Sibley's Secret

books around her Tsarina, but she’d never felt attached to the aristocrat. Although the stories were fictional and her readers all wanted to get inside the royal minds of her characters, she’d never felt strongly about the connection. She did, however, feel that way about Anna.

  Neither Anna nor her husbands were noble at birth. Her father had achieved some fame as a composer, which led to her meeting her first husband, Admiral Timiryova, at a symphony party. Their marriage, in turn, led to her affair with Admiral Kolchak, but neither she nor Kolchak was wealthy, despite their rich histories. Anna died in poverty. Kolchak was a child of a military General, which would have given the young man entre into important circles in society, and his own exploits later led to command of all Russian military troops, yet never wealth or a title. They were just two people from middle society who gained vast recognition, ending in a Shakespearian tragedy.

  Jackie loved Anna’s story because of her lifelong devotion to her lover. They had never married, and she’d only known him a short while before his death by firing squad. She was tormented all her life by the Soviet government, yet her love never wavered. That was the true story, so Jackie’s character had a huge act to follow.

  She rounded the drive and ran across the lawn to the front door, timing her fastest run ever. The cool mountain air had been a factor, but Anna’s story had given her new energy. She paused on the porch for a moment to catch her breath, then opened the front door and jogged upstairs. Her morning shower would feel especially good. She went straight to her room and undressed, before starting the water running. She had left the front door unlocked during her run; nothing ever happened in their community. The houses were separated by wooded hilly terrain and not an attractive area for burglars. Everyone would notice a strange car parked anywhere along the narrow country road. It was only unlocked while she ran, and it was now locked.

  Later that night, Rack sent a message to his client attaching copies of Anna’s original letters from Admiral Kolchak. It had taken hours at a local Kinko’s to copy everything onto a memory stick that he would soon erase. Once the final payment was received from the satisfied client, he would destroy all the evidence. There would be no trace linking him to Jackie Dickson’s murder.

  It had been one of his most interesting assignments. He didn’t normally get to talk with his victims, and he didn’t like to torture people. The cattle prod had only been a threat; she was afraid of pain and told him everything he wanted to know immediately. She feared for her live and she’d pleaded of course; anyone suddenly confronted by a stranger inside her bathroom would be scared. She tried to fight him, but a naked dripping woman, slipping on the tile floor, had no chance of success. He had tried not to damage her too much.

  He was in his hotel room in Denver immediately after returning from her house to change clothes and get to the printer even before her children or husband got home, finding her taped to her office chair As a result, once he had the whole file of the letters.

  She hadn’t been treated badly. He had been quick and merciful, standing behind her, explaining that he was leaving, and she would be tied to the chair for a short while until someone came home. The lie had worked beautifully. She had relaxed just enough that her neck snapped without much resistance. Her cerebral cortex would have continued to function for a short period, but her mind would not recognize any pain.

  After verifying the money deposit in his account, he watched the local news on television that night while preparing to leave for the airport in the morning. The police were investigating a homicide in Littleton Hills, but no other details were available. There wouldn’t be much more.

  Excitement

  “Karina. Please come to my office, I have something you will find interesting.” He ended the call to her voicemail.

  She arrived before noon without an appointment and waited outside his office while he completed a call behind closed doors. After a short period, he opened them and gestured her politely to join him.

  “I have something here for you,” handing her a DVD.

  “What is this, Gregor?”

  “Put it in your computer and look at it. You will find in interesting and I hope informative. It cost me some money, but it may help your research.”

  She smiled while receiving the mystery gift and left quickly. He still bothered her.

  Evan was visibly pleased when she arrived at the museum before lunch. “Hi, I was wondering about you.”

  She smiled slightly while booting up her laptop. “I had a meeting with my client.” She slipped the DVD in and waited for it to load.

  “I thought your meetings were always on Monday?”

  “Well, he called me this morning while I was on the Metro.” So, she finally identified her client as male.

  Evan was searching for information about U.S. Army units in Russia in 1920 when she started talking to herself, totally engrossed with her computer screen. He asked, “So, what have you got.”

  Before she could even consider what she was divulging, she said, “It looks like letters from Admiral Kolchak to Anna.”

  He tried to look at her screen, but she glared at him, warning him to stay away with her eyes.

  “Are they interesting?”

  She spoke absent-mindedly, “It’s just words about loving her forever; you know, that kind.”

  For the next several hours, they worked on separate areas of interest before she wrote several lines in her notebook and closed the computer. “Tonight, we should have dinner together.”

  “You want to go out, like a date?”

  “Not a date, just dinner together. We can compare our findings.”

  The evening outside the museum was dark, windy and rainy. Karina had an overcoat and small umbrella, too small for both of them. Evan braced himself against the Russian mid-fall weather with his hands in his jeans pockets and the hood of his BU sweatshirt over his head. His only winter coat was still in his apartment. They raced to the nearest indoor food vendor, Asian of some sort, to keep from getting soaked through his clothes.

  He pushed his hood back when inside, “Whew, let’s eat inside tonight.”

  She smiled at his poor joke. They ordered separately at the counter then sat in the un-crowded front of the store. They were the only people eating there; most stopped for takeout. She looked at him seriously, “I have the letters that Anna saved from the Admiral. There are many, I am surprised that he could write so many during the civil war. In some of them he is leading in the field or moving to new headquarters as the Reds advance.”

  Evan was impressed. “These may be the only true evidence about the Admiral at the time.”

  “Of course, we do not know what she may have written in response because everything of his belongings was destroyed by the revolutionaries. Only his letters to her survive.”

  His teeth were chattering, “Yeah, but that’s the most important. We want the history; you want the gold, not the love story. Let the writer enjoy her tidbits and fairytales about their secret life, we just want to know what really happened after he became Supreme Ruler, after Moscow fell.”

  “You are right of course. I have something for you.” She pulled a memory stick from her portfolio, the shoulder bag that seemed to follow her everywhere. “Here, you should hide this.”

  “What’s on it?”

  She spoke in a hushed voice as though there might be someone listening; it was a reflex mostly. The food store was empty except for the counter person and cook, and they weren’t interested in the young couple’s conversation. “I made a copy of the letters written after the summer of 1920, up to his last days. I want you to read them and tell me if there is anything important to my project.”

  “You don’t want to read his lovey-dovey stuff?”

  “I imagine not, it is hard for me to stay objective.”

  He held her hand softly. “I didn’t know you had a tender spot.”

  She pulled her hand away,
“What do you mean? I am a normal woman. I can feel love. You know nothing about the books I read.”

  He looked ruefully at her, “I’m sorry. I wish I did know more about you. You are the most mysterious woman I’ve ever known. We’ve worked together for weeks. We share our work. You hide me from your client. You even took me to meet your mother, yet you never let me know the real you. Karina, I don’t know you.”

  “So, what should you know?” She was all business again.

  Their food was delivered to their table before he could answer. As they ate, he was growing more uncertain about what to say.

  Finally, he tried, “From the beginning, you have known that I’m attracted to you, and you’ve always kept me outside of your life. I wish it was different.”

  “Maybe you should read the letters to be better familiar with how a woman should feel. Could you ever write such things?”

  “Karina, this is a different time; but yes, I imagine I could write love letters to a person like you.”

  “We should stop talking like this now.”

  He shrugged, “Okay, then. You always get me blathering away about my feelings, but draw the line about expressing yours, at least to me.”

  She stopped eating and said slowly, “But, I do have feelings for you.”

  He was pleasantly shocked, “You do? Why don’t you ever show me?”

  She didn’t look at him directly, “You are American. Soon you will go home to your big