The Kiss That Saved The World

The Choice Between Love and Family

“You can’t be serious?” demanded Mrs. Wilcox.

“I’ve made up my mind,” answered her daughter, Claire-Marie.

“But, think of the family.”

This moment had been coming. Mrs. Wilcox treated the subject of Jon as a brief infatuation by Claire-Marie. A short side trip into the forbidden territory before marriage. This affair was something to be avoided or kept to a discreet minimum. Then the right man would place her back into acceptable social traditions. Mrs. Wilcox could forgive Claire-Marie of the indiscretion of curiosity. But, this affair had gone on too long.

Claire-Marie knew this "wrong man" was the right man. No one had ever challenged her before. Life had been a free pass to success. Then Jon appeared out of nowhere and pointed out that her scientific thinking was off-course. In those first days of the relationship, it became clear to Claire-Marie that Jon could see patterns in research findings no one else noticed. Especially in her work. He brought out the best of her abilities and pointed her towards prime areas in bio-medicine where her work could heal people and save thousands of lives.

Jon was rough looking. He wore battered jeans, an old tee-shirt, and no-name sneakers with holes. She wore expensive designer jeans, silk blouses, and designer shoes. Her makeup was perfect. She towered a good six inches in height over him. Every inch of heel she wore made the difference even more apparent. He was frequently unshaven and smelled like, well, like a man. They were of different faiths and economic backgrounds. Many of their common interests were contrasting. And, yet, he had a clarity of scientific vision that complimented her work perfectly. Together, there was no genetic engineering frontier they could not conquer.

There was something else. Jon was real. Unlike the spoiled rich boys she had flirted with, Jon was a product of his struggles. No pretense, no attempt to fit expectations, and no overwhelming pride. She doubted he could tell a lie when every young man she had ever met always told lies. Was she falling for this man?

Claire-Marie stormed out of the reading room of her family’s house in New Orleans. Her mother followed.

“Have your fling if you like, but don’t marry him and ruin your life,” she begged.

“This conversation is over, Mother!”

"No, it is not!" shouted Mrs. Wilcox.

Claire-Marie knew what was coming next. She knew it would happen when she first announced her decision to marry Jon. She had not first thought when she blurted it out over the phone. She, herself, had been caught off-guard. Here was a young man of which she knew nothing. He challenged her work as incomplete. They argued for several hours, discussed intensely for another hour, and then intelligently explored common ground until she had to admit he was correct. For the first time in her life, she was wrong about herself.

She did not fall in love with Jon during that first night. Instead, something more profound had occurred. When Claire-Marie graduated from High School, she was dating William T. W. McConnell. Will was tall, dark, handsome, with shocking blue-eyes. Every girl in school wanted to be with him. He had a prominent family; he was endlessly charming and always smiling. Every girl dreamed of having him release them from the torture of virginity. However, it was Claire-Marie that got the honor that night.

He was careful, considerate, and highly skilled in making love. Every moment was like a dream. He started by reading her poetry. William covered the bed with rose petals. He took his time and explored different ways to please her. When it was over, Claire-Marie felt the moment had been perfect. It was everything she dreamed and imagined it would be.

And, that turned out to be the problem.

All that night, back at her own home, she lay awake confused. It was perfect, so why does she have this odd feeling. It was a problem she was unable to solve until late one night in a small diner in Ann Arbor. Jon was the opposite of perfect. The connection he made was genuine. Will's love-making had been perfect, and that's all. Nothing to think about, no challenge. Jon challenged her. Jon won. And, as she realized that night, Jon had the missing piece to her life. With him by her side, her research would become the building blocks of a new world. She would go from being adored and fawned over, to being significant. Something authentic.

“If you go through with this, he will never be allowed into this house,” Mrs. Wilcox cried out as Claire-Marie ran crying back to her childhood bedroom.

#

Mikhail Sorge entered through the back door into the Central Security Bureau building in Moscow. He was a rising star of the security apparatus of the Russian state. Son of a high ranking KGB official, trained in interrogation by both the Americans and the British, he was well known for getting the truth out of any suspect. And today’s suspect was of great interest to his boss.

Mikhail Sorge was met inside the building by two senior security officers. They nodded greetings.

“Have you learned anything from him?” Mikhail asked.

The taller man handed him a thick folder and replied, “Nothing. He refuses to speak. We have been at him for two straight days.”

Mikhail Sorge stopped long enough to glance at the summary page just inside the folder. Sergei Toplov was twenty-nine years old and worked as one of the top scientists in the genetics research program run by the Ministry of Defense. The highly secret group was working on ways to improve everything from medicine to making better soldiers. Up until a few days ago, he had been a model worker. Then a sample of a virus had been found missing. The authorities asked questions and records searched. After the project scientists were questioned, only Sergei had clammed up. That made him suspect number one, and the Ministry wanted to know where the virus had gone.

Mikhail Sorge closed the file and looked at the two men. “Put me in a room with the suspect for two hours. Do not tape or observe. I will get answers.”

The two officers looked at each other with skepticism. All interrogations were to be recorded and observed through one-way glass. But, the orders to let this particular man talk to the suspect had come straight from Putin. They were not about to risk their careers.

A few minutes later, Mikhail Sorge was ushered into a meeting room in the basement, previously used for deep interrogation during the Soviet era. No glass window or tape recorders here. Back then, they did not want to leave evidence of what happened in that room.

Inside the room, a very distressed looking Sergei Toplov sat tied to a chair behind a large wooden table featuring a historical collection of cigarette burn marks. Mikhail glanced at the man and shook his head. He turned to his escort and nodded a signal to close the door to leave them alone. Mikhail Sorge dragged the only other chair in the room over to the table where he could face the prisoner. He threw the file on the table and looked Sergei in the eyes. He paused for a moment for effect. Then Mikhail went to work.

"Sergei, I will make a deal with you. The people here think I need two hours alone with you for a full interrogation. I know you don't want to talk. That suits me fine. I would like to take a nap." With that, Mikhail leaned back his head and closed his eyes.

Sergei Toplov stared in bewilderment at this man. Without thinking, he blurted out, "What?"

“Please, don’t talk,” said Mikhail. “There is no need to talk. I already know what you did. I know about your relationship with the American scientist Jon Armstrong, how you both attended the Vienna conference, how you placed the vial on the elevator, and how Jon made off with the contents.”

“But,” Sergei started to say.

“No, no. No talking. I wish to sleep. I have already filled out the report and will submit it later today. These fools outside think that pounding a person with questions is how you get information. I don’t believe in such methods. I like to get the answers before I talk to a suspect.” Mikhail’s eyes were still closed.

Sergei blinked rapidly in confusion.

Mikhail Sorge yawned. “I reviewed the security tapes from the hotel that hosted the conference. You two took pains not to meet during three days of meetings. The only place your paths crossed was the elevator, about two minutes apart. He even refused an elevator to make sure he got in the right one. I do this for a living. You didn’t fool anyone.”

Sergei started to protest, but Mikhail Sorge shushed him and then drifted off to sleep.

Two hours later, Mikhail woke, picked up the folder, and walked out of the room. In the hallway, he spoke to the two waiting officers. "I have everything you need to file charges. The report will be on your desk in one hour. He confessed to everything."

Before the officers could respond, he added, “I need a secure telephone.”

Mikhail Sorge was taken up four floors to the secure communications room. There he dialed a number he had memorized. He didn't know who would answer. Mikhail would likely do all of the talking. After a few rings, the phone clicked on. No greeting offered. Mikhail reported.

“The vial was picked up by the missing American scientist, Jon Armstrong. High probability he passed it on to his wife. They must be found.”

Silence, then the other party hung up. Mikhail had finished his work.