself up in a local market.
Your son, Yakiv Illyich, was not there. As she wished, he has been adopted by a childless couple who have been close friends of hers since she arrived in Israel. The boy has known them all his life and they love him like their own. He will be well cared for and safe. Do not look for him.
Nadiya had a happy and productive life. She always spoke well of you and wished you well. Some years ago, she gave me the enclosed and asked me to see you got it after her death.
Yutke
The other envelope was sealed and had my name written in Cyrillic in Nadiya’s handwriting.
I’m not sure how long I stood there holding the two letters and staring at them before Napoleon touched my arm and said, “Tovarishch?”
“It is from a friend Nadiya and I knew back in Russia, telling me she is dead and that our son has been adopted by Nadiya’s friends. I have a son. Not a daughter, a son. His name is Yakiv.”
I realized that Yakiv would be in danger if his connection to me was ever discovered. That was why Nadiya hadn’t arranged for him to come to me and why Yutke didn’t name his new family. I could never meet him; couldn’t even try to find him. But at least I knew he existed and was safe.
I held Yutke’s letter out to Mr. Waverly, “Sir, I would prefer it if this letter was destroyed and no record of my son kept.”
“Of course, Mr. Kuryakin, any knowledge of the child would be a liability as was just proven with the counterfeit one. No one but myself has read the letter and I will disintegrate it now if you are ready to hand it over. No mention of the boy will leave this room.”
I handed it over and Waverly dropped it into the disintegrator where it vanished with an odor of acid. The unopened letter I slipped into my inside pocket to read when I was alone.
I briefly thought of Michael, the child who was killed in our last affair. Now there was another lost boy, but at least this one was alive.