Chapter 10

Written by: Lrennes

Jenna sat at her drafting desk. She skilfully pulled her pencil across a ruler, adding another line to an already complex array of vectors which compiled to form the building she was planning.

 

The time had flown by. Numerous extradition attempts had been made to try and have Jenna sent home to face trial, but the Russian government remained steadfast in its defiance. ‘Say what you want about Russia,’ she had thought, ‘it looks after its spies.’ Their family’s old KGB connections had metamorphosed into connections with the more contemporary FSB and, in turn, the Kremlin. And whatever their other motivations might have been, if the Russian government sees an opportunity to stick a shiv in the side of the west, it takes it.

 

Unexpected though it was, Russia was now home. Although, in a certain technical sense, Jenna no longer existed. Nor did Nick. Or Jenna’s mother for that matter. And Jenna wasn’t really an architect, at least not in the traditional sense. The building design she had been working on had been the same plan for a year now. And for the same client; the Kremlin, though they had no intentions of building it. They commissioned her and covered her expenses and in return she maintained her cover as an architect. And the inhabitants of the small town near the Urals where she lived were none the wiser.

 

She didn’t see her mother very much, and Nick even less. Exactly what his relation to her really was, she had never found out for sure. He had never really confirmed her suspicions and still refused to answer the question on the few occasions where she had attempted to broach the subject. Part of the deal with the Kremlin was that they were split apart so that their “disappearance” was less likely to be foiled by those that wanted her found, so those opportunities were few and far between. But she consoled herself in the knowledge that her mother was happy and comfortable. She had insisted on regular proof of her wellbeing and as frequent communication with her as possible. It turned out that wasn’t too much, however.

 

She wasn’t happy about it, but her new life had been the only option the Russian government had offered. In return for anonymous asylum, she travelled covertly to countries where she masqueraded as a tourist and reported various things back. Whether it be eavesdropping on officials or citizens or taking photos of events as an undercover tourist, her lot in life was returning information to further Russian interests.

 

But she was working on that. With every dollop of information she collected, she raised her leverage. It was a dangerous game, but she knew the greater her wealth of knowledge, the greater the weight she brought to the negotiating table. One day, she would reunite with her family. She would make the powers-that-be grant her freedom, and the freedom of those she loved. The thought kept her going. One day.