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“So,” Jack said, as casually as he could manage. “I take it Ramius and the others have all been reassigned?”
Greer’s sharp look told Jack he’d maybe not been as off hand as intended, but after the disappointment of finding the safe house empty, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care all that much.
“They have,” Greer said. He took a moment to shuffle some of the papers on his desk, feeding a handful into the filing tray to his left, and a few into the shredder on the floor. “We felt it was time they had somewhere a little more permanent to start to settle in to.”
Jack nodded.
“That makes sense,” he said. Which it did, but for some reason, the fact he didn’t know where Raimus was was a little… unsettling. “They’ve been here more than six weeks, so a bit of independence will be good for them.”
“Indeed.” Greer picked up a piece of paper and frowned at it. “Actually, now you mention it, though, perhaps you should check in with them. Ramius and Melekhin specifically as you appear to have forged a reasonably good working relationship with them both.”
“I’d be happy to, sir.” He rose from his seat with a studied nonchalance. “Do I drive or fly?”
“Grab a shuttle up to Pease. There should be a car you can use when you get there.” Greer held out a piece of paper and pulled a face at the mess on his desk. “What exactly does my secretary do if I’m dealing with this?”
“It would take a braver man than me to ask her.” Jack scooped up his satchel and took the offered paper. “Have a good weekend, sir.”
~
It was far easier than he’d expected to get a vehicle at Pease, and the half hour drive from there was almost pleasant, the January weather holding crisp, cold and clear.
A mid size Chevrolet sat on the driveway of the neat clapboard house. At least they’d given Ramius a decent vehicle as well as a house, Jack thought, zipping up his coat as he climbed out of his borrowed car.
“Ryan.” Ramius looked rather pleased to see him, Jack thought, immediately chiding himself for imagining such a thing. “What brings you to York Cliffs?”
“Just a neighbourly call,” Jack told him. “Thought I’d see how you were settling in.”
“The Admiral sent you?”
“Kind of. I think he gave me your address just to get me out from underfoot.”
“Then, please, come in.”
The little house was compact but comfortable, Jack saw. There was one large open plan living area, off which sat a tidy kitchen of reasonable size. A couple of doors on his right probably led to a cloakroom and pantry, and there were carpeted stairs leading to the upper floor.
“This is nice,” Jack said. “Are you settled?”
“If by settled you mean do I rattle around like a kopek in an empty tea tin, then yes.” Ramius smiled, seeming to laugh at himself. “This house has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Just for one person!”
“It’s always good to have room for guests to visit.”
“I do not know that many people yet for many visitors.” Ramius tilted his head towards the kitchen. “Would you like coffee?”
“Yes, please. It was a bit of a haul from DC.” Jack followed Ramius into the kitchen and decided honesty was the best policy here. “The Admiral did ask that I make sure you were happy and had everything you needed. But I also wanted to check for myself. A paper report can only tell me so much.”
“The paper report will tell you that I am spending my days at the naval yard, teaching military Russian language to students who have only learned to ask directions and for coffee.” Ramius shook his head. “I am glad to see a familiar face.”
“Your move was a bit sudden, wasn’t it?” Jack rested his backside against the counter, watching Ramius set a futuristic looking coffee machine going. His movements were precise and Jack had to pull his eyes away from Ramius’ capable, long fingered hands.
“In some ways. But then, one becomes used to moving in the military.”
“I guess. I got a bit of a shock when I called by last week and the house was empty.”
“They were… efficient,” Ramius allowed. “Two hours, and all our things were packed into a large van. We were flown up here, briefed on the way and then each of us given a house. A whole house, to ourselves.”
“Taking some getting used to, huh?”
“My dacha was half this size, and considered large.” Ramius took two white mugs from a mostly empty cupboard. “It feels a little excessive, yet I am deeply grateful.”
“It’s the least we could do, Captain.”
“No, I am no longer a captain. Not in my house.” Meeting Jack’s eyes, Ramius shook his head. “I think, perhaps, I should adopt the American way and say, my name is Marko.”
“If you call me Jack instead of Ryan, I can work with that.”
“Jack.” A nod. “Another custom to bring me one step closer to being a true capitalist.”
Jack couldn’t help laugh.
“And Melekhin?”
“He wishes to adopt many dogs.” A smile. “He thinks if he has pets then the soft hearted Americans won’t keep him from his home for long periods of time.”
“Totally understandable. So your plans now?”
Ramius - Marko, Jack reminded himself - shrugged.
“I am assisting your government in whichever way they ask me to. I believe Red October will be moved in a few weeks and there will be much work to do.”
“And when you’re not working?”
Marko paused, seeming to think for a long moment.
“I am not sure.”
The coffee machine hissed, drawing his attention before Jack could ask any more questions.
There was a small veranda that looked over the yard down a shallow slope to where the woods met the boundary. They didn’t sit outside, but the wide windows which led out onto the porch gave them a perfect view out over the bare trees and evergreens to where the Atlantic Ocean painted a grey stripe across the horizon. It was peaceful in a way that Jack hadn’t realised he’d needed.
“You appreciate the - the green?” Marko asked, breaking the companionable silence which had fallen as they’d sipped their coffee.
“Nature,” Jack supplied. “And yes, after living and working in Washington for a while, it’s a balm.”
“Balm?”
“Soothing, like salve, lotion.” Jack studied his coffee and smiled. “An idiom, if you will.”
“My English is good,” Marko said. “But the slang and the, the… Разговорный.” He shook his head.
“Colloquialisms. Yeah, they get a bit much, especially as every state seems to have its own dialect sometimes.”
“There is an officer, who is from Boston,” Marko began, and Jack laughed.
They talked of accents and dialects, of how Marko had to learn the English for so many parts of his submarine so he could teach the correct Russian words to the American engineers. The conversation slipped to food, local restaurants which Marko was slowly learning how to navigate and the kinds of things he missed most keenly.
“There is a Polish supermarket, in Boston, and one day I will drive there and buy all the things I miss. But for now, I learn to cook American food.”
“It’s not all that bad,” Jack told him. “Once you get past the urge to fry everything.”
~
It was the first week of February before Jack managed to get back to York Cliffs. This time he took two fully laden suitcases with him.
“Jack, come in.” Marko frowned at the suitcases. “Is this business trip?”
“No, no, I just brought you a few things.” He grinned. “Can we put these on the table?”
Unzipping the two cases revealed them to be full of foodstuffs. Three kinds of tea, jams, tins of caviar, packets of blini and medovik, tins with names that Jack could just about read. Packets of what looked like biscuits, a big jar of pickled herrings, one of sauerkraut, two bottles of vodka that the store clerk had assured him were of excellent quality and an assortment of other odd packages and cans. In the bottom of one suitcase was a six pack of a dark, rich beer.
“You brought all this from Washington?”
“I asked a few people, and ended up at a place run by a Latvian couple. Told them I had a Lithuanian friend who was missing home cooking and they helped me fill a couple of bags.”
“This is… this is generous. More than I could ever expect.” There was something in Marko’s expression which Jack couldn’t parse. Gratitude for sure, but something else, that made Jack feel like he’d found a chink in Marko’s usual cynical armour.
“You’re a long way from home. I hoped this might help a little.”
“Do you treat all your defectors in this way?”
Jack looked at him, tried not to let his every thought show as he ran his eyes down over Marko. Dark blue trousers and a soft cream knit jumper suited him, and Jack was hard pressed not to sigh.
“You are the first defector I’ve ever had the pleasure of dealing with,” he said honestly.
Marko’s focus sharpened. Jack could almost see the way his brain changed gear, and he wondered if he’d just done something very stupid.
“I see,” Marko said slowly. He didn’t move away, however, and neither did he appear to be on the verge of evicting Jack from his house.
Maybe, Jack thought, he’d gotten away with that one.
Then Marko took a step towards him.
“As you are the first American I have had the… pleasure of getting to know.”
Jack tried to not let his breath catch but, damnit, Marko was even closer now.
“I’m not a very good example of a typical American,” he began but then one of Marko’s fingers touched his lips. A shiver went through Jack.
“I think you are very good,” Marko said. “Because up to now? I thought, maybe you were only curious about these new people. Now, I think maybe you are just curious of me.”
Jack could only stare at him with wide eyes. Marko held his gaze, the air around them turning heavy. Then Jack nodded.
“You surprise me, each time we meet,” Marko told him. “Which, I thought myself to be past finding things a surprise.” He removed his finger and leaned forward to brush a soft kiss across Jack’s lips. "Thank you."