I don’t want to lie to him, but I also don’t want to explain the truth. There isn’t time. If all goes well, I’ll see him again one day, and I’ll explain it then. Now, I need to focus on the mission at hand.
“I will be,” I say, trying to remain hopeful. “But I need your help to get there.”
“Anything,” he says, and I know he means it.
“I need you to get me the number for …” A million different names and places and faces rush through my head, some friend, some foe. Who can help us? Who has the power or desire to help us? Dmitry may have started cleaning up his act, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of people back home who wouldn’t be more than happy to see him wiped from the face of the earth.
There is a long pause. “A bar?”
Any doubts my dad may have, of which I’m sure there are
