Алма Катсу - Red Widow

Herbert steps forward with enough power and authority to make Eric turn and stalk away. She flashes her credentials at the scarred man. “My name is Special Agent Sally Herbert and I’m with the Counterintelligence Division of the FBI. Dmitri Tarasenko, I’m arresting you and your accomplices for espionage against the government of the United States.”

There’s only one way they would know his name and he’s figured it out in a flash. He turns in Theresa’s direction; his face is a frenzy of anger. He bares his teeth in a nanosecond of animal impulse. She steps more fully in front of her son so that he can’t see the hatred directed against her. “Izmennick,” he hisses. Traitor.

Then he turns back to Herbert, struggling to get his anger under control. His hand reaches for his breast pocket.

“Hands where we can see them,” one of the FBI agents says, lifting his weapon.

The fingers gingerly pluck a document from the pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am with the foreign ministry. Let me show you my passport. I have diplomatic immunity—”

The rest of the FBI team has surrounded the other Russian, who has raised his hands. “We’ll contact your embassy, but in the meantime, I’ve got a witness willing to testify that you attempted to suborn her to commit treason,” Herbert says. “We’re taking you to FBI headquarters.” Hands fall on Tarasenko’s shoulders as they pivot him toward the door.

He jerks hard, trying to shake them off. “This is absurd! I demand you contact my embassy immediately…” This is an act; he was trained long ago in what to expect and how to act if he was ever caught.

“As soon as we get you to headquarters,” she says. “But if you don’t come quietly, we’re going to have to cuff you.” At that, he stops resisting. She nods toward the door for the agents to hustle him out. Now that the scarred man is no longer fighting them, the second man follows easily with no need for manhandling, which is good because he’s as big as a refrigerator.

As soon as Tarasenko is out the door, Eric wheels around, jabbing a finger in Theresa’s direction. He’s going to try to salvage some victory. “What about her? Shouldn’t you arrest her, too? After all, she committed treason. She passed classified information to the Russians. We have proof. That’s still a violation of the law, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve always been led to believe.”

Theresa seethes but doesn’t react. She knows better. They’re not going to get into a shouting match here, in front of the FBI or her son. She reaches down and lifts Brian, letting him press his face into her shoulder. “I’m taking Brian upstairs. I don’t want him here for this.”

Herbert nods as she holsters her weapon. She stands between Eric and the staircase, nearly as tall as he. “Ms. Warner is cooperating with us, Mr. Newman. The provisions of that cooperation have already been approved by the district attorney handling the case. Ms. Warner is free on her own recognizance until a judge decides otherwise.”

The news almost knocks Eric backward off his feet. His face is nearly white with fury. He throws his hands in the air. “Why wasn’t I informed of this? It’s my office. The secrets she stole are my responsibility. That woman is a traitor, and you’ve made a deal with her?” He seems to remember in that moment that there is someone else he can pivot to, someone else to deflect the attention, and he looks for Lyndsey. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? You knew, didn’t you?”

As angry as she is with Eric, and as guilty as she knows he is, Lyndsey knows not to confront Eric. She must trust that there will be an investigation. She doesn’t want to mess it up with an errant word, not when they’re so close.

Herbert proves she has ice water in her veins. She looks past Eric to nod at a pair of agents, who step up to Eric, flanking him like sentries. “You’re going to have to come with us, too, Mr. Newman, for questioning in regard to your role—”

“What?” Eric jerks away from the hand that falls on his shoulder, and skitters backward out of their grasp. If Tarasenko’s fury was an act, Eric’s is not. “My role? You must be joking! This is ridiculous—”

“You’re Ms. Warner’s supervisor, aren’t you?” Herbert asks. “I’d think you’d want to cooperate.”

“Of course, but… This is CIA business. I’ll answer to an internal investigation but there’s nothing I can say to you. It’s classified…”

“Let me assure you, Mr. Newman, that I’ve been read into all the compartments germane to this investigation. We’ve briefed your seventh floor. Patrick Pfeifer authorized everything we’ve done. Now, you can come with us voluntarily or I can take you into custody.”

That’s the moment when Eric realizes it’s all over. Everything he’s schemed for, everything he wanted. The men in the ivory tower know what he’s done. Those traitors, they talked to the FBI behind his back, without doing him the courtesy of talking to him first. This would never happen to guys at the top. Or to Richard. But Eric is not one of them and now, he never will be, and it was a colossal mistake to think he was. There’s nothing more to say.

He quiets, perhaps realizing that it wouldn’t look good to resist. He lets the agents lead him away, though not before giving Lyndsey a piercing glare. She figured out his secret but, unlike Cassidy, refused to keep it. You were in on this, weren’t you? Even you. I can’t trust anyone.

Herbert watches Eric leave with her men. To Lyndsey, she says, “You did the right thing. Though I know it was really difficult.”

What will people at CIA say when this comes out? How many will side with her and how many will decide she’s a traitor for not circling the wagons to protect her fellow officers? She might never be trusted again with a special operation because she didn’t cover up what Eric had done. She may have torpedoed what was left of her career.

Herbert is looking at her cell phone and frowning. “My director wants me to brief him in person. Now. I’m going to need to head off.” Lyndsey nods. “It’ll take a few hours before we’re ready to question Tarasenko. You should join us. Call my office when you arrive and I’ll send someone to escort you.”

There’s nothing left to do but to check on Theresa.

The trip to the second floor of Theresa’s house is longer and steeper than she remembers, or maybe it’s because she is suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline high has worn off. The stress of the past twenty-four hours has caught up to her. At the top, a wedge of dim light from Brian’s room spills across the hall. She catches the murmur of low voices, mother and child.

She gives a two-knuckle rap on the door before she steps in. Theresa sits on the bed holding Brian, her chin resting on the top of his head. He looks much younger than his seven years. They hold each other: they are all the other has.

Theresa looks up at her.

“I’m going now. There will be a police unit in front to watch the house tonight.” Lyndsey is merely reminding her. Herbert went through this beforehand, how they don’t think Theresa has anything to fear from the Russians, not right away in any case, but they would leave police protection in place until they have a sense of how the Russians are going to react. Right now, there’s a jumble of vehicles in front of the house and they’ll likely remain there for hours gathering evidence.

Theresa nods as she strokes her son’s head.

“The FBI took Eric in. They have… questions.”

Theresa’s eyebrows shoot up, but she keeps mum in front of Brian. The boy knows him, after all. He’s been in their house. Daddy’s friend.