Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

Samantha remained quiet for a moment. "It goes against agency protocol to discuss information with anyone not directly involved in mission parameters."

"Yes," Kate said.

"I think we can both agree that I'm not qualified to send in-field into Moscow," Samantha said.

"This would be into the Caucasus Mountains ultimately."

"Even more reason not to go. So, you have me curious. What do you have in that devious mind?"

"I want a better look at Taburova, and I want to take a better look at Ajza Manaev."

"Manaev? Why?"

"For possible recruitment," Kate said.

Samantha arched an eyebrow. "I can see the attraction. She thinks quickly on her feet, doesn't get easily put offher game, and she keeps her eyes on the mission."

"That bit of work sabotaging the weapons without backup impressed me," Kate admitted.

"It impressed me, too. I've already had her files pulled."

"Great minds think alike."

Samantha smiled a little. "I also happen to think that her reaction was risky and far too violent. She was like a bull in a china shop."

"She got the job done."

"And wreaked havoc with the civilians."

"Have you had time to review her file?" Kate asked.

"Not thoroughly. Too many other things have interfered, I'm afraid."

"Manaev had a brother who was also an intelligence agent." Kate brought up the young man's picture.

Ilyas Manaev had dirty-blond hair and blue eyes. Dark stubble on his lower jaw. His mouth looked too wide for his face, and his features were too regular to make him stand out in a crowd. He was almost instantly forgettable. It was a good trait for a field operative.

"Had? " Samantha repeated.

"Ilyas is dead. He died in Moscow while on a mission."

"Who did he belong to?" Samantha asked.

"MI-6. The same as his sister."

"Family business?"

"No. From what I gather, their parents have no idea about the careers their children chose."

"You don't exactly come home from college and tell your parents you've become a spy. At least, I didn't," Samantha said.

"No." Kate returned Samantha's smile. "There's something in the rules about that." She paused. "The interesting thing is that Ilyas was killed in Moscow a couple of years ago."

"What was he doing there?"

"Spying on the Chechen rebels for MI-6."

Samantha took a measured breath and let it out. "Does Ajza Manaev know this?"

"I find it hard to believe that she wouldn't know," Kate said.

"Who killed her brother?"

Kate shook her head. "I don't have an answer for that one."

"It was either the Russians or the rebels."

"Or someone who was suspicious or jealous of him. Personal lives develop while out in the field, as well," Kate said.

Samantha paused for a long moment. "I don't think you should even entertain the notion of sending Ajza into this."

"I thought you'd feel that way, but she's a good bet, Samantha. Her parents were from Chechnya."

"Only just. They moved to Britain when they were in their early twenties."

Kate didn't miss the fact that Samantha used Ajza's first name. Evidently she'd already developed something of a fondness for the young agent.

"According to the background I'm looking at," Kate said, "Ajza Manaev speaks the language. So did her brother. They know the old ways of the culture."

"Probably one of the reasons MI-6 shoved Ilyas over into Russia."

"Yes."

"If someone made her brother while he was on assignment there," Samantha said, "they could just as easily make Ajza."

"I hope they don't. And we've got an agent in place who should be able to help out. If he's needed. He's spent time in Chechnya as a soldier. He knows the terrain and the people."

"Ajza's young."

"All the best operatives are. You know that. An experienced agent is usually one who's also known to the opposition."

"I know."

That was one of the hard-core truths about espionage. Only the young ones remained truly invisible out on the playing field. Their greatest vulnerability, their inexperience, was also their greatest asset. Unfortunately when the assets no longer helped, that lack of experience got agents killed.

Samantha returned Kate's level gaze with her own. "You want me to bring her in."

"Let's keep an eye on her for a few days," Kate said. "Give her a few days of downtime while I try to find some leverage we can use. Then if the situation warrants, we'll bring her in and see what she has to say."

Samantha nodded. "Let me know when you want me to make contact."

"I'll be in touch." Kate touched the screen and broke the connection.

Turning her attention to her files, Kate ran through the operations Room 59 was currently working on and the ones in development. They were stretched thin.

But we're making a difference, she told herself, and clung to that. She struggled not to think of the young woman and how she'd lost her brother, or the fact that — if everything went as planned — she'd soon be asking her to step into harm's way.

She opened Mayrbek Taburova's file again and stared at the picture of the man. A cold shiver ran up Kate's spine as she studied the blue eyes. They belonged to a predator. She had no doubt about that.

Grozny

When the explosion sounded, Mayrbek Taburova threw himself against the apartment-building wall and reached into his jacket for his pistol. Hunkered against the building, he drew strength from the solid stone. It had stood against such explosions in the past, and there was no reason to believe it would do otherwise in this instance.

Still, Taburova's breathing shortened. He kept his pistol close to his leg, out of sight. He had a number of enemies who wouldn't hesitate to kill him the moment they saw him.

Following the explosion, brief rattles of gunfire crescendoed. Police klaxons immediately splintered the sounds.

Taburova strained his ears and listened to the noise. The explosion hadn't been very far away. The uneasy truce between the Russian occupational army and the Chechen warriors who longed for a country of their own often broke out in bloodshed. One side or the other cleaned up the damage, and together — in that way only — they pretended it hadn't happened. War in the streets cost both sides men and materials.

He glanced back at the bodyguards who followed him. All of them were quiet and self-contained. Like him, they wore street clothes, items that wouldn't draw a second glance. Though they were armed, no weapons were in sight.

"No one near here," one of the bodyguards said.

Taburova replaced his pistol. "That's good. Just make sure no one sneaks up on us."

"We're not going to let that happen," the young soldier said.

Taburova kept moving forward through the shadows. He studied the darkness with his one eye and stayed within the safety of the night's shadows.

Grozny wasn't the city Taburova remembered from his childhood. His father had lived in a village outside Grozny, but he had traveled to the city as work had demanded. Sometimes he had brought Taburova with him.

Those were better times, Taburova thought. Not like the times that stretched before the city and the country now. He stepped cautiously through the debris that filled the alley.

Another explosion sounded, followed immediately by small-arms fire. Taburova kept going.

A few moments later Taburova stood in the bombed-out third-floor room of a gutted apartment building. Looters had claimed what the instant destruction and resulting fire had not. Whatever had remained of the families who had lived in the building were long gone.

He pulled his coat more tightly around him against the night's chill as he stared out across the city. The men with him filled the room nervously. The Russians had marked him for death. They wouldn't hesitate to kill any who were with him. The bodyguards knew that.