Jason Matthews - Red Sparrow

At Volontov’s nod, Dominika got up from her chair with the document and the briefcase and walked into the bathroom. Per his detailed instructions the day before, the rezident wanted the manual in the false bottom of the briefcase as soon as possible in case this was a Western provocation, a trap. The windowless bathroom was the place to secure it.

Forsyth whispered into the radio, “All okay, hold.” Laptop two showed the bathroom door opening and Dominika’s head filled the screen. She closed the door, placed the briefcase on the bathroom vanity. Moving quickly, she bent to the floor and pushed the kick plate of the vanity, which opened inward on three piano hinges. Dominika pulled an identical-looking manual, modified under a microscope by a score of eggheads and meticulously prepared—down to the missing cover page—out of the concealment cavity and pushed Bullard’s original manual into the space. The hinged kick plate swung closed. Dominika pressed two rivets in the lid of the briefcase. With the pressure, the inside lining of the briefcase opened to reveal a false bottom, into which Dominika put the modified replacement manual. She snapped the concealment cover closed, and shut the briefcase lid with a click.

Dominika paused to look at herself in the mirror, patted her hair, and then looked up at the vent and into the invisible camera. Nate, the evening before, had told her they would be monitoring the switch to ensure everything went smoothly. Dominika stuck her tongue out at the camera and, with a last look at herself in the mirror, went back out into the bedroom.

“Jesus Christ,” said Forsyth, “unbelievable. What kind of operation are you running?” he said, looking over at Nate.

“Can I get her number?” said Ginsburg the tech.

“Shut up, both of you,” said Forsyth.

Dominika sat down again as Volontov dug into his coat pocket and took out a fat envelope. He placed it on the table and slid it across to Bullard. Dominika told Bullard that they could pay him only $5,000 until they had verified the authenticity of the manual. Bullard’s look of astonishment was met with stony-faced silence from Volontov.

“What’s he gonna do,” said Ginsburg, “go to the authorities?” A sharp look from Forsyth shut him up. Dominika told Bullard that they would leave first and that he should wait in the room for five minutes before exiting the hotel. The young American sat back in his chair, gobsmacked. Volontov stood up, buttoned his coat, and walked out of the room, Dominika following him. Alone now, the American leaned forward with his face in his hands.

Forsyth was whispering into the radio, repeating Bullard’s name twice. “Party’s over. Guest still upstairs. No one move. No movement.” Two clicks of acknowledgment came back. Suddenly Bullard straightened and stood up. “Sit the fuck down,” Forsyth said to the screen on the laptop. “Stay put, you little bastard.” Bullard walked to the door and left the room. Forsyth grabbed the radio. “Guest is moving. Blue Windbreaker, black duffel. All still hold. Do not move.”

Volontov and Dominika walked out of the hotel and into an embassy car waiting at the curb. The FBI men watched them go and made to get out of the van. “Sit tight, you guys,” said Gable. “No go yet from upstairs.”

“Fuck this,” said one of the FBI agents. “The Russians are gone. Let’s take this prick down.” Gable grabbed the arm of one of the agents.

“No one is going anywhere till we get the okay,” he said.

“Get the fuck out of the way,” said Maratos as he slid the van door open. The FBI agents piled out of the van and ran into the hotel. The elevator doors opened and Bullard walked out into the lobby in his blue Windbreaker and into the arms of the three FBI agents, who forced him to the ground, wrenched his arms behind his back, and slapped on a pair of cuffs. A crowd of hotel guests and tourists gathered around as the FBI agents pulled Bullard to his feet and frog-marched him out of the lobby. In the commotion, no one noticed the KR man from the Russian Embassy standing in the back of the crowd. He turned and left the hotel by a side entrance.

Forsyth packed up the equipment as Nate retrieved Bullard’s manual from the meeting-room bathroom and the tech hurriedly removed the cameras from the corner of the ceiling and the bathroom vent. They all met back at the Station.

“Goddamn it!” fumed Forsyth. “I’m going to rip Maratos’s nuts off. It was too soon! Too goddamn soon!”

“You’ll have to wait till he gets back to town,” said Gable. “They headed straight to the airport. They had a G waiting to fly the guy right back to Washington. Those assholes all had woodies, they were so excited. They were already thinking about their promotions.”

“You think the Russians had anyone covering the lobby?” said Nate. He was fighting down the dread in his guts.

“Impossible to tell,” said Gable. “There were a lot of people watching the arrest. If it were me, I’d have somebody hanging around.”

“Great,” said Nate. “I’m going to the safe house to wait for Dominika. Call me if you hear anything.” He got up to leave.

“Hold it,” said Forsyth. “Sit down for a second.”

Nate sat down. “I want you to keep calm, you understand? No going over to her apartment. No phone calls, not one. No putting up signals, no checking her sites. If I see you within five blocks of the Russian Embassy I’m going to tear your nuts off right after I do Maratos.” He looked at Nate for a long beat. “Do you understand me, Nate?”

“Yes. I’m going to the safe house to wait. That’s all.”

“This is just the kind of situation we discussed. We don’t know what, if anything, the Russians saw. I’m sending a cable right now to Washington with the entire picture, and I hope they assign Maratos to Topeka cataloguing safe-deposit-box signature cards for the rest of his career.”

Nate stood to leave, his face showing his anger and fear.

“Sit down, I’m not finished,” said Forsyth. “Now comes the hard part, waiting for word that your agent is safe. If you move too soon, you might jeopardize her even if they suspect nothing. We have to let this play out.”

“How about putting ARCHIE and VERONICA on her apartment?” asked Gable, a suggestion more for Nate’s benefit than anything else.

“No, I don’t want to risk even that,” said Forsyth. “But, Marty, I do want you to have your Supo boy hang around the lookout on Tehtaankatu Street to keep an eye on the Russians. Anything strange coming in or out of that embassy, he should call; promise him a bonus.”

Nate stood to leave. “Stay cool,” Forsyth said.

The instant he stepped into the safe house, Nate could smell Dominika in the air, a whiff of soap and powder over something more elemental, woody and sharp. For a minute he thought she had already arrived at the apartment, but there was nobody there. They had told her to stay away for a day and a night. Volontov would be flying high, sending cables and making calls. He would need her near him. Nate walked into the bedroom and lay on the bed. He fell asleep in his clothes, waking in the middle of the night to drag the bedspread over him. The smell of her on the bedclothes filled his lungs. The sunlight woke him up.

Gable was in the kitchen making coffee. “Everything’s cool,” he said. “Nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary. One thing, don’t tell Forsyth, but I sent VERONICA to ring her doorbell late last night. No one’s home. Looks like she didn’t sleep there. The Russkies probably pulled an all-nighter.”

Nate went to the sink and splashed water on his face. His chest felt tight. The container with a single dumpling was still in the refrigerator. He looked at the crimped pocket of dough that she had made with her fingers. Gable was making an omelet on the stove, but Nate was too edgy to eat.