Editing Leonardo



'''Yesterday,  Weber Ave, Trenton, NJ, USA'''

Janice York opened the door and smiled. "Hello Leonard, how are you today?" While slightly shorter than the gentleman she greeted, their eyes were level as he moved a step back and down on her brownstone back entry. "Please ignore the apron! I'm trying to clean this stove since the landlord's goons can't seem to find the address." Brushing her straight blond hair back before realizing she still had oven cleaner on it, Janice added. "How can I help you?"

Leonard's smile seemed to help Janice relax; her arms lost a little tension and she wasn't holding her self quite so posed, he thought. "I'm doing well today Mrs. York. Very well thank you." He looked at her eyes, blue as a clear sky and bright as he remembered them. He had seen them puffy from tears and bruised once when something happened she never talked about. But he remembered them as bright blue, honest and inviting. Smiling, again, he cleared his head and said "I wonder if I might have a word with you about the next few months? Since Billy's not home this seemed like the perfect time to talk with you about a...special matter."

Janice paused for a moment before opening the door wider. "Whoa girl!" She thought to herself. "He's an accountant. Not quite the adventurous type. Has he finally noticed you?" Unconsciously straightening her apron and then finally remembering the door was still only partially open, she nervously jerked it all the way back. "Of course, any time...Leonard..."

Nodding and smiling, Leonard stepped into her small kitchen. Loosening his tie just a little, he said "You mentioned something about an oven? Perhaps I can give it a look?" Without waiting for an answer, he unbuttoned his jacket and carefully draped it over the back of the tallest of the pair of chairs. Kneeling, peering into the dark recesses of boiled over casserole and unsteady Christmas turkey from a couple years ago, Leonard made a few "tsk...tsk..." comments before looking back at Janice.

Somehow, though he had know she was right there, it still made his heart move a little faster. Like him, she was in her early 30s and like him, trim. Her straight blond hair contrasted with his short black crew cut. Not the raven black of the Hapsburgs, he occasionally reminded himself, just the ordinary black of an ordinary guy. She was his maid occasionally, when she wasn't pressing suits at the Upper Ferry road laundromat or cleaning offices down in the Freight yard district.

"Um...excuse me..." Moving around to the other side of the open oven door, Leonard smiled...a little... "In my right jacket pocket is a catalog, Mrs. York, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Let me take care of this for you, it will only take a little bit. Look through the catalog and then we can talk about what I have in mind."

With an industry born of wanting to keep himself focused, Leonard did the two hour oven job in about 45 minutes. His sleeves were dirty, if his shirt wasn't totally ruined from the grease and cleaner. Janice had looked at him oddly a few times and skimmed through the catalog as he asked.

When Leonard pronounced the work "Done!" and started to clean himself up, Janice perked up. "Here, let me clean that for you!" She said, and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Mom, I'm home!" Billy yelled as he barreled in through the back door. He skidded right into Janice and Leonard before he could stop, his eyes wide open. "Uh..." he gulped. At thirteen Billy had already learned some things from the other boys in school. Things they had learned from their dads or older brothers. Seeing his mom undressing Mr. Leonard still looked...weird...

"Uh..." Billy continued.

Gently moving her hands away from him, Leonard smiled at Billy and said. "Good to see you sport! How's baseball practice coming?"

"Baseball's over, sir. Our team came in last." Watching the older man button up his shirt, Billy turned red.

"Alright, Billy, your mom and I were going to talk first before you got home, but I think you're man enough to take this discussion." Picking up the catalog, he continued "Here, take a look at this. What do you think?"

Flipping through the catalog, Billy lit up. "Wow, Burpees! I haven't seen one of their real catalogs! We always get them after the season is done."

Nodding, Leonard took a serious tone. "Billy you're right. That's the seed catalog for next season. You've spent the last three years tending my garden to my specifications." Putting his hand on the boy, he continued. "As one man to another, I'm proud of how you have worked for me and I think it's time you step up to the goal."

"Goal? You mean plate, right?"

"Billy!" Janice exclaimed. Having regained her composure while Leonard spoke to Billy, she was still a little lost about what was going on.

"Plate...right! Step up to the plate." Looking Billy in the eyes was tough, Leonard had seen those eyes cry a few times too. Five times, in fact. Five times in the three and a half years they had been neighbors. Billy didn't talk much about those times either, but Leonard wasn't sure Billy was ready to talk about those things yet. At least not man to man.

"Billy, I want you to take my vegetable garden and come up with something. If I'm here I'll eat my fill, you and your mother can have whatever grows otherwise. Last year's corn was delicious, so I might request a little of that. Otherwise, you're on your own. You pick the seeds, I'll leave money with your mother to order them, and you work the land." Patting the boy's shoulder, he finished. "What do you say, Billy, are you up to it?"

"Wow mom, can I? Please?"

Looking at Leonard with a bit of an arched eyebrow, Janice replied. "Mr. Leonard and I will talk about it. You need to go to your room and do your homework. No!" She exclaimed "The catalog stays with me until your homework is done. Now off!"

"Yipee!" echoed down the short hallway as Billy unfolded the couch that was his "room".

"He won't get any homework done, you know." Leonard said quietly.

"Look, Leonard, I know you mean well and we appreciate the help." Biting her lip Janice pressed the point a little. "You pay me to clean your house and everything is just the same as it was when I cleaned it the week before." Looking up at him now, her eyes glistened moistly. "I don't understand. I know your clients in the City make you work all hours for weeks on end and you seldom come home. I have my pride, Leonard, at least a little. You don't need me to clean your house and you don't need Billy to work your garden. Why not spend the money on yourself?"

Leonard's breath rasped a bit as he put his suit jacket back on. He looked at each button as he slowly put it through the proper hole and straightened it just so. He was not going to tarnish her reputation leaving her house dressed any differently than when he entered.

His eyes were moist, too. Lightly pressing his thumb to her chin, he felt the shock of the touch. "Because...because...just because, Janice. Isn't that enough? It makes me very happy. Can we just accept that?"

Janice didn't say what she was thinking, he could tell. Retreating to the doorway, straightening his tie, Leonard said "Thank you Mrs. York. I hope the oven works better for you now." Tight lipped and with longing eyes, Leonard stepped out and away.


*  *  *

Leonard gingerly brushed his hair and then once more checked the toilet bowl to ensure there was no residue. That morning's telegram, burned, crushed, and flushed, told him enough to know he'd be out of town for a few weeks, at least.

His small valise packed and with a new shirt and jacket on, he stepped out onto the dark street and smiled when he saw the neighbor's living room light was dim but on. Walking the few blocks to a diner, he called for a cab and enjoyed a fresh cup of coffee while waiting.

"Rosa, this is excellent! Why do you save the best for late in the day?"

"For you, Mr. Leonard, I will always make fresh coffee! Tu sei il mio cliente preferito!" Rosa said in her thick Tuscan accent.

Smiling, knowing he could not reply here, he said "I'm sorry? Did I say something wrong?"

Rosa just shook her head and tsk'd him. "You should get out, Leonard! See the world! When the American's came to Lucca, I was there! They were so grand then, my friend! And so handsome!" Winking, she added, "You are handsome too, Leonard. Why are you and Janice not seeing more of each other? If I were a few years younger perhaps you and I would be talking much longer, eh?"

Thankfully draining his cup as the cab arrived. Leonard tipped his usual extra bit. "Again, thank you for the coffee, Rosa, and thank you for letting Mrs. York and remain just friends. I'm sure you can keep a gentleman's honor sacred, can you not?" Smiling, he added. "And besides, business never lets me see much of anyone. Thank you Rosa!"

* * *

"Carl Lunsford, the 22:30 flight, miss?" Smiling, straightening his jacket after several cab, bus, and train changes, he waited patiently for the very attractive young lady to find his tickets. "Yes sir, right here. You have half an hour before your flight, is there anything you would be interested in?"

Her eyes were looking him over and seemed to appreciate what she saw. "The Captain's lounge is empty this time of night, sir. Your ticket does offer you special privileges..."

Reaching out, putting his thumb gently on her chin, he said quietly, "You deserve more than half an hour...Susan...Perhaps when I return we can ...talk."



* * *

'''Spring, 1953, via del Pilastri, Firenze, Italy'''

The letter lay half open where it had quietly fallen. The small room, with a mattress propped up on one wall and an easel perched near the open window, seemed poundingly silent as the young man tried to regain his world.

"''Son, with a mother's well meaning love I wanted to shield you from this. However, things will be said in the news, soon. I wanted you to hear it from me first. When you were little I told you your daddy was a soldier and you looked so good in the little uniform I made for you that I could not bear to tell you the truth. Later, I told you your daddy was killed by the Germans and thus one part of my life seemed easier.

I have worked hard to give you the best home I could. Between the hard work here and jobs I've had to find to earn money for us, I know you will wonder how we had the money to send you to study art in your favorite city.

How I wish I was there with you! I know you've dreamed about this day forever and you've worked hard to make it come true. I am so proud of you.

Back here in Ann Arbor, it's hard to get a good paying job and to have people look at you like you're somebody. When someone comes along and pays attention to you, well...you're old enough now to know how life works.

There is a man in Bonn, Germany. His name is Theodore Kagan. He is happily married and works for the State Department. There are people in the government here who are saying bad things about Theo, things that I know are not true.

Theo is your father. He and I agreed to part ways before he know you were to be born. You were so tiny and cute that I wanted you all for myself, and I didn't want to hurt Theo. Later, as his career in the State Department took off, he married a wonderful lady and they have a happy family.

Somehow Theo found out about you. He has been sending money for years, and I have been saving it for you. The father you never had has provided for you, son.

I do not know what else to say. Your father is a man of integrity, son. I know you really wanted a dad when you grew up but life gave us a hard deal to play. Please believe me when I say Theo is not the man those others are saying. He is kind, gentle, honorable, loving, and most of all, honest. Qualities I know you believe in, son.

I wish life were better, but here we are.

With all my love''"


* * *

'''Fall, 1957. Rock Creek Park, Washington DC, USA'''

The body was arranged properly, it seemed. Given the heat of the season and the wild animals in the area, a drunken partier who fell and cracked his head would be one line in the obits. Assuming they found him before too much was gone.

Removing his gloves the killer gently walked away, leaving no traces. One does not live in Machiavelli's home town long without learning real politics, he thought to himself.

Appreciating the dusk colors, as he regained the trail, the man seemed nervously content. "False testimony is not appreciated, sir. You are held accountable for your actions and the pain you have caused an honorable man", he thought to himself.


* * *

'''December, 1953. Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA'''

"I..." The older man seemed at a loss for words.

The younger man silently sobbed; his overly large P jacket and ill fitting jeans a serious divergence from the two other the mourners, earlier. Hugging himself, he just looked at the new mound of fresh dirt.

"Listen...I know this is not a good time to talk. Please, there is a motel room for you near the airport. I'm staying there too, and we can talk...please?"

Putting a card in the young man's pocket, the older man walked away carrying a load of grief he could barely face.

* * *

'''December, 1957. Ann Arbor, Michigan.'''

"To four years." The younger man held his glass unsteadily.

"One year...son." He still winced when he said it, Kagan thought. And the boy still winces when he hears it.

"To...us...sir..." The young man lifted his glass yet again. Biting his lower lip, he choked back a sob. "I can not express how much I appreciate what you have done for me, and for my mother. I hope to be able to repay you as best I can."

"To your mother, an angel unaware." Looking into the younger man's eyes, he saw something...what? Mystery...guilt? "You are a fine man, son. I don't know why life is as it is, but here is where we are."

The younger man raised his glass again. "To dropped charges." Thus spoken, he drained the goblet in one long draught.

"To...how did you know? Son..."

* * *

'''Christmas Eve, 1958.  Bottom of a small and leaky boat off Annapolis, MD, USA'''

"unnghh..." moaned the rope tied and bloodied form as it rolled in the after effects of an open bilge tank.

The man not in the bilge was wearing a relatively fashionable dark suit. One that looked like any of the other hundreds of relatively fashionable dark suits you might see in DC any time of the year. Hot weather, blizzards, you name it; some men have to wear suits. Nicely cut suits that often hide bulges under their arm pits, or just off their hip. Wide cut legs for that backup protection every man needs. Or at least wants.

"See, Sam, I told you he would wake up soon. Didn't I? You owe me a beer for that one. Marco, come va?" Sitting with his rear on the upper step ledge, the man continued. "I'm Agent Sadusky, assigned to speak to you about a matter. Perhaps you can help us out?"

The bloodied mass rolled over a bit so that one swollen eye might catch a glimpse of the voice. "uunngghhh...hhoouu  itps  hmmmachoo?""

Smiling, Sadusky sighed. "Nice try Marco...very nice. Let's clear the air, shall we? You are, of late, Marco Pollazio. That is, of course, not your real name but the one you took after a two year stint in Le Legion Etrangere. Your citizenship is listed as French, naturally, birth area declared as Grenoble to Italian immigrant parents. Which is supposed to explain your effectively native Italian though you studied in Firenze where you assumedly gained the more Tuscan accent of your art instructors. Good so far?"

Marco, assuming Sadusky was right, didn't say anything. He did, however, try to fend off the nausea as some of the bilge bile mingled with the blood on his tongue. It cost him a moment of trying to work his hands, but Marco forced himself to focus...focus on survival. His body wasn't responding but his mind was churning.

"Shall I continue? Or do you believe that I have some small clue about who you are?" Pausing, in anticipation, Sadusky continued. "Since we are going for introductions, you may call me Agent Sadusky. Now, in common terms that means I'll have to kill you since you tricked me into revealing my name and rank, won't I?" Splaying his hands in innocent surrender, Sadusky smiled. "What can I say? You are just that good, Marco! Of course, not good enough to fight off the tetrodotoxin that's in your system at the moment. You may be able to fight it off in an hour, no later than three, I'm sure. However, there's one small problem..."

"Unngghh.."

"Yes, right, a problem. You should be able to fight off the poison in a few short hours. However, there's a very nasty storm brewing in this area right this minute. You might have noticed that your ship is not quite as seaworthy as one might hope. There's also the matter of a decaying rope that's tied you to the engine block. Not strong enough that a healthy man couldn't break it, but old enough that the decay of it's natural fibres will make it non-evidentiary in a few days." Smiling, Sadusky continued. "See, we're such good friends that I've thought at least about your burial at sea. Well, at bay."

"hhuugghhyyyy?"

"Why, of course! You forgot that there's a body in Rock Creek Park, didn't you? Well, there was a body, we did need to make a positive identification. The gentleman and I were not friends, but he did deserve that. Well, not really, but the agents who had been building the case against him really did deserve the closure." Looking down, Sadusky shrugged. "Had he gone to his Soviet task masters when exposed he would have probably gotten the same thing he got from you. There is, however, the matter of taking the law into one's own hands, isn't there, Marco?"

"uunn..."

Waving Sam away, Sadusky carefully moved down the short stairwell. Holding on with one hand he gently drew a knife from his jacket pocket. Whispering into Marco's ear, he said "We have a mutual friend, Marco. One that I respect deeply. Because of him I will offer you a choice, Marco, but you must decide quickly! I walk away and you take the just punishment for your crime. Or..." Sadusky moved the knife between them "You follow my program to the letter after I use this knife, a knife not unlike one you've used a few times, eh Marco?" Letting the blade smoothly caress Marco's chin he added "I'll use this to cut you free, and in an hour or so you can activate the boats rescue signal there on the wall. They'll find you drunk and without a license to pilot a small craft, but the identification in your wallet will be someone else. You will return to your 'home', and find further instructions. Capisce, Marco?"

Pausing just a moment, Sadusky leaned further forward. "Think fast, Marco. I need some work done, things you have done before. We are on the same side Marco! We fight those that would hurt our country...and your father...deal?"

Could Marco have shrugged, it would have been a good time for it. As is the faint nod was all he could manage, though some feeling was coming back.

"Good boy, Marco, very good." His tone almost jovial, Sadusky leaned out and deftly cut the ropes putting them on the top step. "There are a couple empty bottles of cheap bourbon in the cabin, Marco. You wife left you for another woman and you bought this boat from a guy in Crisfield a week ago. You don't know his name and you paid cash." Pocketing the knife, Sadusky grabbed the rope strands as he put one foot out of the cabin.

"We'll see each other again, Marco, I'm sure. At least I'll see you." Tossing the rope strands overboard as he gracefully moved to his own, not leaking one bit, boat, Sadusky smiled. "Game...set...match... Welcome to the real world, Marco..."


* * *

'''Moscow, USSR. Present day'''

Striking another match while rolling it away from Hank and himself, Leo also lights Hank's Black Russian. The others probably recognize the small technique; taught by the friends at Langley for years as it warms the hands but keep the match lighter out of the initial large glow of the match.

Offering anyone else one, and then moving to the window to observe through the closed blinds, Leo dials through his memory for Volkov. Then for Kozlov, for good measure. "Slim chance", he thinks to himself, but maybe he's seen there names on something, somewhere...

"Good question...Yuri?" Leo thinks to himself, listening to Kozlov's breathing rate and speech patterns. "Use his own words...good..." Mentally musing, Leo looks outside for cars with less snow on them, people idly standing by, the usual things. The Komitet (1) thugs were brutally efficient but seldom subtle. Unbuttoning his heavy coat, Leo made sure his Tokarev was in it's proper place. Pants pocket in case he had to ditch the coat and take another, with a spare magazine in the other pocket. Not being overly paranoid he didn't check the stiletto on the outside of his left forearm, he could feel it's soothing pressure with just a few finger motions. Various other bits and pieces available, but no sense telegraphing everything to the others...