I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys Read Free Book Online Page A

we saw in movies.
    While Dan retrieved the stamp, I scanned the room, making mental notes:
Second floor, large apartment. Desk beneath bedroom window. Desk lamp. Leather jacket on chair.
Bon Jovi poster. Dallas sports jersey. Rich godfather oil sponsor.
Music player labeled SONY WALKMAN . Stacks of cassette tapes.
Bookshelf with books and binders.
White sweatshirt with the word BENETTON . Several pairs of sports shoes, all different brands.
    In Bucharest, we had one shoe factory, Pionierul, so most people had similar, boring shoes. My eyes lingered on a pair of red, white, and black sports shoes. Puffy leather. I moved closer to make out the words:
    Air Jordan.
    “Here it is,” said Dan, interrupting my inventory.
    He brought over a sheet-block of four U.S. stamps.
    “The U.S. Postal Service released these this year. Dinosaurs. Butlook closely. This one’s labeled ‘brontosaurus’ but it’s an apatosaurus. They made a mistake, so it’s collectible. It could be worth a lot.”
    “The post office in America makes mistakes?”
    Dan nodded. He then tapped his chest and pointed to the ceiling.
    “Sometimes,” he said, increasing his volume. “But U.S. government agencies do their best.” He grinned and then directed his voice to the light fixture on the ceiling. “But boy, the U.S. could sure learn a lot from Romania!”
    He had a leather jacket, a Walkman, Air Jordans, and something else.
    Intel.
    Dan Van Dorn knew he was under surveillance.

15
CINCISPREZECE
    My breathing tripped and stumbled.
    Light fixtures on the ceiling. Were they bugged? Was ours bugged? Why hadn’t I thought of that? The light fixture made more sense than the telephone. You couldn’t put a pillow on the ceiling. How often did the Securitate access apartments to install devices?
    Voices filtered from the hallway.
    “I think your parents are home,” I said.
    I followed Dan out of his room. Mama stood in the foyer, speaking with Dan’s mother.
    “Hey, buddy.” Mr. Van Dorn gave a light punch to Dan’s shoulder. “And you must be Mioara’s son. What’s your name?”
    “Cristian. Pleased to meet you.”
    Mr. Van Dorn nodded slowly, evaluating me.
    “Nick Van Dorn. Pleased to meet you too. Your English . . . it sounds pretty good, Cristian.”
    The way he said it, there was hesitation—a question or curiosity behind it.
    “His English is definitely better than your Romanian, Dad.” Dan laughed. His mother made a comment, but not in English. She spoke another language to Dan.
    Mr. Van Dorn leaned in, sheepishly. “My Romanian’s pretty bad.My wife gets us by though. She’s got a gift for Romance languages.”
    I nodded. Mr. Van Dorn had done his homework. Some people assumed Romanian was a Slavic language because of our proximity to Slavic countries. But Romanian is a Romance language, like French or Italian. Bunu could speak all three.
    I remained quiet, casually trying to make note of things for Agent Paddle Hands.
    Van Dorn set his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Her fingers instinctively moved to join her husband’s. Their affection, it was natural, effortless, and absent the constant tension that surrounded my parents’ interactions. When was the last time my parents held hands? It sometimes felt like they tried to avoid each other at night and by morning, carried the fatigue of it.
    Mr. Van Dorn carried fatigue of a different sort. His blue suit was crisp, but he didn’t seem as well rested and smooth-faced as most Americans. He probably spent long hours at the U.S. Embassy and long nights with his wife. The way he casually kissed her fingers, it had the look of it.
    He caught me watching and hiked an eyebrow. I quickly looked away.
    The heat crawling up my neck, was it visible?
    Mr. Van Dorn turned to face me, his expression sincere. “It’s nice of you to walk your mother home. It’s rough in Bucharest at night, huh?” he asked.
    “No, it’s not rough.”
    He nodded. Extended eye contact. Evaluation. It felt so