The Diplomat's Wife(111)

“Now sit.”

I drop to the first seat on the right, still holding Rachel, who has grabbed a fistful of my hair. Dava comes toward me, picks up the seat belt to tie me up. As she leans over me, her head turns slightly away for a second. Taking a deep breath, I knee her in the stomach. She flies backward to the floor of the plane with a grunt, still clutching the gun. Quickly, I stand up. Then, looking at Rachel, I hesitate. I do not want to let go of her, even for a second, but I have no choice. Reluctantly, I pull my hair from her fingers and set her down in the seat. I lunge toward Dava as she tries to sit up, landing on top of her, trying to pry her fingers from the gun. But she clings tightly to it, struggling to raise it above her head. Keep it close, I think, wrapping my hand tightly around hers, forcing her arm down. If the gun is between us, she cannot shoot Rachel. Suddenly a shot rings out. We both freeze. Then Dava rolls back away from me, her arm limp. Blood appears on her chest. “Dava…” I pull back, staring at her. Even though she betrayed me, I cannot help but feel her pain. But there is no time to linger. I race back to Rachel and pick her up. If she was upset by the gunshot, she gives no indication. I carry her to the door of the plane. Paul lies motionless on the ground below. Dread rises in me. Simon turns from Paul and starts back up the stairs of the plane.

“Is she dead?” he asks, his voice devoid of emotion.

“She loved you,” I say.

“I know.” His voice is cold, matter-of-fact. “Which made it easier to get her to do what I needed. Because she really never wanted to do this to you, Marta. But she wanted a family more.” He looks over my shoulder into the plane. “I guess that’s all over now. So you’ll get to take care of Rachel for a little while longer, after all. At least until we get to Moscow.”

“Simon, please listen. No one has to know what happened. We can go home.”

“Moscow is my home,” he replies, his voice sincere. It occurs to me again that I have spent two years married to a stranger. “Now, get back in the plane,” he orders. He raises the knife again and now I notice that it is wet with blood. Paul’s blood. “You killed Paul….”

“Paul?” A stunned look crosses Simon’s face. “I thought that was—”

“Michael?” I finish for him, taking pleasure in for once knowing something that he does not. “Michael and Paul are the same person, Simon. The soldier you thought you killed in the plane crash two years ago. He survived and he found me while I was looking for Marcelitis. Paul is Rachel’s real father,” I add.

A stunned expression crosses Simon’s face. He turns to look at Paul’s motionless body on the ground behind him. As he does, I reach out and kick him hard. He tumbles backward down the stairs, landing close to where Paul lies. I run down the stairs, desperately wanting to stop and check on Paul. But I know that it is only a matter of seconds before Simon gets up again. Carrying Rachel, I start to run away from the plane in the direction of the airport. Taking this to be a game, she laughs giddily. I look ahead desperately for somewhere to hide, but the airfield is open, exposed. Behind me, I hear Simon getting up. Desperately, I start to run toward the airport in the distance. Let the maintenance man still be there, I pray. Let someone be there. But carrying Rachel slows my gait. Simon’s footsteps grow louder and I know that it is only a matter of seconds until he catches us.

Suddenly I hear a shot, then another. I drop to the ground, falling on top of Rachel to protect her. I will give up, I decide, stop running and let Simon take us to Moscow rather than risk her being shot. I stare at the ground, waiting for Simon to pounce upon us. But there is silence. At last I look up. Simon has fallen to the ground and lies motionless. Behind him, holding the gun, stands Dava.

Looking from Dava’s outstretched arm to Simon lying prone on the ground, I am overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu. Have I been here before? No, that was me shooting the Kommandant to save Emma’s life, long ago. This time it is I who has been saved.

“Dava!” Setting down Rachel, I race to Dava’s side. Blood seeps from the front of her dress and she is breathing hard. But she is still alive.

She leans on me for support and I help her to the ground. “I thought he loved me, too,” she says weakly. She must have overheard our conversation on the stairs of the plane. “I’m so sorry.”

I hesitate, staring down at her. Hatred rises in me. She killed Rose. I fight the urge to take the gun and finish her off myself. But she might have information that is valuable to the government. I help her to a sitting position on the ground. Suddenly the maintenance man appears at the door of the airport. “Call an ambulance!” I yell as loudly as I can. I stand up and walk to where Simon lies, eyes staring blankly at the sky. I reach in his jacket pocket and pull out the cipher. Tucking it in my own pocket, I pick up Rachel, then start running back across the airfield toward the plane. Paul still lies on the ground, not moving. “Paul!” I cry, dropping to the ground beside him. He does not respond. I lower my face to his. Is he dead? Rachel reaches over, pats his cheek with her tiny palm.

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“Paul, wake up,” I plead.

He opens his eyes. “Marta? Are you and the baby okay?” he asks weakly.

My body sags with relief. “We’re fine. But you’ve been stabbed.” I set Rachel down. There is a gash between his chest and shoulder that is bleeding heavily.