Free Crash Dive: An Alex Hawke Story by Ted Bell

too.”
    “Yes. I was sure of it.”
    “Alex. Please. End this. For both of us. It’s unbearable, really, these horrible memories. We should be happy. We are both alive, as you said. And we have a child together. The most beautiful little boy in all the world. He looks exactly like you, my darling. He even smiles like you, which will of course get him into no end of trouble when he learns how to use it.”
    Hawke lifted his head and smiled, really smiled, for the first time in memory. “What did you call him?”
    “Alexei.”
    “Alexei. It’s perfect.”
    “I thought so, too.” She looked down, gazing at him with her perfect smile, and for a moment he lived once more in the bright green worlds of her eyes.
    “How old is he now?”
    “Almost three. His birthday is tomorrow. We’ll have a little birthday party.”
    “Where is he? May I see him?”
    “Of course. He is up in the nursery playing with his toy soldiers. I’ve told him that his father was here to see him. He’s very excited. He asked me what a father was and I told him.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said a father is a tall, handsome man. Very strong and very brave. A good man, true and full of life and beauty.”
    Hawke got to his feet and held out his hand. “It’s all a miracle. Let’s go and see him now.”
    “He’s coming here. Nurse is bringing him. I’ve only to call.”
    Hawke smiled as she picked up the receiver next to the divan and spoke a few brief words in Russian.
    A lexei and his English nurse appeared at the library door a few minutes later. When the door swung open, the little dark-haired boy peeked out from behind his nurse’s skirts and stared wide-eyed at Alex for a few long moments, then ran to his mother’s arms, hiding his face in the folds of her skirt. He was dressed like a little prince, which, in some respects, he was. The late Tsar’s grandson wore a suit of dark blue velvet, with a ruffled white collar at the neck. His shoes were black patent leather with small black satin bows.
    “Good morning, sir,” the attractive young nurse said, with a slight curtsy and a very proper British accent.
    Anastasia gestured at Hawke as she said to the child, “Alexei, that is your father standing over there beside the fire. He’s come a very long way just to see you. You must be on your very best behavior. Show him what good manners you have. Can you say hello?”
    The child peeked out at Hawke for a second or two, then hid his face once more in the folds on his mother’s skirts. Hawke went to him and dropped to a knee on the floor beside his son.
    “Alexei?” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Alexei?”
    The boy responded to the voice and touch and turned to stare silently at Hawke, seemingly memorizing every curve and plane of his face. Alexei’s eyes were big and blue and lively. He seemed totally unafraid of the tall stranger now. Hawke was shocked to see a very small version of himself. It was the face he’d seen in scrapbooks his own mother had kept, little Alex building castles by the sea, little Alex on his pony, little Alex reading a picture book.
    “Does he speak English?” Hawke asked, his eyes never leaving his son.
    “Almost as well as he speaks Russian. We’ve been teaching him both since he first learned to talk,” the young English nurse said, and then she slipped silently from the room.
    “Hello,” Hawke said, reaching up and lightly stroking the boy’s plump cheek, lit to a lovely flame, the flush on the face of a child after a warm bath on a cold evening. Alexei turned to hide his eyes again, then, seeing his nurse gone, turned back to stare openly at this person called a “father.”
    “Say hello, Alexei,” Anastasia said. “Say hello to your father. Wherever have you put your manners?”
    “Hello,” the child chirped. “Hello, hello, hello.”
    “How old are you?” his father asked.
    He looked shyly at Hawke for a moment, then raised his chubby pink hand,