The mediator's gambit

Standing in the doorway was the one person I never expected to see within the walls of the Kremlin. The breath left my lungs in a sharp, painful rush.

"Bob?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

He didn't say a word. He stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace that smelled of old woodsmoke and the expensive espresso he always favored. I buried my face in his shoulder, the heavy wool of his coat scratching my cheek, and for a moment, the 135-mile trek and the frozen wind of the Russian wilderness felt like a bad dream. We stayed like that for a long time, the receptionist lingering awkwardly in the hall until Bob dismissed her with a sharp nod.

"I got your fax, Marie," he murmured into my hair, his voice steadying the frantic beat of my heart. "I came as soon as I could."

I pulled back, my hands still gripping his forearms. I blinked, trying to clear the exhaustion from my eyes. "You? I sent that to a secured line. I thought I was reaching a handler, someone in the deeper archives."

Bob sighed, looking older than I remembered. He guided me to a chair, but I remained standing. "I’ve been the one on the other end of your line for years, Marie. Who else do you think would have been able to keep your trail so clean?"

I watched him, my mind racing. "How are you even here? How did you find me so fast?"

"I didn't find you fast," he admitted, a weary smile playing on his lips. "In fact, I did the opposite. I reached out to Tom, Dmitry, and Boris as I knew that you were with one of them. I told them to delay you as much as possible. I needed the time to get here to ensure that when you walked through those front doors, you weren't met with a firing squad."

My blood ran cold. "You told them to hold me back? You knew I was out there in the freezing dark, and you told them to slow me down?"

"I had to," he insisted, stepping closer. "As your older brother, I know more than I’ve ever let on. You think you’re the only one with eyes and ears in this city? I’ve been acting as the mediator, Marie. I’m the one negotiating your exit from Russia. I’m the one pulling the strings to get you out of government work forever. But I needed you to stay in the shadows until I had the paperwork signed."

I looked at him—really looked at him. He sounded like Bob. He looked like Bob. But the Kremlin changed people, and I had spent the last week being hunted by people who could mimic a friendly face or kill me like Javi tried to do. A cold, prickling sensation crawled up my spine. Something felt off but then again, the only person that I somewhat trusted right now was Sera. The way he was standing, the way he was so casually admitting to manipulating my survival.

"I need to be sure," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous level.

Bob raised an eyebrow. "Sure of what? Marie, it’s me."

"Tell me," I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. "What is my least favorite fruit, and why?"

He didn't even hesitate. He gave a small, impatient huff. "Pineapple. You say it feels like the fruit is trying to eat your tongue, but yet you’ll still drink pineapple juice without that feeling. I don’t understand it but whatever."

I didn't relax. " What was the one dish you made at the restaurant that I absolutely hated, and why?"

Bob’s expression softened into a look of genuine at the memory I brought up. "The tripe. You nearly threw up in the kitchen when I brought the pot out and you actually did throw up when you tried it. You told me it smelled and tasted like ass, and you refused to set foot in the building for a week until the scent was gone."

I let out a long, shaky breath. The tension in my shoulders finally snapped. No double, no FSB plant, and no deep-cover agent would know the specific, vulgar way I had described his tripe three years ago.

"It’s really you," I said, leaning back against the wall as the adrenaline finally began to fade.

"It's me," he said, his eyes filled with a grim resolve. "And if we don't move fast, being your brother won't be enough to keep you alive. We need to go."

I stared at him, but the relief I expected to feel didn't come. Instead, a slow, hot poison began to circulate in my veins. I looked at his calm, calculating face—the face of the brother I thought had my back—and realized he had turned my survival into a game of logistics.

"You manipulated them and I!" I said, my voice trembling with a sudden, sharp edge. "You reached out to the only people I had left to trust and told them to sabotage my arrival. You let me freeze, you let me run until my lungs burned, and you let me live in terror for extra days just so you could play 'mediator' on your own timeline."

"Marie, it was for your safety—"

"Don't," I snapped, pulling my arm away when he tried to reach for me. An overwhelming sense of betrayal washed over me, heavier than the exhaustion. He hadn't just watched my back; he had reached out and tripped me while I was running for my life. I had been a pawn in his grand negotiation, and the fact that he was my brother only made the knife go deeper. "We’re leaving, but don't think for a second that we're okay. You traded my life for a few days of paperwork."

We left the Kremlin in a silence that felt like lead. Bob led me through a series of service tunnels and into an unmarked car that took us to a safehouse we had both used over the years—a dusty, nondescript apartment on the edge of the city with iron bars on the windows and three locks on the door. How we had both used the same safehouse for years without either one of us knowing was hard to comprehend.

Once the door was bolted behind us, the adrenaline finally crashed. I slumped onto the faded velvet sofa, my head spinning. The words started spilling out of me, a frantic need to unburden myself of the secrets I’d carried through the snow.

"You have no idea what it was like out there," I began, my voice rising. "Val and Vic... it got so fucking complicated, Bob. Val is a storm and she used her inherited skills from her great-great-grandfather to seduce Vic. So I left him with her. And then there was Mimi—she’s Serafina’s identical twin—and she tried to convince me that she was Sera. It was a desperate attempt, and Mimi believed me when I told her that I’d never met Sera. I was just trying to stay safe in my safehouses."

Bob paced the small room, his jaw tight. "Marie, you don't have to—"

"And Anya," I cut him off, my eyes wide as the memories flooded back. "She overdosed on Tylenol. As you know, that’s code that her government killed her once they realized that I found the trackers that she put on Vic and I. But I made it to Tom, Dmitry, and Boris." I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. "And you know what? The rumors about him were true. He can cook, and he's very well endowed."

Bob stopped pacing, his face reddening. "I really don't need the locker room talk, Marie."

"I was alone for days!" I yelled. "They were the only ones who treated me like a person instead of a target. They were all great lovers, Bob. They gave me something to hold onto when I thought I wasn’t going to make it out alive."

"Marie, please," Bob groaned, rubbing his temples. He looked like he wanted to bolt for the door. "I don’t want to hear the details. I really, really don't."

"Well, you're going to hear this," I said, my voice going flat and serious. I looked him dead in the eye. "I need an appointment with a doctor right away. There’s a chance that I’m pregnant."

Bob froze. The irritation drained from his face, replaced by a stunned, pale silence. He stared at me for three long seconds before his hand moved instinctively toward his pocket, grabbing his phone.

"I'm calling Val," he muttered, his thumb hovering over the screen.

"If you reach out to Val," I said, my voice deathly quiet, "I am leaving you and all my stuff right here. I will walk out that door, take care of everything myself, and I will disappear from your life forever. Do you understand me, Bob? Forever."

He stopped, his thumb trembling just above the glass. He looked at me, seeing the absolute conviction in my eyes, and for the first time since I’d walked into the Kremlin, he looked truly afraid.

"I can’t risk losing the only sister that I get along with," he said quietly. "I know a doctor at the local hospital who has a private clinic on a small, quiet street nearby. I'll see if he can take you immediately."

"What's the name of the street?" I asked.

"Ostozhenka Street," he replied, starting to dial.

"I'm going there after I shower," I said, standing up.

"You're not going alone, Marie," Bob insisted, his voice sharp with concern. "I'm coming with you."

"No," I stated firmly, turning toward the stairs.

"The less people who see multiple people leaving the safehouse, the better. We're keeping a low profile. Besides, I know damn well you don't speak Russian. You'd be more of a liability than a help."

I didn't wait for his rebuttal. I grabbed my bags and headed upstairs to wash the grime and the betrayal off my skin. It was a quick shower, and after drying off, I dressed in clean clothes and headed back downstairs.

"Bob, what’s the news?" I asked.

"He's waiting for you," my brother said, looking defeated. "Just be careful."

"I'm always careful," I said, though we both knew that was a lie. I checked my reflection one last time, tucked a small blade into my boot, and left him standing in the middle of our shared secrets.

The clinic on Ostozhenka Street was tucked away behind a facade of crumbling masonry. The receptionist recognized me the moment I stepped inside; apparently, word travels fast in the circles my brother runs in. Within seconds, a doctor emerged alone to greet me, ushering me back to an exam room with a professional, knowing air.

"My cousin Tom told me to expect you," the doctor said, his voice low. "As did your brother, and Dmitry, and Boris."

I gave him a sharp, weird look. "They all called ahead?"

He nodded, adjusting his glasses. "They were concerned. Tom, Dmitry, and Boris all have a rare trait—hypermobile sperm. It can cause a woman to conceive significantly faster than usual. However, given the timing, I suspect that if you are pregnant, it likely happened before you encountered them."

I shrugged, the cold reality settling in. "It’s possible that any of them—Vic, Doc, Tom, Dmitry, or Boris—could be the father. I’ve slept with all of them in the past week or more ago. But there’s a better chance it was Vic."

The doctor’s expression didn't change. "Vic has hypermobile sperm as well. It seems you have a type, Marie." He gestured to the exam table. "Are you ready for the exam?"

"I am," I said.

I didn't wait for him to leave the room. I stripped quickly, my movements practiced and efficient and climbed onto the table. He drew blood first, handing the vial to a nurse with instructions to run it immediately. Then, he performed a physical exam.

"Based on the physical," he said, stripping off his gloves, "I’m ninety percent sure you’re pregnant. But we’ll wait for the lab work to be certain."

I got dressed while we waited in a tense, clinical silence. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a printed report. The doctor scanned it once and then looked up at me. "I can confirm that you’re pregnant."

"Give me the pills for the abortion," I said instantly. There was no hesitation and no room for second-guessing.

He produced the kit and handed me the first pill. "You know the protocol?"

"I know," I said, swallowing the first one with a sip of water. "I have to wait twenty-five minutes before I leave to make sure I don't have an immediate reaction like throwing up r allergic reaction. I take the second and third pills in the next twelve hours. And I know I can take those together."

After waiting the twenty-five minutes to make sure I was okay, the doctor told me I could leave. "You can have sex again in five days," he noted, "as long as all the bleeding has stopped."

"I know," I said flatly.

He provided me with a Depo shot that I could take back to the safehouse. I took it, but my eyes remained fixed on him. "Thank you. Now, burn everything I touched."

He looked startled. "I promise you, everything that has your DNA will be destroyed."

"The last time someone promised me something, they lied," I said, stepping closer. "I want to watch you do it."

"I can’t burn anything here," he stammered, looking around.

I pointed to the fire crackling in the fireplace behind him. "You’re clearly lying, Doctor. There's a fire burning right there."

He looked at me sheepishly, trapped by his own half-hearted deception. I narrowed my eyes, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence. "Burn everything. If I hear even a whisper that I was here, if a single word of my visit reaches anyone, I guarantee that your practice and your reputation will be destroyed forever. You will lose your license, and you will never practice medicine again anywhere in the world. Am I clear?"

He nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he began to gather the disposables. I watched him throw them into the flames, ensuring the evidence was consumed, before I turned and walked out into the cold Moscow air.

There was a salon near the doctor's clinic. I knew what I had to do. My blonde hair was too recognizable, a beacon in a city that was currently a minefield. I stepped inside, the chime above the door echoing in the quiet space. Thankfully, no one inside looked up with a spark of recognition.

I approached the receptionist and spoke in perfect Russian.

"Ya khochu pokrasit' svoi natural'nyye svetlyye volosy v chernyy tsvet. I ya khochu sdelat' eto za odin vizit, plyus strizhka," I told her, my tone leaving no room for argument. I want to dye my naturally blonde hair black. And I want to do it in one visit as well as a haircut.

She looked at my long, pale locks and shook her head.

"Eto nevozmozhno sdelat' za odin raz bez povrezhdeniya volos," she started to explain. "Vam nuzhno neskol'ko—" It's impossible to do it in one time without damaging the hair, you need several -

I simply raised my eyebrow, a cold, steady gaze that spoke of things far more dangerous than split ends. She swallowed hard, the refusal dying on her lips.

"Vprochem, my mozhem sdelat' eto pryamo seychas," she corrected herself instantly. However... we can do it right now.

 "Spasibo," I said. Thank you

She ushered me back to a salon chair and talked to the stylist.

After a few minutes, the stylist came back and introduced herself as Polina to me. She was a striking woman with eyes that seemed to see right through the surface. I looked her in the eye, my expression neutral.

"My name is Deppgrl," I told her.

Polina tilted her head slightly, then switched to fluent English. "Welcome to my chair. Tell me, what are you looking for today?"

"I'm looking for a completely different look," I said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "And I have a feeling you're the only one in this city who can pull it off."

She raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her face as she ran a hand through my natural blonde hair. "That is a bold claim. Most women cling to their blonde for dear life."

"I'm not most women," I replied. "I want my hair dyed as black as my soul. And I want a haircut."

Polina’s smile sharpened. "As black as your soul? I can certainly do that. It takes a certain kind of spirit to carry off that depth. And what kind of haircut are we talking about for this transformation?"

"I want a sleek, shoulder-length bob," I said firmly. "It’s perfect to wash and go; minimal work. Something that looks like it belongs on a woman who doesn't wait for permission."

"A sleek bob it is," Polina said, already reaching for her shears. "Let's begin."

In a matter of 30 minutes, my haircut was done and it was perfect. The long hair was gone, replaced by a weightless, sharp swing of hair that hit exactly at my shoulders. As Polina was gathering her tools, she paused, looking at the pale arches above my eyes.

"What should we do about your eyebrows?" she asked.

"We should dye them as well," I told her.

She nodded, her professional mask slipping back into place. "I will mix some dye together."

As she turned to leave, I leaned in and whispered to her, my voice barely audible over the hum of the salon. "I have eyes everywhere."

Polina turned pale, her hand tightening on the back of the chair. She didn't say a word. She headed straight to the storage room where the dye inventory was kept.

About 8 minutes later, she came back. She had come back with two mixing bowls; one was tiny and the other was of average size - the tiny one was clearly for my eyebrows. Her hands were still slightly trembling as she set them down on the station, her eyes darting toward the other patrons as if checking to see who might be watching.

"Relax, Polina," I told her, watching her reflection in the mirror with a steady gaze. "They may or may not be in here. They may or may not be watching through the security cameras. The more nervous you act, the more worrisome my eyes will be."

Polina took a shallow, trembling breath and forced herself to stand up straight. She dipped a small applicator into the tiny bowl of black dye. As she leaned in close to my face, her eyes searched mine, filled with a mix of terror and intense curiosity.

"Who are you?" she whispered, the question escaping her before she could stop it. "Truly?"

I didn't blink as she applied the first stroke of dark pigment to my brow. "My family was well known around the area many, many years ago," I said, my voice smooth and devoid of emotion. "And we tend to be revered."

The applicator paused for a fraction of a second. Polina’s eyes widened as the weight of that statement settled between us. In this city, only one name carried that kind of historical gravity—a name that was supposed to be a ghost. She didn't ask another question; she simply worked in a focused, reverent silence, transforming my face until the woman in the mirror was a total stranger.

"Are you The Missing One?" she asked quietly, her voice barely a breath.