Sarah squinted against the brightness. Just in front of the two cars ahead she saw a gathering of shadows. Silhouettes in the footlights of a nightmare.
None of them moved.
Her eyes adjusted, and she discerned four distinct profiles, two of which were agonizingly familiar. One she wanted to hold forever. The other she would happily kill.
She got out of her car slowly, every sense on alert. Were there others behind her? In the trees to her left? She took a few deliberate steps to put herself in front of her car, forcing them to endure the same visual handicap she was facing.
“Hello, Sarah.” The voice so wretchedly intimate.
“Alyssa?” Sarah called out, ignoring his greeting.
“Mom!”
A dagger in Sarah’s heart. “It’s okay, baby.”
The four began walking toward her. Three moved slow and steady, while Alyssa was wrestled ahead in a frog-march. Sarah didn’t move, letting them come to her.
Her eyes swept left and right, taking in every nuance. She had been here with Alyssa and the real Bryce twice before, a challenging day hike. To the left was solid forest, wintering evergreens all the way to the highway. On the right, the road gave way to a small parking apron bounded by a semicircle of timbers to delineate the edge. Beyond that, she remembered, was a void, the mountain falling away steeply. In the faraway valley she saw a few lights, the brooding shadow of the next ridgeline. A hip-high sign in the parking area looked vaguely familiar, something informational—trail rules, or maybe a description of the scenic overlook.
The Imposter and his entourage covered half the distance before stopping. She could see them more clearly now. Her tormentor stood easy, although she thought he looked different. No longer emulating her husband’s military bearing, but more the casualness of a gunslinger who was certain he had the fastest draw. Next was the man holding Alyssa—Sarah couldn’t be sure, but she thought it might be the man in the baseball cap she and Claire had seen outside the condo. One hand gripped her daughter’s arm, the other held a handgun.
All of that was predictable. What put Sarah’s thoughts into a tailspin was the man on the right. She’d sensed familiarity earlier, but now his face was clear in the wash of her own headlights. A man that she hadn’t seen upright without a walker for two years, stood before her looking perfectly poised and alert.
She stared at him slack-jawed. “Walter?”
“Yes, Sarah. I know this must come as a shock.” His speech was clear and succinct, lunch at the country club.
Just when Sarah thought she’d grasped the worst, she felt herself plunging into an abyss of conflicting memories. Walter’s lifelong drive to push Bryce into politics, the depth of his contacts in D.C. Then, when Bryce finally took the father’s path, a sudden mental collapse. Walter had been isolated ever since, out of the game and forgotten. Until now. The Imposter had taken his son’s place, and now the father stood casually by his side. In another revelation, it occurred to Sarah what she hadn’t seen at the condo that night: there hadn’t been a single photograph of Walter.
“You knew about…” Sarah’s thoughts stuttered. “No … you planned all of this.”
“I can’t take credit,” he said, a verbal smirk. “Yet it has worked out brilliantly.” Walter spoke in a low voice, his tone befitting a eulogy. He told her about his communist leanings, his recruitment by the KGB. “One year into my assignment in Prague, I was approached by my handler with an unusual opportunity: the chance to adopt a Russian child. Marsha and I had been trying to conceive for years, but we were never so blessed. That’s how Bryce came into our lives. I committed to raising him well, the right schools and opportunities. I spoke Russian to him at home, encouraged him to study the language and culture. I hoped he might develop views similar to my own. This replacement strategy, however, I knew nothing about that. Not in the beginning. When it was finally explained to me, I admit I had reservations. But look at what we’re on the brink of accomplishing!”
“You could sacrifice your own son?”
Walter hesitated.
Alyssa lunged at Walter, but was restrained by the man holding her. “You’re monsters!” she shouted. “All of you!”
“Where is Bryce?” Sarah demanded.
An exchanged glance, and The Imposter picked up, “Far from here.”
“He’s alive?”
“Let’s just say, you won’t be seeing him again. Enough of this—I have a campaign to run.”
“There’s no way you can keep this charade going,” Sarah said.
“Oh, I think I can. It’s something I’ve been planning my entire life.” He closed in on Alyssa, as did Walter. Each of them took an arm, freeing the man with the gun who started walking toward Sarah.
She backed away, rounding the far side of the car. The man didn’t track her movement, but instead went to the driver’s door and climbed in. The car was still running, and Sarah sensed a mistake. She watched helplessly as the gunman pulled the car forward into the semicircular parking area, the front bumper nosing tight to the timber-lined edge.
Standing alone in the road, Sarah felt vulnerable, a flushed animal caught in the open. She had no delusions—she’d seen this movie before, knew how it ended. Perhaps not the precise means, but the endgame was clear. She and Alyssa were to be killed. They had become a risk to the entire psychotic scheme. Sarah needed to do something to change the equation, to put them off their game. But not by using what was cuffed up the right-hand sleeve of her jacket.
Not yet.
“You seriously think you can pull this off?” she said. “It’s not only Alyssa and me. Claire knows everything. She—”
“Claire can be dealt with,” The Imposter interrupted. “She’s not the only one with cyber skills. Gregor, here, has very good connections. People who are uniquely capable when it comes to information warfare.”
“Russia?”
He let go of Alyssa’s arm, leaving her with Walter, and began moving toward Sarah. She squinted against the headlights, watching his every step. The man with the gun was standing next to the Camry, the engine still running. Sarah was beginning to understand.
She asked herself the question she’d been asking all night. What would Bryce do…?
Surprisingly, an answer came.
One that was crystalline in its clarity.