Chapter 7. The Aftermath One year after the courthouse revelation, Roy stood at his kitchen counter reviewing school permission forms, while the children ate breakfast.
Their morning routine had found its rhythm. Lunches packed, backpacks checked, a carefully maintained stability that had become their salvation. Dad, I need you to sign this for the science museum trip, Max said, sliding a form across the counter.
At 13, he’d grown two inches in the past year, and had recently joined the junior RODC program at school. Got it. Lily, do you have your math homework? Roy asked, scanning the permission slip before signing.
Lily, now 10, nodded while finishing her cereal. The therapy sessions had helped tremendously. Her anxiety attacks had decreased, though she still slept with her door open and occasionally crawled into Roy’s bed after nightmares.
Can we visit Mom this weekend? Max asked quietly, not meeting Roy’s eyes. Roy maintained his neutral expression, though the question still triggered a complex wave of emotions. She’s scheduled for Saturday at 11 a.m. Same as always.
The monthly visits to the Federal Correctional Institution where Bridget was serving her eight-year sentence had become part of their routine, though not one Roy particularly looked forward to. Bridget had taken a plea deal, admitting to lesser charges of failing to register as a foreign agent and wire fraud. In exchange, she provided extensive information about Resnick’s network.
I don’t want to go this time, Lily said, staring into her cereal bowl. That’s your choice, sweetheart, Roy assured her. You never have to go if you don’t want to.
Max looked torn. If Lily doesn’t go, maybe I should stay with her. I can ask Mrs. Harding to stay with Lily if you want to go, Roy offered, referring to had become a valuable support system for the family.
Before Max could respond, Roy’s secure phone buzzed, the line dedicated to his new role with the Military Family Security Unit. The text was from Agent Walsh, Resnick requesting meeting, says has critical information, specifically asked for you. Roy’s jaw tightened involuntarily.
He hadn’t seen Perry slash Pavel since the courtroom, though he’d reviewed countless transcripts of his interrogations. The man was serving multiple life sentences in a maximum security federal facility, consistently trading information for small privileges. Everything okay, Dad? Max asked, noticing his expression.
Roy forced a reassuring smile. Just work. Finish up, or you’ll miss the bus.
After seeing the children off, Roy drove to the secure facility where the MFSU operated. In the years since its formation, they’d identified and neutralized three additional foreign intelligence operations targeting military families. Roy’s personal experience made him exceptionally effective at spotting the warning signs and patterns others might miss.
Colonel Barrett, now Brigadier General Barrett and Director of the Unit, waited in the conference room with Agent Walsh. He’s being transported from Colorado, Barrett explained. Arrives at 1,400 hours.
Claims he has actionable intelligence on sleeper agents we haven’t identified yet. Why now? Roy asked. And why me specifically? Walsh shrugged.
Says he’ll only talk to you. Could be legitimate, could be psychological games. You know how he operates.
I do, Roy agreed grimly. Which is why I don’t trust this. Barrett leaned forward.
You don’t have to take the meeting, Donovan. You’ve given enough already. Roy considered declining.
His life had finally stabilized. The children were healing. His work was meaningful and allowed him to be the present father they needed.
Why reopen old wounds? The thought of other families, other children, being targeted by operations like the one that destroyed his marriage strengthened his resolve. I’ll take the meeting. But on my terms, not his.
The secure interview room was deliberately austere. A metal table bolted to the floor. Two chairs, reinforced walls, and continuous monitoring.
Roy waited, reviewing the file one last time, when the door opened. Pavel Reznik, formerly known as Perry Wexler, entered in shackles, escorted by two guards. The year in prison had aged him.
His once charming smile replaced by a gaunt sharpness. Designer clothes exchanged for a prison jumpsuit. Staff Sergeant Donovan.
Reznik greeted him with a slight accent that had never been present in his Perry Wexler persona. Or is it lieutenant now? I heard you received a promotion. Let’s skip the pleasantries, Roy replied coldly.
You requested this meeting. Talk. Reznik studied him with calculating eyes.
How are the children? Max must be in middle school now. And little Lily, still afraid of thunderstorms. Roy’s expression remained impassive, though internally his anger flared at Reznik’s casual mention of his children.
You’ve lost the privilege of knowing anything about my family. This meeting ends now unless you provide actionable intelligence. Reznik smiled thinly.
Always the professional. That’s why they never suspected you were onto them. He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
There’s an operation in Norfolk. Naval Intelligence. Three assets currently active, targeting the Harrison family.
Lieutenant Commander in Submarine Technology. Roy made notes without revealing whether he found the information valuable. Names.
That would be too easy. Reznik’s eyes gleamed with the familiar manipulation. I want something in return.
You’re in no position to negotiate. I’m in exactly the position to negotiate. I provide intelligence, I receive considerations.
That’s how this works. What do you want? Roy asked, though he already anticipated the answer. Contact with Bridget.
Roy’s pen paused momentarily on the paper. Not happening. Just letters.
Monitored, censored, whatever security protocols you deem necessary. Reznik leaned back. We were in love, you know.
Not everything was an operation. Spare me. Roy said flatly.
You targeted her because of my security clearance. The psychological evaluation confirmed she was vulnerable to flattery and material indulgence. Standard procedure for your handlers.
Is that what you tell yourself? Reznik asked. That she couldn’t possibly have fallen for someone else. That it had to be a manipulation? Roy recognized the attempted psychological warfare and refused to engage.
You have nothing of value. This meeting is over. As he stood to leave, Reznik spoke quickly.
Michael Turner, currently employed as a sailing instructor at the Norfolk Marina, regularly provides private lessons to Harrison’s teenage daughters. Background checks will show inconsistencies if you know where to look. Roy paused, then sat back down.
Keep talking. For the next hour, Reznik provided detailed information about the Norfolk operation and two others in San Diego and Pensacola. The intelligence was specific, verifiable, and potentially valuable.
Why give this up now? Roy finally asked. Reznik shrugged. My former employers attempted to have me eliminated last month.
Prison transfer ambush. Failed, obviously, but the message was clear. My usefulness to them has ended, so my loyalty has adjusted accordingly.
And the letters to Bridget? We shared something real. Despite what you believe, Reznik’s eyes held a hint of what appeared to be genuine emotion. She deserves to know I haven’t abandoned her.
Roy gathered his notes. I’ll verify this intelligence. If it proves accurate, I’ll recommend your request be considered.
No promises. As Roy turned to leave, Reznik called after him. She never stopped loving you, you know? Even with me, she talked about you.
The hero. The faithful soldier. She just couldn’t live with the loneliness anymore.
Roy paused at the door, then left without responding. He wouldn’t give Reznik the satisfaction of seeing any reaction. Later that evening, after preliminary verification confirmed Reznik’s intelligence was legitimate, Roy sat on his back deck watching Max and Lily play with the neighbor’s dog in the yard.
Walsh had called to inform him that Michael Turner had been placed under surveillance, with evidence already emerging that supported Reznik’s claims. We’ll need you in Norfolk tomorrow, she’d said. The Harrison daughters have lessons scheduled with Turner.
I’ll be there, Roy had replied, after I dropped the kids at school. Now, watching his children’s innocent play, Roy contemplated Reznik’s request. The thought of the man communicating with Bridget repulsed him.
Yet denying valuable intelligence out of personal vendetta wasn’t who Roy was, or who he wanted to be. His phone buzzed with a text from Bridget’s prison account. The monitored system allowed limited communication related to the children.
Max mentioned he might not come Saturday. Is everything okay? Roy stared at the message, remembering the woman he’d married, the mother of his children, before Reznik and his handlers had identified and exploited her vulnerabilities. The woman who, according to her psychological evaluation, had convinced herself the information she provided wasn’t truly harmful, just corporate competition.
He typed a response, he’s conflicted. His choice. Lily definitely not coming this month.
The reply came quickly, I understand. Thank you for not turning them against me completely. You could have.
Roy didn’t respond. The truth was more complicated than Bridget would ever understand. He’d never tried to turn the children against her, despite the pain she’d caused.
Not because he’d forgiven her, he hadn’t and doubted he ever would, but because the children needed to process their own feelings without his influence. Dad, come play. Lily called from the yard, waving excitedly.
Roy pocketed his phone and joined his children, pushing thoughts of Reznik, Bridget, and national security to the back of his mind for a few precious hours. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new threats to neutralize. But tonight belonged to Max and Lily.