Death of a Spy by Dan Mayland Page A

better schools—”
    “And if Lila never says she wants to be president she might even be able to attend them.”
    Daria was referring to an incident she and Mark had discussed, where a young student in Azerbaijan had been asked what he wanted to be when he grew up and he’d made the mistake of saying he wanted to be president. The student had been told there was only one president, and that the position was taken; the student’s parents had been taken to task for having raised a child to would dare utter such an effrontery. As a result of the attention, the child had been pulled from the school.
    “She’ll be in a private school. We’ll have better health care—”
    “People in Azerbaijan go to Iran for health care.”
    “Used to go to Iran. It’s getting better in Baku. A lot better. All the oil money, you know? They’re building a brand new hospital downtown, and the private clinics, a couple of them are great.” Then, sounding a little less flip and a little more annoyed, “I thought we’d talked about this.”
    “Yeah, we did.” But that had been a year ago, thought Daria. When moving to Baku had been a theoretical possibility instead of a real one.
    “I thought you said it wouldn’t be a big deal, that you could run your foundation from there.”
    Daria had never been crazy about Baku. It was a big city—over two million people—and surrounded by desert. But Baku was definitely more cosmopolitan than Bishkek and there was a ton more money sloshing around there, which meant far more modern amenities. She had no interest in patronizing the Gucci and Tiffany stores in downtown Baku, but figured it was a pretty safe bet that the mothers who did weren’t basting their baby’s asses with egg whites. And there was no denying that the health care system in Kyrgyzstan was abysmal. Before Lila, she hadn’t given it a second thought. She knew the risks—millions of people around the world dealt with lousy health care systems, she and Mark could too—but what if Lila got sick? Was it fair to put her at risk?
    What if they stayed in Bishkek and Lila got really ill in the months or years to come? If she suddenly spiked a high fever, where would they take her? Almaty was two hours away, across an international border.
    She imagined trips to the local pediatrician’s office in downtown Baku. It would be a clean and orderly place. Instead of an old man who reeked of vodka—she thought of the anesthesiologist who’d inspired her to elect for a natural childbirth—it would be a woman in a white coat who smiled.
    “Think they have Triple Paste diaper cream in Baku?” she asked. “It’s got lanolin in it. I want it.”
    “I’ll check.”
    “Either that or Desitin, the maximum-strength formulation, not the rapid relief one.”
    “OK.”
    “Baku will be great.” She didn’t really think that now, but she was hoping she would later, after she’d caught up on some sleep and didn’t have to worry about things like Kegel exercises and diaper rashes. “The news took me by surprise, and we’ll have to talk about the logistics of the move, but we’ll make it work. In the meantime, be safe.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Just remember, you’re a father now.”
    “I’ll call or e-mail when I can. But from here on out, figure I’m on field rules. Maybe I should have started them earlier, but this whole thing’s just kind of snowballed.”
    When Mark was on a job, he typically communicated with her only when absolutely necessary. He did it for the same reason that they’d both used complex anonymous corporate structures to register their respective professional enterprises, why Daria never allowed herself to be photographed with prospective donors to her foundation, why the last name on Lila’s birth certificate was Stephenson, and why she and Mark had alias documents in that name as well and had used that name when purchasing their apartment in Bishkek. It was all to create as secure a firewall as