The next morning, Alice awoke not as the wife of a wealthy old man, but as part of a mysterious and dangerous story. Vladimir Arkadyevich—or rather, as he now called himself, Mikhail Sergeyevich —handed her a folder filled with old newspaper clippings, photographs, and the only surviving childish drawing: figures, a house, and the words “Dad and Me – Anya.”
“Was her name Anne?” asked Alice, looking at the faded ink.
— Yes. Anna Mikhailova. She was seven years old when they “liquidated” me.
They began searching. Alicja wrote to the archives, searched for Mikhail’s old friends, and checked the database of missing children. She dropped out of college because she felt someone was following them. And indeed, strange phone calls began, a burnt-out camera on the staircase, and a driver who “got the wrong address” and tried to pull her into his car.
After two months – a breakthrough.
A woman named Anna Rudniewa , a psychotherapist at a private clinic, fit the description. Alicja arranged an appointment.
Mikhail sat across from her in the cafe, his hands shaking. Before he could say anything, Anna spoke sharply:
— You came faster than I expected.
Mikhail turned pale:
— You… remember?
“Not everything. But enough to know you weren’t just a spy. You were a tool. My mother died because of you. And now you want me to… forgive you?”
She pulled an old cassette out of her bag – an archival recording of Mikhail’s voice, giving the order that cost the lives of dozens of people, including his wife.
“I thought you were dead. And I’d prefer it to stay that way.”
Mikhail lowered his gaze. Alice froze—she couldn’t believe it.
“But if you really want to fix things,” Anna continued, “you’ll help me. And then you’ll disappear.”
“What do you want?” he barely managed to choke out.
Anna looked straight into Alice’s eyes:
“I want her to finish what my mother didn’t get to. She has common sense, common sense, and access to you. We need you to hand over one file. The last one. Then you’ll truly be dead.”
Anna gave Alicja the coordinates and the code. The briefcase was located in an old bank vault in Kaliningrad—encrypted, secured, and, according to Anna, containing evidence of all the “dirty operations” kept secret by the state.
They set off at night, disguised as tourists. As they traveled, Mikhail became increasingly silent—as if he knew this was his last mission.
Once there, Alicja entered alone. The code worked. Inside was a metal suitcase engraved with the words
“Dossier 1987 – Operation Icarus . “
She gave the suitcase to Anna at their next meeting – at the clandestine headquarters in the old part of Moscow.
“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” Anna asked.
Alice shook her head:
