Loose Ends

All is fair in love and war. Love and war. Two of the most ancient of human endeavors inexplicably linked because of their essentiality to moving the human race forward. 

“Hold on, my mask is fogging up.”

The man dressed entirely in black clipped the walkie-talkie he had been speaking into to the front of his vest and quickly removed his mask, wiping the clear visor with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“I’m good. Let’s move.”

The man moved nimbly through the trees, finally bursting through a dead bush and coming to the edge of a clearing. Diving forward, he came to a stop crouched behind the engine block of an old rusted school bus. Roughly twenty yards in front of the bus was a small decrepit shack. That was their target. 

“I have eyes on the shack. Are we one-hundred percent positive the target is inside the shack?”

“Roger that,” came the reply. “But be careful, intel says there are at least two tangos inside.”

The man checked his weapon one more time and took a few deep breaths. “On my count. One. Two. Three.”

The man in black came around the hood of the bus and took off in a dead sprint for the shack. Three other similarly dressed men emerged from the trees, weapons in hand, on the move. Four versus two. It was going to be a slaughter. 

The man in black made it to the shack first and hit the front door hard. The brittle wood shattered under the force of his muscular shoulder, and he spun to the right. He rapidly squeezed the double-trigger on his gun and hit the first tango in the shoulder and then in the stomach. 

“Behind you!” Someone outside the shed shouted.

The man in black spun around and came face to face with a slim figure also dressed entirely in black. He could tell by the hourglass shape of the body that it was a woman. A blond ponytail stuck out from the back of her mask, and she had her hands in the air. The man in black didn’t hesitate and squeezed the trigger twice. Red instantly covered her chest and stomach. Game over.

“I had my hands in the air, jerk!” She shouted. 

The man in black laughed and ripped off his mask, wiping the sweat from his face. “This is paintball, Cara. I know you; you would have immediately shot me in the back as soon as I turned around.”

She removed her mask and smiled. That adorable smile where she blushed, cocked her head to the right and glanced down at the floor. “Whatever, Jack,” she said, brushing some loose strands of hair back and moving toward the door of the shack. “I’m done with this. That actually hurt.”

“Come on. One more round?”

“No way. I’m going to have these bruises for weeks.”

They stepped out of the shack and into the sunlight.

“You’re going to have to pay to replace that door, you know,” she said as they sat beside each other with their backs leaning against the shack. The other paintballers were already making their way to their respective bases to strategize for the next fight.

“Water?” Jack said.

“Please.”

Jack dug around in his backpack and came up with one unopened bottle. “I only have one.”

“We can share,” Cara said, taking the bottle, breaking the seal, and taking a long drink. She handed the bottle back and let her head fall back, looking up at the puffy clouds floating among a perfectly blue sky. 

Jack took a drink from the bottle and then splashed some on his head in an effort to cool himself down. The scene was serene. The sounds of walkie-talkies crackling, paintball markers going off, and players shouting had been replaced by birds singing, leaves rustling, and squirrels scampering around in search of a nut. 

“So,” Cara began. “Have you gotten your N-400 back yet?” She was referring to the naturalization form that—if approved—would allow him to become an American citizen.

“Not yet. America’s immigration system is a—” He stopped himself. Cara hated it when he cussed. “It sucks.”

“Well…” she said a bit more hesitantly. “Have you talked to my father…about us?”

Jack’s stomach twisted a bit, and he shifted uncomfortably. After all, her words could easily be interpreted as: are you going to ask me to marry you? In reality, the question was a fair one. They had been together for nearly four years, ever since their first meeting at the Kerckhoff Coffee House on the UCLA campus. 

She was there as a political science major. Nice. She knew three languages. Cool. She played the violin. Awesome. She was gorgeous. Even better. Her father was a well-connected US senator on the Intelligence Committee. Perfect.

He was also studying political science. He was there as an exchange student from Ukraine. He was going through the naturalization process. 

Or so he had said.

“Not yet, Cara. You know how I feel about you, and I want to get married, but I want to finish the naturalization process and pay off some of my debt first.”

“You know as well as I do that we don’t have much time. I want to get it done before…” Her voice trailed off. 

“I know, Cara. I know. Please don’t worry.”

“Your naturalization probably would have gone a lot faster if we had gotten married.”

“I’ll talk to him soon,” he lied. 

She sighed and grabbed the water bottle from his hand. “It’s so hot today.”

He nodded absent-mindedly. He thought back again to their first meeting. She had fallen for him instantly. He was tall and muscular with a chiseled face but a smile that made him seem so…approachable. She had made the first move, sitting down across from him, an iced chai tea in her right hand.

“You look like you need some company,” she had said. 

He remembered everything about that day. She was wearing a green sweater with brown ankle-high boots. Her hair was in a messy bun, and her Gucci glasses were just a tad too low on her nose. An attempt to show off her perfectly-manicured eyebrows, he guessed.

“I kind of do,” he had replied. He had fallen for her hard. And that was the problem.

Because now he had to kill her.

* * *

He never expected to have to kill the girl. He was a young FSB case officer on the rise when leadership approached him with the mission: move to America and hook up with a certain pretty girl to gain access to her well-connected father. A reverse honey trap.

“Is this something you think you can do?” They had asked Vitaliy—or Jack as he was known in America. 

Of course, he thought he could do it. He was young, reckless, and confident. And within a month of moving to America, he had the girl wrapped around his finger. But not just her. Cara’s mother swooned over the respectful young man who dropped in every Sunday afternoon for dinner, didn’t keep Cara out too late (most of the time), and periodically had flowers delivered for both daughter and mother. He was the perfect future son-in-law. 

Even Cara’s father—the powerful chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee—liked him. The young man was willing to help whenever and wherever he was needed. The Senator had even occasionally spoken of him on the campaign trail when discussing immigration during his successful reelection campaign the previous year. 

In short, Jack—or Vitaliy—was loved and trusted by Cara and her parents, and he had used that exceedingly to his advantage.

Because of Jack, the FSB had been warned ahead of time of a plot by a group of CIA-funded Russian dissidents to bust Kremlin-critic Sergei Morozov out of jail. Because of Jack, the FSB had arrested five moles within the president’s office. And because of Jack, an outlandish plot to assassinate the Russian prime minister had been foiled and the perpetrator executed. 

Everything was perfect. Russia got what it wanted, and Jack got a beautiful blond American girl. That was until the cancer diagnosis. Then, in what came as a shock to the political world, the Senator announced he had been diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer and had less than a year to live.

The next day the FSB contacted Jack via secure means and told him it was time to pull out. The mission was over, and he was to come back to Russia.

And then another message came through: Eliminate Cara. Make it look like an accident.

The FSB hated leaving even the slightest liabilities or loose ends. But it was at that moment, he realized that Cara didn’t just love him; he loved Cara. He truly didn’t want to kill her. In his mind, a balance scale swayed back and forth. On one side was the option to kill Cara. On the other side was the option to refuse and run from the FSB for the rest of his life. He shuddered just thinking about what they would do to him if he were ever caught. He had been to the basement of Lubyanka and heard the tortured, un-human shrieks of the individuals unfortunate enough to cross the FSB. If caught, his punishment would be far worse than execution.

He really only had one choice.

* * *

They were once again among the trees. While Jack and Cara both enjoyed relaxing and partying on the beaches of LA, Cara was a born and bred San Francisco girl, and there was no place she loved to be more than among the redwoods of Northern California. 

Light streamed through the branches above and lighted the intimate trail they were on with patches of bright sunlight. The trees around them were covered in spongy moss, and bright green ferns lined the path they were following. Jack could sense Cara was giddy. They had had a wonderful few days at Cara’s parent’s secluded log cabin and set out early in the morning to do some hiking. Jack could tell Cara believed today was the day. Today was the day when their new life would begin.

The path ahead dead-ended at the foot of a massive redwood that stretched nearly three hundred feet into the air and had a circumference of at least one hundred feet. All along the bottom of the tree and going at least ten feet up, initials were scratched into the bark. For years, lovers had stopped at this spot and linked their lives together by carving their names side-by-side in the living bark.

“Do you have a knife?” Cara asked, placing her soft hand on the craggy wood.

Jack pulled one out of his pocket and stepped forward. JW + CL. He encircled the four letters within a heart. 

They sat together in the dirt, hand in hand with their backs to the tree. 

“Have you gotten your N-400 back?” 

“Cara, why do you keep asking?” Jack replied. “When I do, you will be the first to know.”

“You’re never very forthright with information. Sometimes it takes a little prying.” She paused, and Jack knew the next question. But it never came. She said nothing.

And there they sat. The only sounds being the birds singing, leaves rustling, and squirrels scampering around in search of a nut. A thousand thoughts were going through Jack’s mind. One was that the gun underneath his jacket had never felt so heavy.

Jack looked over at the beautiful girl he had now known for four years and noticed that she was silently crying. Wet streaks were running down each of here cheeks. Jack sighed and squeezed her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth.

Jack finally broke the silence. “I’m so sorry, Cara. I’ve lied to you. I’ve worn a mask of deceit for the past four years, stringing you along to gain access to your father.” He didn’t know where those words had come from, but they were now gushing out. “I’m a foreign agent, Cara. I was sent to meet you to steal secrets from your dad.”

Cara was speechless. Her face was a look of pure surprise. “What—what are you saying?”

Jack ignored her question. “The thing is, Cara. I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met at the cafe. I love everything about you.” He stopped and looked at the dirt. Ants were crawling around on his left leg, but he did nothing. “My name isn’t Jack. It’s Vitaliy. I’m Russian.” Vitaliy suddenly stood up and turned to face Cara. The mask was off. He could tell by the look on her face that she was struggling to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. But it didn’t matter.

Vitaliy dropped to one knee and reached into his jacket. “Cara, please forgive me.” Instead of a ring, Vitality pulled out a pistol. This didn’t need to look like an accident.

Screw the FSB.

A single gunshot echoed through the redwoods.