Jason Matthews - Red Sparrow

Moscow, Helsinki, New York. They picked up where they’d left off; there was never time to get reacquainted with internal agents, you just began talking. Nate was sitting with MARBLE in a small Midtown East hotel suite. A desk, two chairs, the bedroom beyond, their coats thrown on the bed. It was nighttime and the faint buzz of traffic from the FDR came up through the window. Two lamps were lit and the men had drawn two chairs to the small table. MARBLE gripped Nate’s hand affectionately.

Nate poured a glass of water from a carafe with his free hand and offered it to MARBLE. “You look well,” he said, priming the pump. There was a tray on the sideboard with plates of sandwiches, a small salad, a container of vinaigrette. They had not touched the food.

MARBLE smiled and shrugged. “The work progresses,” he said. “In the Center we claim successes to please one another. We play the myshynava voznya, the mice games. Few of them are really worth the effort.” He let go of Nate’s hand, sat back, took a sip of water, and looked at his watch. “I do not have more than a half hour tonight. I will probably be free in two more nights. There are some interesting developments, however, let me tell you,” he said. “I think Directorate S is running an illegal in the United States. He is being handled out of New York but I think he is operating in New England because there are meetings in Boston. I am not supposed to know about the case, but they just started coming to me for advice on meeting locations. The case is well established, the illegal has been in place for some years—five, I estimate.”

“Are there any other details to identify him?” asked Nate.

“None. But there is something else that might be related. It is just a guess,” said MARBLE. “There is a new reporting stream that has begun. The GRU is very interested. Someone is inside your ballistic submarine program.”

“A new stream? What kind of information? What can you guess about the source?”

“It appears to be someone involved in maintenance. There is information about rebuilding the older boats. Poseidon—no, Trident—class. Some information is very dense.”

“Dense. You mean detailed?” said Nate.

“Yes. I have read a reporting summary. The source is inside the program, by the look of it.” MARBLE took another sip of water. “But there is something strange. As chief of the Americas Department, I am unaware of any active source in my area providing military information. Judging by their interest, the GRU is not running the asset either. The information is new to them.”

“What does that tell you?” said Nate.

MARBLE ticked off the points on his fingers. “There is a new stream of reporting. I myself am not aware of any registered source to explain this. An illegal exists. So I think perhaps this illegal, run by Directorate S, could be the submarine source,” said MARBLE.

“The reports just began, but you said it’s likely the illegal has been in this country for five years,” said Nate.

“Precisely,” said MARBLE. “For five years he has been careful and built his legend, and he has finally developed access and has now begun actively reporting. It would be the perfect combination, an invisible and well-placed mole who has eased into a position of importance,” MARBLE said. Nate nodded, writing in a small notebook.

“What about the Director’s Case you mentioned in Helsinki?” asked Nate. “Is there any more on that?”

“Nothing. I know how important this could be, so I am listening and looking every day. There is one thing that might be related. I was in the Director’s office one day, sitting at the back of the room. Egorov came in and told the director, ‘There is something new from LEBED.’ He didn’t know I had heard.”

“SWAN?” asked Nate.

“Yes, lebed, swan.”

“The cryptonym for the mole?”

“Precisely,” said MARBLE.

“Anything else? Any other clues?”

“Just what I have told you. SWAN must be very high up in someone’s government, to be run as a Director’s Case. There are no indications anywhere in my department about such a case. No handling protocols, no operational cables.”

“What do you think?” asked Nate. “What do you conclude?”

MARBLE took another sip of water. “What I conclude, dorogoy drug, my dear friend, is that this wouldn’t be a Director’s Case if it were not in Washington, inside your government.”

“You think SWAN’s here?” MARBLE nodded. “How do we find him?”

MARBLE shrugged. “I will redouble my efforts to identify him. In the meantime, you might look at Rezident Golov in Washington. He would have the stature to meet someone senior. And he is a britva, as sharp as a razor on the street.”

He got up and walked to the window to look out over the street. “So many games,” he said to the city below, “so many dangers. I will be glad to see an end to it.”

“As long as we’re speaking of dangers,” said Nate, “what is your status? Are you secure? What are they doing to find their leak?” Nate avoided the word krot, mole, with all its connotations.

“I will have to save that for our next meeting,” said MARBLE, looking at his watch. “There’s nothing urgent, so it will keep.”

MARBLE turned, walked to the bed, and put on his overcoat. Nate straightened the old man’s twisted collar, patted him on the shoulder. They no longer had to worry about metka . MARBLE looked at him affectionately. “We can discuss the most fascinating subject—me—in two days. The conference ends at midday. We can have dinner and talk all night.” He looked out the window again. “I love this city. I would like to live here someday.”

“And someday you will,” said Nate, thinking it was unlikely that MARBLE would be permitted to relocate here. It would depend on the nature of his retirement, specifically if he was alive to retire. MARBLE walked to the door with his arm in Nate’s arm. Nate desperately wanted to ask whether MARBLE had heard something—anything—about Dominika, but he could not. Per the strict catechism of compartmentation, he had never told MARBLE about Dominika’s recruitment, nor her mission to unmask the mole through Nate. Agents simply didn’t know other agents.

Instead Nate said, “We’re hearing that Vanya Egorov recently was promoted.”

“Vanya is reckless,” said MARBLE. “I’ve known him for twenty years. He wants to run the Service but does not have enough support yet in the Kremlin, with you-know-who. He needs an operational success to please the oboroten, his werewolf master. If he does well with SWAN, perhaps it will help him, but he needs something more, something dramatic.”

“Such as?” asked Nate.

“To catch me, for instance.” MARBLE laughed. “I don’t wish him luck.” MARBLE grasped Nate’s hand warmly. Something was on his mind, Nate could sense it.

“Is there anything else?”

“I have a request, a message that I would like you to pass along,” said MARBLE.

“Of course,” said Nate.

“I would like to speak to Benford, if he has the time to come to New York in two days’ time. I must discuss something with him.” MARBLE looked into Nate’s eyes.

“Do you want me to pass him a message?” Nate said.

“Nate, I do not wish you to feel offended, but I must speak directly to Benford. Do you understand?” MARBLE searched Nate’s face but saw nothing other than affection and regard.

“Of course I do, Uncle,” said Nate. “He will be here.”

MARBLE opened the door; Nate saw the instinctive, undetectable beat as the old man checked the corridor. “ Spokoinoi nochi, ” said MARBLE.

“ Vysypat’sja, ” said Nate. “Sleep well.”