The Minister's Daughter

“You sure you don’t want to change your account, Carter?”

Brianna Carter shook her head and rested her face in her hands. “No.”

“Damn it! Ms. Petrova already told us that it was consensual.”

Brianna looked at the agent with fire in her eyes. “No. She’s just scared and confused. I…forced her.”

“I know you’re lying, Carter. Why?” Special Agent Weaver leaned forward on his elbows, moving into her space. “You’re throwing away your entire career, your pension…and…you’ll be facing some serious jail time.”

“Here, or in the states?”

“You know we’ll try to get you back to the states, but we can’t guarantee it.”

“Doesn’t matter, my story doesn’t change.” Brianna crossed her arms and raised her head. “I met Oksana at a restaurant on Tsentralnaya Prospekt and we had a few drinks. The restaurant was closing, and she invited me to her place for drinks, nothing else.

“Once we got there, I forced her, against her will. She thinks I’m CIA, that’s why she’s telling you it was consensual; she’s scared.”

Weaver sighed. “Look, if you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you. The State Department can handle you had an affair with a local. But you’re willing to take the rap for….”

Brianna nodded as silent tears ran down her face. “I’ll stick to that story forever, if I have to.”

Weaver pulled a folder out of the briefcase by his feet and opened it for Briana to see. “This contradicts your story. You’ve been seeing Oksana Petrova for the last nine weeks. She’s been your guest for several overnights, and already cleared by embassy security.

“They’re willing to drop the indecency charge against you, and not turn this into an international incident. But you have to play along.”

Brianna slammed the folder shut. “Why would you bring that here?! You stupid, dickless, shit-for-brains moron!” Brianna broke down in tears. “There’s almost no way they’ll buy it now. Do your penance for bringing that in here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to march out of here, right now, and convince them that I am a sick, perverted rapist, and that Oksana Petrova is a victim. You got that?” Brianna slammed her palm on the table. “Until I’ve got word that Oksana’s been released, I’m not cooperating with you or the State Department.”

“If I convince them Ms. Petrova is a victim, there’s no way they don’t prosecute you here. You’ll ‘disappear’ your first week in prison, in some ‘transfer incident’ and you’ll never be heard from again.”

“Better me than her.”

“She’s facing an indecency charge. It’s a maximum sixty-day sentence for a first offense.” Weaver tucked the folder back in the briefcase and leaned on the table close to her again. “Why would you risk your life?”

“What do you think will happen when the daughter of the Minister for Social Morality goes to prison for indecency? Ivan Petrov has already shown a willingness to sacrifice anybody and everybody for his position. Igor Petrov…does that name ring a bell?”

“His brother,” Weaver said. “You think he was….”

“I know he was murdered. The embassy has video from Petrov’s home. He didn’t go climbing in the mountains and disappear. Ivan gunned him down at the dinner table. That was for a forum post that questioned the Morality Minister’s authority to enact his anti-gay legislation. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out his daughter is in prison for violating it?”

“So, you’re willing to risk a major international incident — not to mention your own life — to save Ms. Petrova?”

“In a hot second.”

“I have to make some calls.” Weaver groaned. “Don’t say anything to the police until I get back to you.”

“Can you promise to get Oksana released today?”

“I’ll do everything in my power.” Weaver stood. “Can you promise to keep your mouth shut?”

“I’ll do everything in my power.” As Weaver reached for the door, Brianna called out, “Wait.”

Weaver turned back toward her.

“Bring your phone here.”

“I can’t let you make a call,” he said.

“I won’t, you will.” Weaver handed her his phone and she entered a number along with instructions in his note app. “If it’s looking like you can’t get Oksana released today, call that number and get her an attorney. She won’t survive in a cell overnight. Her father will see to that.”

It was a long hour until Weaver returned to the interrogation room, during which time a few curious local police had opened the door to look in, then left without saying anything. Weaver came in, an argument in Russian blaring from his phone.

He interrupted the other parties. “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m sorry for taking up your time.” He hung up before anyone on the call could respond.

“What was that about?”

“Ms. Petrova is dual citizen. I thought maybe the Russian embassy could help out. At first, they were willing, until they heard the charge.”

“I could’ve told you that would be a dead end. They don’t have the same laws, but the attitude’s not much different.”

Weaver sat down and leaned close to Brianna. “What would happen if we could get her to Russia?”

“Honestly, I would expect them to extradite her back here immediately.” Brianna grabbed Weaver’s hand. “It’s time to get her a lawyer.”

Weaver nodded and dialed the number she’d put in the note. He sat quiet for a moment, listening, then answered. “Yeah, we could use a good lawyer here at the police station in Kuznezran.

“A US citizen and a local. … That’s right. … She said the hummingbird doesn’t know the words. … Yeah, sure.”

He hung up and looked at Brianna who was staring daggers at him. “In here? Really?”

Weaver sat down and leaned close again, speaking softly. “If I leave the station, I’ve been told I can’t come back. They’re only allowing me here as a courtesy. As in, as long as I keep trying to convince you to agree to their version of the story, I can be here. Otherwise, I’m interfering in their investigation.”

“Shit.” Brianna laid her head on the desk. “This is so fucked up.”

“Why were you doing…that…at her place?”

“We weren’t.” Brianna took his phone and tapped out another message in his notes app. “This is for my family,” she said, “since I may not see them for a while.”

The message, however, read, “Went to O’s to get her papers, apply for asylum at embassy. In O’s less than a minute, police kicked down door, false report.”

Weaver nodded and put his phone away. The two sat quietly until a commotion arose outside the door. “Stay put, I’m going to see what this is about,” Weaver said.

He had no sooner reached for the door than it flew open. A tall, blonde woman in a business suit entered, holding a briefcase in one hand and a bag of Brianna’s belongings, including her shoes, in the other. She tossed the bag to Brianna. “I’m Sasha Makarova, your attorney. Come on, Carter, we’re taking you back to the embassy.”

“Not without Oksana.”

“We have to go, now.”

Brianna stood and stared at the tall woman. “Not. Without. Oksana.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes. “After this, you owe me one.” She stepped out of the open room and motioned over the station chief. After a high-speed exchange in Russian, she flashed a stack of US currency in the briefcase. He nodded and walked away.

“She’s on her way. You two, get ready to go. If your shoes aren’t tied, that’s your problem.”

The station chief appeared outside the door again, leading Oksana, still barefoot, and holding her bag of belongings. Sasha looked at Oksana and nodded. “Put your shoes on, quick.” She stepped out into the hallway with the station chief and masked the exchange of money from the hallway cameras with her bag, leaving it apparent to the trio in the interrogation room.

Oksana slipped her shoes on, and Sasha said, “Let’s go, kids.” She led them to a waiting SUV which sped them to the embassy while Weaver made plans on his phone.

“They took my passports,” Oksana said. “My Kryznian and Russian ones.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Weaver said. “You’ll both be getting on a diplomatic flight out.”

Sasha pulled off her heels and kicked them to the side, then stripped to her underwear and put on jeans, a sweatshirt and a pair of running shoes that had been waiting in the truck. “I hate those things. And those weren’t your passports. That Oksana Petrova is currently on holiday in Spain. This Oksana Petrova happens to be a US citizen. Seeing how her passports were brought back to the Republic of Kryznia by a tourist, she’s soon going to be considered missing.”

“Thanks, Susan…Sasha,” Brianna said, “whatever your name is today.”

“Sasha’s burned after this, and I doubt I can work in Kryznia again. I’ll be flying back with you under my own name.” She looked at Oksana, huddled close to Brianna. “This is the one you’ve been telling me about?”

“Yeah.” Brianna took Oksana’s hand and squeezed it.

“Mom’s gonna be pissed I got to meet her first.”

“No, she’s gonna be pissed you were ready to leave her behind.”

“If I didn’t have enough of a bribe for the station chief, I would’ve had to. Would have dragged you out kicking and screaming.”

“Thank god it didn’t come to that.”

Susan looked at her sister with a raised eyebrow. “This time.” Switching to Russian, she turned to Oksana and asked, “Has Bri told you about the time I had to rescue her from a biker bar in Burbank?”

Brianna slapped Susan on the leg. “Susan, no! No you don’t! And it wasn’t a rescue!”

Susan smirked. “Yes I do and yes it was. We’re almost at the embassy…I’ll tell you on the flight. Bri always passes out after takeoff.”

Brianna growled at her sister while Oksana chuckled. “This,” Oksana said, “is what sisters do, yes?”

Brianna shook her head while Susan beamed and said, “Exactly!”