Se7en Deadly SEALs: Season 1

Episode 49

Once back at Grant's place, I considered flushing the drugs down the toilet. I sure as hell didn't need them. Instead I stashed them in a secret pocket in my luggage. Maybe they could be used for some type of evidence.

I sat on Grant's bed, attempting to quiet my mind. He'd left in such a hurry, I wondered what he was up to. He'd told me he was going to the compound, but I didn't believe him for a second.

My phone lit up, and Roman's name flashed across the screen. Finally, I would have at least some of the answers to this puzzle.

"Privet."

"I have results. Are you sitting down?" Roman's voice sounded stern, serious.

I took a deep breath. "Yes. Am I right? Is Julián my nephew?"

He paused, and for a second I thought I'd lost the call. "Hello? Roman? Are you there?"

"I am here. He is not your nephew."

My heart sank. "Are you sure, I mean—"

"Listen. Ksyushen'ka, zaika, Julián is not the son of Joaquín. There is no match with him. I've run the test several times with different samples you have give to me. I have question for you. Have you ever had a child? A boy?"

What kind of question was that? How was that any of his business? "Why are you asking me that?"

"Just answer it to me."

"Yes, I did. What does this have to do with Julián?"

"The child ... he is your son."

What the fuck? A wave of nausea hit me. "No, no, you must be wrong! Did the lab mix up my sample with Joaquín's?"

Roman spoke with an urgent tone. "There was no mistake. Listen to me. I know nothing about you, not even your real name. You ask of me to help. I do not know what you are involved with or who you are involved together with, but the boy, he is your child. Your son. Where is the boy now?"

"He's dead!" My breaths became labored, and I started to panic. No. It couldn't be. My chest tightened. Elías was dead. The doctors told me they had done everything they could but were unable to revive him. It had all happened so fast, I was still recovering from my C-section and drugged up, and they had come in the room shoving forms in my face and telling me my son had died.

"You gave me sample of his hair. Where did you find him?"

God, I couldn't breathe. "No. No, you don't understand. My son died!"

"No, Ksyenka. He is very much alive."

"You must be mistaken. He couldn't be. He can't be my son!"

"He is."

My hand shook so violently the phone slipped, and I almost dropped it. How? How was my son still alive? This couldn't even be possible. There had to be another explanation.

Unless he was taken from the hospital.

No! That was impossible. He was given a bracelet with my social security number! I had a matching one. That was what they told me. They'd given me his bracelet ... hadn't they? I couldn't think. I tried to remember, but it was all a fog. Just flashes of sound, of papers, of that woman...the nurse. I couldn't remember her name. She told me my son was gone. I remember her face, it was cold and uncaring, as if she were shutting herself away from the pain any woman would feel for a new mom who had lost her baby. My mind latched on to that. She was cold. Uncaring. I didn't know her name.

She hadn't given me a bracelet ... she had taken mine.

Was she a nurse?

¡Ay, dios mío!

Julián was Elías? My son was alive. I had to go get him. I had to tell Grant.

In my haze, another question popped in my head. "But this doesn't make sense. Joaquín is my biological brother, my flesh and blood. How can he have no DNA match to Julián? His sample must've been wrong."

"The sample is fine, it is accurate. This is second test. Ksyushen'ka. I tested the hair from the brush and from an envelope he sent you. You left it here. Both of the samples of his had the same DNA but neither of them matched the boy's. I wanted to be certain, so I compared his DNA against yours. DNA does not lie. It can only mean one truth."

He continued to speak, but I did not comprehend his words. My mind raced through the millions of images of Joaquín and me as kids. Every memory I had from childhood had Joaquín in it.

But it didn't matter.

After a few seconds, the realization hit me.

Roman was right. There was no other explanation.

If Julián was my son, then Joaquín was not my brother.

Then who the fuck was he?