Epilogue #2
“Nicolaus understood something most men in your intelligence community did not,” he said. “He understood that every nation lies to itself.”
“Every nation?”
He nodded. “Russia lies to itself about strength. China lies to itself about control. Europe lies to itself about memory. And America?” His gaze returned to hers. “America lies to itself about innocence.”
“Innocence?”
“Yes. You prefer to believe your power is reluctant, that you are forced into history’s violence by necessity. Sometimes that is true. Often, it is not.”
Alex considered him. “And what lie do you tell yourself?”
Kapralov smiled sadly. “That I left because I had no choice.”
Alex nodded.
“We always have a choice,” he said. “But you didn’t bring me here only to ask why I left.”
“I did.”
“Did you? I think you seek something more. Ask your questions, Alexis.”
Alex didn’t know where to begin.
Kapralov smiled, a genuine smile that spoke of something softer and older behind tired eyes.
“We all search for ourselves in the past,” he said. “You are no exception. I resented my father as Pyotr resents me.”
“Yet he follows you.”
Kapralov nodded. “That was not always so. He resents that my choices have altered his path.”
“Because you denied him for so long?”
“I did what I believed was best to protect his choices.”
Alex chuckled.
“That is amusing?”
“It explains why you and Jim are friends.”
“I suppose it does. I sent my son away. Jim went away.”
“Mm. And you both faked your deaths.”
“It is the safest way to disappear.”
“For whom?”
Kapralov sighed. “We do not have the benefit of hindsight.”
Alex nodded.
“But there is truth to be found in the past,” he said. “Truth that instructs the present. And I believe that is why I am here.”
“I’m still unclear on what I’m meant to prevent.”
He smiled. “You must think beyond what you wish to prevent, Alexis, to what you desire to create. You cannot combat men willing to sacrifice all for their beliefs if you offer no vision stronger than theirs.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you must believe in what you wish to create as strongly as you do in what you wish to prevent. That is where our parents failed us, and where, I am afraid, we have failed you.”
Alex leaned back in her chair. “What do you mean?”
Kapralov took a slow breath. “The beginning of this—what you call the Collaborative—it began with the intention of preventing another world war.”
“I’ve heard the story.”
“You’ve been given the reason. The story is more complicated.”
“Go on.”
“The lines were deliberately carved: East and West. A territorial understanding, if you will.”
“It didn’t prevent tension.”
Kapralov tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Tension was necessary to keep the lines carved into the map, Alexis.”
“Are you trying to tell me the Bay of Pigs was a farce?”
“What defines a farce?”
Alex groaned. “Riddles.”
“Excuse me?”
“Claire always says her father spoke in riddles. That’s what you’re doing.”
“You mean the admiral.”
“Yes.”
“Is it a riddle to say your country sees deterrence differently depending on who holds the weapon?” Kapralov asked.
Alex’s gaze narrowed.
“I do not believe East or West desired to deploy such weapons again,” he said.
“But time passes, and leadership changes. People have a short memory. Perceived threats become real in time. Some in both our countries grew tired of an old, tattered alliance. One that lived beneath the surface. Safeguarding the world is not as enticing as claiming power.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“It is what I have witnessed.”
“How does this lead to me?” Alex asked. “To Claire and Cassidy?”
“Trust is a fragile commodity.”
“I know.”
“We—myself, your father, Edmond Callier, William Brackett—were only a handful of men to whom the torch passed. Our fathers built the framework of the new world order, wrote the books you read, and decided which narratives would become truth and which would be deemed fiction.”
“And you accepted.”
“It was a different time. We were closer to the fallout of war than your generation.”
“My generation knows plenty about the fallout of war.”
“No. Not in this country. A handful do. Those who seek to serve. Those like you.”
“You seem to forget Vietnam.”
He sighed. “I do not forget. But ugly as it may have been, it did not bring a continent to its knees. Those wounds are not as tender now in Europe, in China, and in Japan. The memories may have faded, but they are still felt—an ache below the healing.”
Alex remembered her grandparents speaking about World War II.
The anxiety. The fear that permeated everything.
The fathers, sons, uncles, and brothers who did not come home.
Her grandparents’ neighbors had lost three sons.
Mrs. Murphy would sit on the porch swing, gently rocking.
Alex recalled the sadness in her eyes, an emptiness she couldn’t comprehend as a child.
She understood it better now.
Kapralov watched the shift in her expression.
“You are thinking of someone,” he said.
Alex blinked, returning to the room. “A woman from my grandparents’ neighborhood. She lost three sons.”
Kapralov nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“You say that as if you knew her.”
“I knew many versions of her.”
Alex nodded and looked down.
“That is what your generation struggles to understand,” Kapralov said. “Not because you are foolish, but because you were spared certain things. Even your wars became something that happened elsewhere. Brutal, yes. Costly. But not in your streets. Not in every village. Not in every family.”
Alex’s gaze lifted. “You think that makes us naive.”
“I think it makes you vulnerable to different fears.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means men who fear losing everything behave differently from men whose only fear is losing influence.”
Alex considered his words.
Kapralov leaned back in his chair. “The first generation of this alliance believed they had no choice. They witnessed what happens when governments fail, when ideology devours nations, when industry becomes war, and science becomes atrocity. They believed official diplomacy was too slow, too visible, and too political to prevent another catastrophic war.”
“And they thought building something in the shadows was the solution?”
“Yes.”
“And they called this web of lies a safeguard?”
“They believed that is what it would be.”
Alex nodded. “And what do you believe?”
“I understand that living in the shadows can become a self-imposed prison.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
“The alliance between East and West was never meant to be run by a committee,” Kapralov said. “Not in the way you imagine. It was designed to endure beyond elections, regimes, and public outrage. Leaders come and go. Parliaments and perceptions change. Presidents die. But families?—”
He stopped.
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Families what?”
“Families endure.”
“Not always.”
“No. Not always. But often enough.”
Alex leaned forward. “You’re saying the alliance was always intended to be generational.”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to shift the mood in the room.
“A man may betray his country,” he said. “He may betray an institution. He may betray an idea. But his child? His father? His wife?” He shook his head. “There is no greater loyalty than the one that tells us love is at stake.”
Alex felt something cold move through her. “That isn’t loyalty. That’s leverage.”
“It is both.”
“No,” Alex said. “It’s manipulation.”
Kapralov did not flinch. “Yes.”
The admission stopped her.
“What will a parent do to protect a child?” he asked.
“What will a child do to protect a parent? What will a husband do to preserve his wife’s life, or a daughter to restore the memory of a father she never understood?
These are not questions intelligence services ask because they are sentimental, Alexis.
They ask because the answers are reliable. ”
Alex looked away.
Images flashed in her mind.
Cassidy. Dylan. Claire. Jonathan. Candace.
“We know men like Brackett wanted to use their children,” she said. “You’re telling me the Collaborative was an alliance meant to exist through family lines.”
“I’m telling you they believed family lines would keep the alliance from?—”
“Fraying?”
“Breaking.”
Alex laughed once, without humor. “How has that worked out?”
“Not as they imagined.”
“And you? My father?”
“We did not want our children to inherit our sins.”
Alex blinked.
“It is why your father kept distance from your brother,” Kapralov said.
“That didn’t prevent Jonathan from becoming a spy.”
“No. He could not deter you either. Some things we inherit without consent, Alexis.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you sought to serve something greater than yourself. You thrive on challenges. And challenges for people like us are not the same as for most.”
Alex shook her head in disgust.
“That much is certain,” he said. “Not all our parents felt the same. Some tried to walk away after the war.”
“Tried?”
“Serving in the GRU or OSS was considered a lifetime assignment.”
Alex pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Your grandfather gave your father a choice. Or so he believed. One that was not given to him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After the war, people returned to their lives. People built new careers and pursued personal ambitions.”
“Which is normal.”
“Mm. Success caught the attention of those still following the path they had carved during the war.”
“You mean special operations? Spying?”
“Are you certain you want to hear this?”
“What I want is irrelevant.”
“Very well. My father’s trajectory differed. He had no choice but to pass that legacy on to me. It was not presented as an option.”
Alex nodded.
“Your grandfather believed he’d left behind his service when he founded Carecom.”
“Carecom has always held military and government accounts. It’s been tied?—”
“It began as a private company, Alexis, unaffiliated with the efforts of the new CIA and GRU.”
Alex’s gaze narrowed.
“But its success and its access put it and your grandfather back in the sights of those he had served alongside. He was brought home to the fold.”
“By whom?”
“Major Walter Randolph.”