Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [115]
Julia thought about that. It made sense in a strange way. "All right. Let's say that's true. What about now? Why has someone broken into my apartment as well as Alex's place? Why would they want me dead now?; It's been twenty-five years, and I don't even know who I am, much less who they are."
Charles clasped his hands together as he rested his elbows on the table. "Your parents made their plans very carefully. For two years they plotted how to leave Russia. It was rumored that they had something valuable to sell, something priceless that would provide them with enough money to live on once they were granted asylum here."
"What was that something?"
"I wasn't cleared for that kind of classified information, so I don't know."
"How could my parents have had something priceless in communist Russia during the Cold War?" Julia tried to remember what she'd learned in world history in high school. "Who were they?"
"Your mother, Natalia-"
"Natalia? That was her name?" A distant memory flashed in Julia's head, a man calling impatiently for Natalia.
"Yes, Natalia Markov. And your father's name was Sergei." Charles paused. "Natalia was a featured ballerina at the Bolshoi Ballet. She was the third-generation ballet dancer in the family. Natalia's grandmother, Tamara Slovinsky, danced for the Imperial Court before the revolution. She was in so much favor that she received many valuable presents, jewels, paintings, antiques. It was believed that Tamara managed to hang on to some of those presents, secreting them away or perhaps getting them out of the country. Tamara's husband was Ivan Slovinsky, a famous composer who fled to France during the revolution."
"Oh, my God! Are you serious?" Julia asked in amazement. "I've studied Ivan Slovinsky. He wrote an incredible number of operas and ballets at the turn of the century. His music was powerful, awe-inspiring. He was truly gifted, and he was my…" She had to think for a moment to calculate the relationship. "He was my great-grandfather?"
"Yes."
"I can't believe it." She turned to Alex in excitement. "Maybe that's where I got my love of music. I've always wondered why I feel such passion for any kind of melody when no one else in my family cares even a little about it."
Alex smiled at her. "It makes sense now."
"What about my father?" she asked Charles, impatient to hear the rest. "Was he also in music or ballet?"
"No, your father, Sergei Markov, was a high-ranking party member and a loyal communist until he fell in love with Natalia. Then he became disenchanted with the government. He could see that Natalia's career could be so much greater if she went to America. Apparently he had information that he was willing to share with our government if he and Natalia were granted asylum here."
"So the Russians killed them before they could leave," Julia said slowly. "That's what happened, isn't it? Did anyone investigate?"
"The Russian government blamed the explosion on faulty wiring. It was considered a tragic accident. They had the last word."
"This is just mind-boggling. I can't wrap my brain around it all." She thought for a moment, trying to make sense of everything Charles had told her. "My mother was a ballerina. I thought about taking ballet once, but Mom-Sarah-wouldn't let me. She always had a reason why she couldn't sign me up."
"Sarah didn't want you to dance," Charles interjected. "She was afraid you might grow up to be like your mother, that someone would eventually make the connection between you."
"Which is probably why she also discouraged me from pursuing my passion for music," Julia finished.
Sarah certainly had a lot to answer for. Only it was too late for her to give any of those answers.
"You can't tell anyone about any of this," Charles said. "If the people who killed your parents find out you know