Jason Matthews - Red Sparrow

Dominika spent most of the first night on her bed, looking at the ceiling. Then she had gone into Nate’s room to sit beside the bed, watching him sleep. She knew exactly what had happened. Uncle Vanya had tired of waiting for her to elicit the information about the American mole, had dispatched Matorin to solve the problem and protect his political flank. He apparently did not care that anyone in a room with Matorin was at mortal risk. Had he intended Matorin to eliminate her too? She was not sure, but for the moment she would assume the answer was yes. Another betrayal by Vanya and the navoznaja kucha, the dunghill of the Service.

She had told Bratok that she was not sure she wanted to continue spying. She was out of Russia, in the West, perhaps she would defect. Gable listened and softly told her to do what she thought was best. His aura was deep purple, he had no reason to be so serene, but she was glad.

Now it was the next night and late, the beacons on the microwave towers on the ridge of Ymittos the only pinpricks of light on the dark mass of the mountain until the orange streetlights of Zografos and Papagou. Forsyth and Benford sat in chairs while Dominika in a bathrobe lay on the couch so she could keep her leg elevated. She had heard Nate leaving the apartment earlier, but she didn’t come out to see him. Nate was gone.

Benford arrived late, insisting on coming straight to the safe house. He asked to read the account of the attack, said that the Office of Medical Services wanted the SVR auto-injector pens in the next pouch. In the car he had listened to Forsyth and muttered that speed was of the essence.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her. “Can you walk?” She stood up and walked around the couch. She ran her fingers over the stitches, same side as her broken foot; this leg was getting a lot of wear.

“Forgive me,” said Benford, “I need to know you can move around, because we have to go out on the street. You have to call Moscow.” Dominika winced as she sat down. Benford put a hand on her shoulder. “Take your time. I want to talk to you first.

“Domi, I need to know whether you are willing to continue the relationship we started in Helsinki. We need to know whether you’re willing to return to Moscow and work from there.”

“And if I am not?” she asked. “What will become of me?” She knew these men, but her trust in them—in everyone—had faded. They were professionals, they needed results, they answered to an organization that was also the Opposition. Benford and Forsyth were bathed in blue, their words were tinged with it. Sensitive, artistic, devious, they would work her in layers, she knew. Be careful.

“What will become of you is that I will fly you to the United States and you will meet with the Director, who will award you a medal and a bank draft with which you may buy a house in a location of your choice—subject to security review—from the comfort of which you can read about current developments in Russia and the world. You will be free of a life of secrets, of intrigue, deception, and danger.” Pulsing blue out of the top of his head.

Benford is so clever; I have met him once, yet he knows me, she thought. “And if I elect to continue working with you, what do you want me to do?”

“If you’re in, I would ask that you make a phone call,” said Benford, “to your uncle.” Forsyth was silent and watchful in the other chair, steady blue, she could trust him—a little, anyway.

“And the nature of the phone call?” asked Dominika, knowing they were leading her through one hedgerow after another. “What do you want to accomplish?”

“Forsyth told me a little about the fight in the hotel room,” said Benford. “And how you saved Nate’s life. I want to thank you for that.” He still had not answered her question.

“And the call to Moscow?” she asked.

“After all this drama, we need to pave the way for your return home. And to maximize the chances that you land a good job in the Center—assuming you agree to continue working.” Benford pulsed blue at her.

“If I return, General Korchnoi will ensure that I have a good position. He and I will make a strong team.”

“Of course, we’re counting on that,” said Benford. “But you must operate separately, stay in different orbits.” Dominika nodded. “And the day will come when you will have to carry on in his place.” Dominika nodded again.

“But to enable all this, you have to contact Yasenevo, an urgent call. You are worried, exhausted, you bribed someone, a veterinarian, a pharmacist, to sew up your leg. In your fatigue and anger you discard the basic rules about speaking openly over the phone. The Center’s Spetsnaz assassin nearly killed you. Young Nash luckily prevailed. It’s important they think Nash killed him. You are calling on the run, police on your trail, the Americans about to catch you. And you have to ask dear old Uncle Vanya to rescue you.”

“I see,” said Dominika. “ Gospodin Benford, are you sure you don’t have a little Russian in you?”

“I can’t imagine that I do,” said Benford.

“I would not be surprised,” she said.

“There’s something else you must do,” said Benford. “During the call we must spread some disinformation, do you understand the word?”

“ Dezinformaciya, yes,” said Dominika.

“Precisely. The operation against Nash has exploded in their faces, but you were able to coax a little out of him.”

“What do you want me to say… in this obman, this deception?” said Dominika.

“You had an argument, still fighting the Cold War, still spying on each other. Nate blurted that a major Russian spy was just caught in the United States, an important person, managed actively by the Center.”

“Is this true?” asked Dominika. This must have been the crisis for Vanya, she thought. He is now probably in serious political difficulty.

“Completely true and accurate,” said Benford. “You must tell them Nate told you the Center tried misdirecting the mole hunt by indicating the spy had eye surgery. A false lead.” Benford paused.

“Excuse me, but what is the purpose of this message?” asked Dominika. She thought it strange, but could not read Benford’s face; his color was fading.

“Dominika, these details are important. We want to let the Center know that we saw through the deception. That’s why mentioning the eye-surgery false trail is critical. And we want the Center to think you’ve done good work, we want them to rescue you. Is all that clear?”

“Yes, but I will tell them I killed their assassin,” said Dominika. “ Me . Because he was going to kill us both. Now Nash has fled and it is my uncle’s grubaya oshibka, his blunder, not mine.”

“Admirable,” said Benford, “a subtle refinement.” MARBLE was right; she is something.

“I’ve written down some details, where you’re hiding,” said Forsyth. “Then we can go out and make the call.” They looked over his notes, then Dominika went into the bedroom to change, leaving Forsyth and Benford alone.

“Not telling her she’s pulling the trigger on the general is going to upset her,” said Forsyth.

“It’s the only way,” snapped Benford. “I don’t like it, either. But she cannot hesitate or be aware of the canary trap.”

“She’ll figure it out. What if she’s so pissed she quits?” said Forsyth.

“Then this converts to world-class debacle. I hope she’ll see it our way,” said Benford. “You have the Greek cops all set?”

“It’s all arranged. She’ll be arrested the morning after the call.”

GIGANTES—GREEK BAKED BEANS