In the last chapter Ohmie kills two bad guys and saves a good guy. His mother escapes kidnappers and the CIA, and Ohmie’s father meets them in Switzerland.

We went to the public library. For a nominal fee we could use a computer that was connected to their WIFI.

“Yes, Mo-om, I can do it.” I knew I shouldn’t have been so bratty, ‘specially since Mom had a kind of meeting of the hearts when she sort of opened hers up. I felt bratty and was sorry, but I didn’t say anything. I wish I had. It wasn’t like I could count on time to set things right, you know? I mean what if that was the last thing I ever said to her. I wanted to run to her and apologize and bawl crocodile tears and say how sorry I was for being a brat and that I would never do it again. But I didn’t ‘cause I knew I would… do it again.

I think Mom assigned me the computer chore ‘cause she an’ Dad didn’t trust me to be safe, or do it right, being lookout or stopping someone from looking at what we were doing. So I was working the computer while she and Dad kept me private and watched for assassins.

First thing I did was turn off the WIFI. Then I opened the thumb drive. One file had programmer’s code. I was pretty sure it was a Russian version, or usage in Russian, of JAVA code, but I could’ve been wrong. Might’ve been Belarussian, or some other Slavic language. Dad would know – more on that in a minute.

As soon as I saw that there might have been stuff of value on the drive, I made a copy of it, handing the original to Mom. Then I went in and deleted any evidence from the computers’ hard drive. A pro could have learned that we made a copy of a thumb drive. He might have been able to retrieve what it was that I copied. But I really didn’t think so. Besides, in the long run, America would not be hurt by public release of information that Russia was involved with other countries’ politics and elections. And besides all that, who would think to investigate some obscure computer in a library in Lucerne, Switzerland?

After several minutes, at a time when I lingered in a file, Mom looked on with me. It was a list of names. Mom probably thought she might recognize some. I was almost snotty again, she was invading my space, nosing into my part of the operation. Instead, I just gritted my teeth, careful not to break one. Boy, it was hard not to be a twit.

The plan was to just go in to see what we could see, make sure we could navigate around, and then let Dad have at it. He watched to see that we were not eavesdropped on. What we could see was other files, some of which looked like lists, others could have been projects. There were folders, each of which contained folders entitled by individual names: politicians’ names. Most of them, but not all, were American. A quick look inside a couple of those appeared to contain social media posts. Some looked to be videos, videos that I would not play in the library. Another folder was different. I thought it might have been ransomware stuff.

But I’d seen enough. And so had Mom. We let Dad have it for the rest of the hour. Then we went to eat and put me to bed. It was getting hard for me to keep my head up by the time we got back. I crashed in my clothes. Mom just took off my shoes and jacket. She laid down beside me and stroked my back. I’d rather she didn’t, but I wouldn’t ask her to stop for a million bucks. I was out in under a minute anyway.

I woke up hearing Mom and Dad’s muffled voices coming from the bathroom. I thought it was funny because I knew how small the room was. They were trying to figure out how to get to Berlin to get Mom a new passport, probably from the same guy that Dad was going to get one for me. I guess the Ukraine thing wouldn’t work as well for an adult. Anyway, they didn’t want to take me to Berlin. Dad said I would make it hard to run. That made me sad, thinking that I was slowing him down, that I was a hindrance. Mom took his side. That made me sad, too. Mom’s issue was what to do with me. They couldn’t leave me alone. Her “what if” about made me cry. I hate to say it, but I had feelings of resentment, that she was thinking about her own feelings of not being a good mother, a mother who wouldn’t be there to watch her son die. Later, when I’d given it some thought, I’m sure she meant for it to be that she didn’t want me to go on alone, without someone there to tell me that they loved me.

I spoke loud enough for them to hear me. “Mme Benoir can bring me soup. No one will come looking for me. She can call the Embassy if, you know. So, Mom can take me home.” (We’d long ago had the talk and agreed on cremation. No one wanted to look at mummified remains of a cancer ravaged kid.) “But that won’t happen. I promise. I’m the reason Mom’s here. Mom takes me back to the States. Squares things with Paul. Dad takes the stuff to his boss, whoever that is. After taking care of Dortch, that is.” I met Dad’s eyes. I knew it. I knew that was what he had in mind.

What I didn’t say, was that I was going to Minsk. I needed the IP addresses of their computers. And to see what computers those computers had been talking to.

I don’t know if it was my promise not to croak while they were gone, or the line about Mom taking my remains home, but they were both very accommodating after that. Not that they weren’t before, but you know what I mean. Mom would set it up with Mme Benoir. Dad wouldn’t be coming back here until after his business was done. He would come back before turning himself in, though, because, well, he just would. Mom and I would stay right here where no one but Mme Benoir knew where we were. Anyway, we had a real nice view of the mountains. And with enough sugar, Mme Benoir’s coffee was good. Too bad I would acquire a taste for it after it was practically too late. I know somewhere there’s a chunk-head that would sigh and say, “Ah, such is life.” Maybe for them.

Mom hoped to be back in four days, five max. Dad didn’t know. He’d had a better look at the drive. Him knowing the language no doubt helped. But he didn’t have any answers for me. And I remembered the part about not asking questions.

My worst issue was Mme Benoir. I had to convince her not to call the Embassy after I left.

“Mme Benoir,” I said as if I was an executive speaking to my secretary. “I will be going to The Top of Europe in about an hour.”

Mom and Dad had just left after a leisurely breakfast. There was no particular hurry, and they figured to let the work traffic and busy travelers clear out first.

Mme Benoir lowered her head and gave me a stink eye, an eye of “Oh yeah? We’ll just see about that. That does not at all comport with what your parents asked of me.” She didn’t say it, though.

Keeping my air of superiority over the matter, I said, “I have met a young woman, Eva.”

Mme Benoir smiled a devilish grin. Her eyes twinkled. But she wanted to hear what a thirteen-year-old kid had to say about love, was my guess; so she didn’t say anything.

“She offered me a gift.” It was embarrassing. I said it like a whiny plea and it wasn’t even a request.  

Mme Benoir couldn’t help herself. “A gift?” She knew exactly what I was talking about. Her eyes, held mine but only after a quick dance southward.

“Yes.” I was the boss again. “And what man can refuse a beautiful woman such an offer of altruism?” I threw that in there in order to properly continue the role.

“And how old is this beautiful, young woman?” Mme Benoir asked.

“Sixteen,” I blurted. “We met on the train. She is a woman.” I said this expecting Mme Benoir to understand that this made-up person, Eva, was experienced and fully understood my condition and was behaving perfectly normally, finding me attractive, and no one wanted to die before… well, you know. “Surely, you understand, Mme Benoir." I restrained myself from giving her the little universal wrist flip that said “go away.”

“Perhaps, I should go wiz Master Ohmie, to assist wiz matters of such, uh… privacy?”

She was playing with me. I could feel it. Her mouth didn’t laugh, or even smile, but her eyes were roaring with hilarity.

I embellished my lie. “Eva has an apartment.”

“Ah, an apartment.”

By this time, I really didn’t know if Mme Benoir believed me, or not. But I was committed. I did it. I gave her the little wave-away. “Half past nine, Mme Benoir. Will you call me a taxi? Thank you.” Another wave of dismissal.

She didn’t dismiss so easily. “Master Ohmie, I have a concern for your health. Are you sure you are…?”

“I am, Mme Benoir. Shall I perform pushups? I’ll do twenty pushups right now.”

Mme Benoir chuckled. I was glad that she hadn’t called my bluff.

“I will call you when I get there. And again when I begin my return. I promise, Mme Benoir.”

I hugged her and kissed her cheek. I think that was what sold it; though I doubt she believed I was going to be blessed with a gift.

She made bacon sandwiches for me and said that if I didn’t call, she would call the Embassy and tell them everything. I was good with that.