Алма Катсу - Red Widow

“The seventh floor changed its mind?”

“This is a different director. Chesterfield wants to do the right thing. What’s more, they have someone to trade who’s important to the Russians. And it will get our new asset back to Moscow at the same time. What’s not to like?” Claiborne’s shrug is playful. “So, let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. We’ll see if it works.”

“What about Theresa? Has anyone told her?”

Claiborne shakes her head. “Not yet. They thought it was better not to get her hopes up until it’s official.”

There it is again, the paternal attitude that rubs the wrong way. As though Theresa Warner doesn’t know how capricious these things can be. Like Richard’s return should be a gift. You don’t want to spoil the surprise. “Wouldn’t it be better if she knew the Agency was trying to free her husband, rather than to keep her in the dark?”

Claiborne suppresses a grimace. “I see what you mean… Let’s put it this way: if someone were to tell her informally I don’t think that would be a problem. Understood?”

She will drive out there to deliver the news in person. “Thank you.”

“So… Should I take this to mean you’ll stay? You know, if you’re going to be Tarasenko’s handler, you might need to be stationed overseas. Maybe we can arrange for you to live in London. Would you like that?” Is that a wink Claiborne gives her? Her informal permission to see Davis.

Lyndsey looks back through the one-way glass. There sits the Butcher of Tskhinvali, laughing amicably with the tech ops officer, pretending that we’re all friends, that he is just another guy. Doesn’t think twice about all the blood on his hands.

He won’t be anything like Yaromir Popov. Not at all. He will be a test of all her abilities as a case officer.

But after everything she’s gone through with this case, she feels a powerful urge to see it through to the end.

She nods.

Lyndsey opens a bottle of prosecco. Maybe she should’ve sprung for champagne, but she feels superstitious and is afraid it might jinx things.

The plan had been to go over to Theresa’s house tonight, but Theresa called that afternoon and asked if they could meet at Lyndsey’s apartment instead. She was on her way back from her aunt’s vacation cottage at Lake Anna, where she’d just dropped off Brian. He would get away from the house and the neighbors’ stares for a few days, and Theresa would be free for the inevitable meetings with Justice Department and CIA Security. “Is it okay if I come over? I’d rather not face an empty house right now.”

Lyndsey putters around the apartment but, unsurprisingly, there is little tidying up to do. The apartment still shows few signs of occupancy. Sorting through the clothes she’s tossed onto the bedroom floor, she resolves to get her life together. She’ll find a new place to live, a real place. She’ll buy furniture and a car.

Because pretty soon, she’ll have a whole new life, too. She’s getting her career back which, despite her misgivings, is a huge relief. It’s like she’s getting her old life back, but different. She’ll be back in Russia Division, true, but if things go well with Tarasenko, she could move overseas again to be closer to him. In any case, it means returning to a target she understands, having familiar ground under her feet. Not being left to fend for herself the way she was in Lebanon.

Then there’s Kim Claiborne. It may be too early to come to any conclusions, but she seems like a good leader. It’s hard to know; it might just be wishful thinking, self-deception as an act of self-preservation. But each interaction with her has felt right and at this stage, at least, Lyndsey is willing to give it a chance.

There’s a sharp knock at the door. Theresa stands in a red trench coat, cinched tightly at the waist, a bottle in her hand. Prosecco. Lyndsey accepts it with a smile: they’ve even come to think alike.

Lyndsey leads the way to the living room. “How is Brian?”

Theresa kicks off her shoes and sinks into the sofa. “Hopefully, a few days at the lake will bring him around. He’s shaken up, of course. I can only hope he won’t be scarred for life.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s strong. At least he’s not going to live in a different country.”

Theresa hides her face in her hands and groans. “I can hardly believe I was going to go through with it! The things we do when we’re desperate… I hope to never be that desperate again in my life.”

Lyndsey hands her a glass of prosecco. “What’s next? Have they given you any idea…?”

“They have to file charges, but the U.S. Attorneys office is going to recommend that the charges be dropped. My clearance has been pulled, of course,” she says with a sigh, leaning back into the cushions. “At the moment, I’m on administrative leave while they decide what they’re going to do, but if they just fire me and there are no other repercussions, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

They do not discuss Kyle Kincaid. He came out of the coma and is undergoing tests. It is too soon to tell what the consequences will be for Theresa, whether Kincaid will tell the police what happened. He’s not entirely innocent, either. The Agency’s investigators have not been able to speak with him, however.

“What will you do?” What does a disgraced spy do for work? Will Theresa be able to get another job? You’d think it would be a big black mark on your permanent record, like a dishonorable discharge from the military.

“We could move away from here. I can’t help but think this won’t seem as bad if I can just get away from D.C.” Lyndsey also feels this way, that all this cloak and dagger stuff becomes less and less important the more miles you put between yourself and Washington. “My house is worth a lot, thanks to the location. We could live quite nicely off that in another part of the country. Then there’s Richard’s car. Did you know a man chastised me once for driving it to work? He said it was downright reckless of me. I could sell it. That’s Brian’s college fund, right there.”

It seems a good opportunity to break the news to Theresa. Lyndsey has to be careful: she doesn’t want to get Theresa’s hopes up prematurely. The seventh floor has blessed the prisoner exchange but it’s far from a done deal. It could still be derailed.

Lyndsey pours more prosecco into Theresa’s glass, smiling. “Oh, I don’t know about that—Richard might just want it back.”

It takes a minute for Theresa to put it together, but once she does, her eyes cloud with tears. “Are you saying there’s a chance?”

“Chesterfield gave the okay. I think they’ve got it all lined up on the U.S. side. Now it’s up to the Russians. I can’t imagine they won’t agree. They must want to put this debacle behind them.”

For a long moment, Theresa cannot move. She seems to be paralyzed with hope and fear. Then she shakes her head, brushing aside tears. They clink glasses.

She tells Theresa, too, that she will become Tarasenko’s handler. “You know him best. What advice do you have for me?”

Theresa puts down her glass. “I wouldn’t say I know him well at all. We only met a few times. Still… I wouldn’t trust him, Lyndsey. Be careful.”

“It’s meant to be a limited relationship. He’s going to help us get Morozov—that’s it.”

A scowl ruins Theresa’s lovely face. “Morozov. Look at everything CIA has done to try to get him. They paid informants, they’ve gone through all the ‘official’ channels… All the people who’ve died, and it’s all been for nothing. And if they do get him, what then? Will it be worth it?” Theresa is bitter and Lyndsey doesn’t blame her: Eric was willing to sacrifice her and turn her whole world upside down in order to bring him in. Is it worth going to such extremes for revenge?