Jason Matthews - Red Sparrow

On the Russian side of the bridge, two light trucks were positioned lengthwise across the roadway. Six border guards in camouflage utility uniforms were slouching around the trucks. Behind them was a small armored personnel carrier, a Tigre, with a light machine gun mounted on a ring turret in the roof. There was no one on the gun, which was locked on its pintles, pointed at the sky. Behind these vehicles, parked along the side of the road that led past the convenience store and administration building, were five cars from Saint Petersburg SVR—two Mercedes and three BMWs. The drivers stood together in the dark talking. The rest of the SVR men had entered the checkpoint tollbooth and were waiting out of sight, following orders to stay discreet. On the sloping riverbank below the bridge two border guards stood completely enveloped in the fog, dripping wet.

On the Estonian side of the bridge Benford sat fifty meters from the bridge inside a van parked in the center of the road. He could look straight down the roadway of the bridge at the parked Russian vehicles. Next to Benford’s van a small KaPo jeep was pulled over on the shoulder. Four black-suited troopers sat in the jeep smoking. KaPo had intended to put two spotters in the bastion of the Hermann Castle tower, but the ministry did not have the budget for nightscopes. The lights on the bridge would have to be enough.

There was a sound of squeaking brake pads and the crunch of tires on the gravel shoulder, a car coasting to a stop. Benford saw Nate get out of a little green compact, his hair down over his forehead, a ridiculous blue and white—no, it was the Greek flag—on his T-shirt. Benford got out of the van and walked back to the car.

“What are you doing here, Nash?” said Benford in a low, even voice. “And what is that ridiculous shirt you’re wearing? Do you know what is supposed to happen in a half hour? Have the kindness to get into the van and stay out of sight. You need a shower.” Benford steered Nate into the van and slid the door closed. The KaPo troopers in the jeep looked over and wondered what was going on. Benford walked over to them and accepted an offered cigarette. The troopers were respectfully quiet.

Benford could see more activity at the other end of the bridge. The light trucks parked lengthwise across the bridge were separated slightly and the Tigre APC had moved between them. A soldier had unlimbered the gun on the roof. From behind Benford came the sound of another vehicle, and Gable pulled up in a nondescript black sedan. He appeared to be alone in the car. Gable got out and walked toward Benford.

“Tell me what you have done,” said Benford. “Tell me you have her.”

“The Russians tried for her last night in Athens. A rescue team, they called themselves. I have no idea how they tracked us, someone the Russians have at the hotel, the cops, I don’t know. She killed both of them, executed them.” The KaPo troopers had climbed out of their jeep and were standing behind it, looking at the Russian side of the bridge through binoculars.

“ She killed them? Where is she right now?” asked Benford. “Do we have someone to swap for MARBLE?”

“She told me no. For six hours it was no. Nothing I could say to change her mind. The next morning I was going to turn her over to Forsyth to fly her to the States, and she was waiting for me by the car. Waxing the two Center goons may have done the trick, I don’t know. She’s seriously furious.” Benford looked as though he was going to pass out. “She’s in the backseat, lying down; she got back there as we entered Narva. I wanted to change the profile.” Benford blew out a stream of smoke. It had been nearly seventy-two hours of not knowing.

“She agreed?” Benford asked.

“Yes and no. Told me to go to hell, that she was doing it to spring MARBLE, for no other reason. Said she’s going back to think about working with us. In the meantime, she intends to raise hell in the Center. We might have an agent, we might not. She’ll let us know.”

“What does that mean?” said Benford.

Gable ignored the question. “Another thing. Nash is an issue. She asked about him.” Benford started laughing. “What?” said Gable.

“Nash is in the van. I don’t know how he did it, but he got here from Athens and showed up. That’s his car behind the van.”

“State of mind?” asked Gable.

“Agitated, intense, exhausted. What are you thinking?”

“What I’m thinking is that we let them talk for a few minutes—might be good for both of them. Leave her with a memory to take back with her, settle him down. I can pull the car up and get her into the back of the van so no one sees.”

“Okay, we’re waiting anyway. But wait till I talk to Nash for a second.” Benford slid the van door open, climbed in, and sat beside Nate on the middle bench seat. Nash had found a jacket in the back and had run his fingers through his hair. He looked tired, but presentable. Benford slid the door partly closed and leaned back in the seat.

“DIVA and Gable have arrived. She is in the car. Last night the Russians tried to rescue her and she killed two men. She has agreed to return to Russia only because of the swap, to free MARBLE. As for working inside, she has not made any commitment and we do not know the extent to which she is now, or in the future will be, our agent.

“We have a few minutes, and Gable believes it would be salutary for DIVA to speak with you. I need you to become her recruiting officer once again. I need you to be inspirational. I need you to speak to her of duty and mission and long-term espionage. There is only one way to play this that will not result in her arrest at the other end of that bridge—as a case officer preparing his agent. Otherwise it will break her composure. Can you do this?”

Nate nodded. Benford exited the van and Nate heard engine noise and the click of a door and the back of the van opened up and Dominika quickly stepped inside and the door slammed shut. She squeezed past the rear seat and sat down beside him. She was dressed in a simple navy dress with a light coat of the same color. Gable had insisted on sensible black laced shoes and beige hose. She had pinned her hair up and wore no makeup, a matron just out of CIA captivity. The blue eyes were the same, and she looked at Nate, searching his face. He was bathed in a pale purple glow; it told her he was in pain.

For the first time in his young career, Nate did not automatically think about the ramifications of breaking the rules, of ignoring Benford, of blowing a hole in his rep. He leaned forward, grabbed Dominika by the shoulders, and pressed his lips on hers. She stiffened, then relaxed and finally put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him back.

“We don’t have time—not remotely enough time—to tell you I’m sorry about what I said to you,” said Nate. “There’s no time to tell you what you mean to me, as a woman, as a lover, as a partner. And there’s no time to tell you how much I will miss you.

“I’m supposed to talk to you about continuing our clandestine relationship, about how you should keep operating for the CIA in Moscow. I don’t care about that right now. I know you’re going back just to save the general; I would do the same, so whatever happens, you’ve delivered him. But I want you to stay safe; none of this is worth it. You’re the only thing that’s important, at least to me.”

Nate looked self-consciously away, through the van windshield at the fog-shredded roadway, a time tunnel receding into Russia. Dominika turned to look at the same thing, making up her mind.

“You needn’t worry about me, Neyt,” said Dominika flatly. “I am going back to my country, among my own people. I will be fine. How convenient it has been for you to apologize and tell me you will worry about me five minutes before I cross the border. Please do me a favor,” said Dominika, “don’t give me a second thought.” Dushka, let me go, she thought.