Page 19 of 107 Days

Evan Gershkovich and Paul Whelan were on the move.

The complex diplomatic effort that spanned six countries and involved the biggest prisoner exchange since the Cold War was forged of international friendships, the tattered relationships that Joe Biden and I had painstakingly mended after Trump had shredded them in his first term.

This result was a product of exactly the kind of skilled diplomacy that Trump and Vance, in their deep and willful ignorance, scorned.

Evan and Paul were out of prison, along with fourteen other political prisoners.

With the Russians there was always the risk of a last-minute hitch, so we waited anxiously until we had news they were in safe airspace, in flight to Turkey.

From there, they’d be flown home to America.

Joe Biden had the happy task of alerting their next of kin.

I called Yulia Navalnaya. I’d met and spent time with her in Munich.

Her husband, Alexei, should have been on that plane.

She is an immensely strong and courageous person, but I knew this day would be hard.

On the call, I said that while we couldn’t bring her husband home to her, I promised we would do our utmost to keep his dream of a free Russia alive.

Then I left for Fallbrook Church, to celebrate the life of my friend Sheila Jackson Lee.

From 1995, she represented the people of Houston in Congress with exceptional tenacity.

President Clinton joked that her name was on the shortest list in his White House—the “Just Say Yes” list, because you knew she was one of the people who would never stop until she got the thing she wanted from you.

So, you might as well say yes right from the get-go.

After the service, at the Houston airport, I was able to speak to the traveling press about the good news that Russia’s unlawful detentions and mockery of justice were finally over.

We landed at Joint Base Andrews. The plane carrying Evan and Paul was not due to arrive there till almost midnight, so I went home, changed out of my funeral attire, did a couple of hours’ work, and then headed back to greet them.

The president and I spent those few joyful minutes on the tarmac with the families who had waited in anguish for so long.

Paul Whelan, who had been incarcerated the longest, was first down the aircraft steps.

As I stood by, the president got so involved in the delighted reunion between Paul and his family that he didn’t notice Evan stepping off the plane.

There was an awkward moment for Evan as he stood uncertainly at the base of the steps, alone, a bemused expression on his face: What about me?

The minute I noticed, I walked forward, arms outstretched.

He broke into a big grin. He was finally home.