Karen Cleveland - Need to Know

It makes sense, what he’s saying. I always wondered what would happen if the replacement handler couldn’t access the names of the five agents. Turns out the sleepers themselves would get back in touch.

“I’m sorry I don’t know more. But I think it’s intentional. So that if any one agent goes rogue, the program stays intact….” He trails off, shrugs, a helpless look on his face.

Of course it’s intentional. I know that, don’t I? He gave me as much as I could possibly expect him to know. Without hesitation, without any sign of deception.

He drains the last of his wine and sets the glass down on the counter. “Anything else?”

I look at the defeat on his face, the look of a man who’s powerless to help. Matt’s never powerless. He’s the one who can fix anything, solve any problem, do anything. I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He gives me a long look, then casts his eyes to the floor, shrugs. “Then let’s just get some sleep.”

I follow him up to our bedroom, our footsteps heavier than usual on the stairs. I think of the laptop hidden in our storage area. An SVR laptop, in my home. One my husband uses to exchange secret messages with his Russian handlers.

In our room, Matt heads for the closet; I walk the other way, toward the bathroom. I close the bathroom door and stand silently, alone for the first time, then sink down to the floor and sit with my back against the door. I’m drained. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. The tears should come. The emotion that’s building inside me should be crashing down. But it’s not. I just sit and blink into space, my mind numb.

Finally I make myself stand. I brush my teeth and wash my face, and I come out of the bathroom, ready to turn the cramped space over to Matt so he can get ready for the night. But when I come out, I don’t see him. Not in the closet, not in our bed. Where is he? I walk down the hall, and then I see him. He’s standing in the doorway of Luke’s room. I see just his profile, but it’s all I need to see. There are tears streaming down his cheeks.

It shocks me to the core. In the ten years I’ve known him, it’s the first time I’ve seen him cry.

IN BED, WE LIEsilently. I listen to Matt’s breathing, even but fast, and I know he’s awake. I blink again into the darkness, my mind struggling to craft thoughts into words. There has to be another way out. Turning him in can’t be the only option.

I roll on my side, face him. There’s enough light from the night-light in the hallway to see his face. “You could quit.”

He turns his head toward me. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why? Maybe you—”

“They’d probably kill me. Or at the least destroy me.”

I watch his face carefully, the creases in his forehead, the eyes that look like they’re processing the suggestion, sorting through the consequences.

He turns his head back so that he’s looking up at the ceiling. “Matt Miller doesn’t exist without the SVR. If they take away my identity, where would I go? How would I live?”

I roll to my back, look up at the ceiling, too. “Then we could go to the FBI.” To Omar. Our friend, the man who wanted to allow sleepers to come out of the shadows and exchange information for immunity.

“And say what?”

“Tell them who you are. Give them information. Make a deal.” Even as I say them, the words sound hollow. The Bureau rejected Omar’s plan, swiftly and thoroughly. What’s to say they’d agree?

“I don’t have enough to give. I have nothing valuable to trade.”

“The Agency, then. You could offer to be a double.”

“Now? Look at the timing. Two decades of silence, and then I offer to work as a double now, when you’re closing in on me? They’d never believe I’m sincere.” He turns to face me. “Besides, I always said I’d never do that. If it were just me, fine. But I wouldn’t put you and the kids in danger like that. It’s too much of a risk.”

My heart aches. “Then I’ll quit. If you weren’t married to a CIA officer—”

“They know you wouldn’t. They know about our financial situation.”

There’s a strange feeling swirling around inside me, thinking of the Russians knowing the details of our lives, of our vulnerabilities. Of just how trapped we are. I try to ignore it, focus on the issue at hand. “Then I’ll get myself fired.”

“They’ll see through it. And anyway, then what? What if they order me to leave you?”

Our bedroom door creaks the smallest bit, and I look up to see Ella standing there, framed in the light from the hallway, hugging her ratty stuffed dragon close to her chest. “Can I come sleep in your bed?” she asks, then sniffles. She’s looking to Matt for an answer, but I’m the one who responds.

“Sure, sweetie.” Of course she can. She’s sick, isn’t she? And I’ve been so preoccupied with Matt, I haven’t paid her any attention, provided any comfort.

She climbs up, scoots in between us. Settles herself in, pulls the sheet up to her chin, adjusts it under the dragon’s chin, too. And then the room is quiet again. I stare at the ceiling, alone with my fears. I know Matt is doing the same. How could either of us sleep right now?

I feel Ella’s warmth beside me. I hear her breathing slow down, become softer. I look over at her, the little mouth open, the halo of baby-fine hair. She rustles in her sleep, sighs softly. I look away, back at the ceiling. I almost can’t bring myself to say the words, but I have to. “What if we all go to Russia?” I whisper.

“I couldn’t do that to you and the kids,” he answers quietly. “You’d never see your parents again. None of you know Russian. The education there… the opportunities… and Caleb. The medical care, the surgeries… He wouldn’t have the same life there.”

We lapse back into silence. I feel tears stinging my eyes at the helplessness of it all. How is there no other solution? How is this our only option?

“They’ll probably start an investigation,” he finally says. I roll back on my side so that I’m facing him again, looking at him over Ella, sandwiched between us. He turns to face me, too. “When you tell security. They’ll watch my comms. I don’t know how long. But we won’t be able to breathe another word of this. Anywhere, anytime.”

I picture our house bugged, a room full of agents listening to every word of what we say to the kids, to each other. All of it being transcribed, analysts like myself poring over every word. For how long? Weeks? Months, even?

“Never, ever admit that you told me,” he goes on. “You need to be there for the kids.”

My mind flashes back to those warning screens on Athena, the nondisclosure agreements I’ve signed. That was classified information. Highly classified, compartmented information. And I shared it.

“Promise me you won’t admit it,” he says, an urgency in his voice.

My throat feels unbearably tight. “I promise,” I whisper.

I see the relief on his face. “And I’ll never tell, either, Viv. I swear. I’d never do that to you.”

MATT FALLS ASLEEP. Idon’t know how, because I can’t. I watch the minutes pass in fluorescent green until I can’t take it any longer. I go downstairs, the house dark, filled with a heavy silence that seems so lonely. I turn on the television, filling the room with a flickering bluish glow, tune to some mindless reality show, bikini-clad women and shirtless men, drinking, fighting. I finally realize I’m not catching a word and shut it off. The blackness returns.

I have to turn him in. We both know it. It’s the only way. I try to picture myself doing it. Sitting down with security, or with Peter or Bert, and telling them what I found. It seems impossible. Traitorous. This is Matt, the love of my life. And then there’s our kids. I try to imagine telling them Matt’s gone away, that he’s in jail, that he lied, wasn’t who he said he was. And later, when they learn that I’m the reason he was sent away, that they grew up without a father.