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So, I say nothing, clasping my hands together between my knees as we race toward the dock where Danya’s submarine awaits.
Danya is messing with his phone the entire way, texting people and probably putting plans together for our stay.
At least he knows what to do. I’m still in a state akin to shock, just rolling along with whatever he demands we do.
And I trust him. That’s the only reason I haven’t started hyperventilating on the floor. Danya has proven to me that he’s trustworthy, even if I don’t always understand his reasoning. He wants to protect me.
When we arrive at the dock, Danya jumps out before me, speaking with a woman in a sleek blue suit so fast that I wouldn’t be able to understand him even if I knew Russian.
I climb out as she hands him a folder stuffed with papers, and he turns to me.
“Sign these,” he says.
I’m not sure what to make of any of this. Is it a waiver? I didn’t have to sign anything the first time we went to Antarctica.
“I-I don’t have a pen,” I say, taking the folder and opening it. “What is this?”
“The deed to your father’s uranium mines,” he replies. “You are granting my company permission to manage them for you.”
“Manage them?” I ask.
“Yes, not own. They are yours,” he assures me. “But you need to sign this so that I will be able to put my company in charge of the mines.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask as the woman in the blue suit hands me a pen.
Danya frowns. “You would prefer to run them?”
I wouldn’t in a million years know how to run a uranium mine, much less multiple of them scattered across the United States. It makes sense to trust Danya with this, especially since he’s never shown any indication of trying to screw me over.
Just my father.
I scribble my name on the line at the bottom of the first page of the packet, trying to hand it back to Danya.
“On page seven, as well,” he says.
I flip it back open, scribbling my name once again. The second I do, the woman in the blue suit takes it out of my hand, grabbing her pen and waving us goodbye. She ducks into a silver Mercedes and drives away.
“Who was that?” I ask, more than a little bewildered by what just happened.
“My lawyer. Don’t worry about it. I just need the uranium for the power plant in Antarctica. I can’t start mining for diamonds until I have it up and running,” he says, taking my hand and leading me from the car. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
I’m not sure I can do anything else. I’m caught up in a whirlwind of activities, unable to process the first before I’m rushed into the second and third.
Danya, on the other hand, seems to have already forgotten about the terrorist attack at the house and is back in business mode.
“I guess that makes sense,” I say cautiously.
“Perfect sense.”
“Sure...”
Danya and I go through the usual routine of suiting up in grey and taking a narrow ladder down into the heart of his nuclear submarine. The first time I was here, I hated being confined to such a small space, but this time, I feel as if I’ve entered into an iron cocoon, and I’m protected from the rest of the world.
I can’t believe I’m calling a submarine cozy!
I can tell Danya is trying to distract me as we leave the dock and start cruising toward the south pole. He’s offering me food and trying to get me to play chess with him. Maybe that’s his version of therapy – distract yourself from the trauma until you forget about it.
Except I don’t think I’m ever going to forget about what I’ve witnessed.
