Jason Matthews - Red Sparrow

“I respect your judgment, Vanya,” said Korchnoi.

“You are a true friend, Volodya,” said Egorov, pouring another shot of brandy for them both. “I have been running an operation on your turf, in the United States, without your knowledge or consent. By rights, your department should have been managing the case. All I can tell you is that the Kremlin ordered that it be managed in this way.”

MARBLE kept his face relaxed. This was it, the Director’s Case, SWAN.

“It’s not the first time we’ve done this. I have done it myself. If it’s operationally expedient, then you have to do it,” said Korchnoi, registering the lie.

“I knew you would consider it professionally. I meant no disrespect to you or your department,” said Egorov.

“None taken,” said Korchnoi. “Is Golov in Washington aware of the case?” There was a narrow window for a delicate probe. Softly, he thought.

“These are details we need not examine,” said Egorov, evading the question. “I can tell you that the case is beginning to produce intelligence of a sensitivity and relevance to Russia not seen since 1949 when Feklisov was buying Fuchs ice cream in exchange for his notes on a working bomb.” How apt, thought Korchnoi. We peaked as the NKVD in the 1950s. Egorov laughed and slapped Korchnoi on the back.

“Congratulations are in order, then,” said Korchnoi. “These are the twenty-year triumphs we need.” He took a sip of his brandy. “Vanya, how can I help?”

“No, no, there’s nothing for you to do,” said Egorov. “I need you to proceed against the American, even as we have to pause in the sensitive case we are running. When can you move ahead?”

“As soon as is required. Your niece is ready,” said Korchnoi easily. “How quickly do we need to move?”

“We have a little time. If you can move now, while our source is recovering from serious eye surgery, the timing will be suitable.”

“Not a problem, we will be ready to travel within a few days’ time.”

“Excellent,” said Egorov.

“We’ll have success,” said Korchnoi. “You can depend on it.”

“I am depending on you,” said Egorov, “my most trusted uchastnik, my old partner.” You old crocodile, thought Korchnoi. He got up from the couch and looked out the enormous picture window at the pine forest below. “We’ve done well, Vanya, especially you. Who would have thought those two young Academy graduates would have such careers?”

“Don’t get too maudlin on me yet; we have a lot of work left to do,” said Egorov. “Thank you, my friend, for being so loyal, and don’t be a stranger for so long next time.” They walked arm in arm to the hallway door and bear-hugged briefly.

“Now I return to my office smelling of brandy and your dreadful cologne,” said Korchnoi. “I build my reputation as a drunk and a pedik, thanks to you.” They both laughed and Egorov watched Korchnoi walk down the hallway, thinking, He was brilliant and fearless once, but now he’s getting tired. He turned back into his office and closed the door.

MARBLE’s thoughts raced. He would pass the information immediately, a satellite-burst transmission tonight. He imagined Benford reading the note. But there was a whiff of something else. Vanya’s invitation to the fourth floor was incongruous, out of character. The apology for running an operation in his territory was so much window dressing. Vanya did not have the slightest qualms about trespassing into an area of operational responsibility. Vanya did only those things that would bring maximum credit and benefit to Vanya. He had always been like that, it was what had decided him to become a bureaucrat and leave true intelligence work to others.

He reviewed the four important details Vanya had provided. The mega-source—SWAN—was a “twenty-year case,” providing the best information since the atom spies. The case was being run out of the Washington rezidentura. Anatoly Golov was likely involved. SWAN recently had eye surgery. More clues for Benford, thought MARBLE.

MARBLE walked down the broad ground-floor corridors and turned into the spacious cafeteria. It was barely eleven thirty, but employees were already bringing food trays to tables to eat their lunches. His head light and stomach churning from Vanya’s damn brandy, MARBLE stopped at a counter and ordered a bowl of grybnoy sup, thick mushroom soup swirling with sour cream. He saw the Line T chief, Nasarenko, sitting at a table alone and desperately tried to slide away from his line of sight, but Nasarenko saw him and bobbed his head in his direction. Now he would have to go over and sit with him, for as a fellow office chief not to do so would be a breach of protocol. Korchnoi steeled himself to endure twenty minutes of eating soup with the man nicknamed “the Oscilloscope” by the junior scientists in the technical department.

“Yury, how goes it?” said Korchnoi, sitting down at the table. He broke the heel off his bread and dunked it into the steaming soup.

“Too busy, too busy,” said Nasarenko. He was sawing at a cabbage roll with disastrous results. Korchnoi could not take his eyes away, like looking at a bad traffic accident. “They have us working overtime. New data coming all the time, translation, analysis, drafting summaries for the fourth floor. An avalanche of discs. They’re sending everything to the Kremlin.”

Interesting. Discs. It must be the same case, with high-volume production. “Do you need some help? Could I send an analyst or two?” This was an unprecedented act of largesse. No department willingly offered such help. Nasarenko’s head shot up, impressed and surprised.

“Vladimir Andreiyevich, that is very kind of you. I appreciate the offer,” said Nasarenko, chewing half a cabbage roll. “But the work must be confined to a small number of cleared analysts. It is a requirement.”

“Well, let me know if I can help you in any appropriate way. I know how it feels to be swamped with work,” said Korchnoi.

“We should have a respite soon. Egorov told me there would be a temporary suspension of information.” Nasarenko leaned over his plate toward Korchnoi, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he puffed his cheeks out. “The source has had a bout of shingles, he’s incapacitated.” Nasarenko was committing a serious breach of security, but Korchnoi was a fellow department chief, after all, a clandestine operator with a well-respected record.

MARBLE felt an icy finger trace his spine. The cafeteria walls closed in on him, the voices in the room became a dull roar. He made himself take a spoonful of the soup. “Well, that’s certainly good news for you. We take all the breaks we can.” Korchnoi lowered his voice. “Yury, we probably shouldn’t be speaking of these matters. You know about the sensitivity of this activity better than I. Let’s not mention this conversation to anybody, don’t you agree?”

Nasarenko’s dark-brown eyes flickered guiltily when he realized what the general was hinting at. “I agree completely,” he said. He gathered his plate and stood, murmuring apologies for leaving so suddenly. MARBLE sat alone, forcing himself to spoon more soup, trying to appear natural and at ease.

Was this the beginning of the end for him, was this a snare, did they suspect him specifically? Or was this a general test for loyalty? He wryly shook his head at Vanya’s canary trap, variants fed to God knows how many senior managers, with his little silver spoon. Here, little kolibri, little hummingbird, how do you spread your pollen? His message to Langley suddenly became more critical than ever.

GRYBNOY SUP—MUSHROOM SOUP