When Admiral Rowland was first invited to accompany the delegation to Moscow by the Chief of Naval Operations, she almost panicked and declined. For MAGNIT the mole to visit Moscow and rub elbows with the intelligence officers who were running her was sheer folly. A little more thought on the matter convinced Audrey that this trip would burnish her credentials for selection as DCIA, and that smooth Anton Gorelikov would ensure that no compromising contacts would be attempted. It would be enough for the Russians to see her across the ballroom, and to marvel at her cool nerve and audacity. She accepted the invitation to travel to Russia, sent a short message to SUSAN to inform the Center that she would be arriving, and packed her best uniforms.
After arriving in Moscow, Audrey stayed close to her colleagues, because she was still nervous about her security. After diplomatic pleasantries with Gorelikov and other officials at the Kremlin reception, Audrey assumed that would be the only contact with her handler, and the danger was past. She could finish her time in Russia, fly to London, then return to Washington to find out if she had been selected by POTUS as DCIA. It would be the most audacious penetration of an opposition service in the history of espionage.
She should have known better. The Russians could not resist the temptation to enter her Moscow hotel suite through the door of an adjoining room on the last night of her stay in the capital. The room was dark, and Audrey sat up in bed when the silhouette of Anton glided across the room, backlighted by city lights from the window. Without saying a word, he pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed, leaned close to her, and patted her hand.
“We are very glad to see you,” Anton said. “It has been too long. Are you well? Is contact with the woman in New York satisfactory?”
Audrey was astounded that Anton would take the risk of coming to her room. “Yes, yes. Everything is satisfactory,” said Audrey. “It’s insane coming here like this.”
Anton patted her hand again. “There is no way I could not have spent a few seconds with our most productive friend. We are very excited and expect the best of news regarding the selection process. As we speak, we are working on an enhanced communications plan for you if you are named Director.”
“Communications better be enhanced,” whispered Audrey. “You must not take any shortcuts. You sit here in Moscow reading the intelligence I send you while I run all the risks. And no more Washington meetings with those clods from GRU—I only want to meet with SUSAN from now on.” Too many risks, she thought. What if someone from the American delegation knocked on my door right now?
Gorelikov smiled. “We give you full operational discretion to accept or reject any plan or equipment. If you become Director, even meeting SUSAN will become problematic. We, therefore, are developing a computer-based messaging system that uses an extensive network of international servers, which I believe you know as the cloud. It is utterly undetectable and unbreakable. I’m sure you will approve.”
He paused for a moment. “We were wondering about another aspect if you are selected to the position. I do not mean to pry, but with a twenty-four-hour security detail, we must consider how we can manage your social activities discreetly.” Anton knew the day of reckoning had arrived. He was preoccupied with the security ramifications of MAGNIT’s particular sexual proclivities.
Audrey’s face hardened. She smoothed the sheet over her legs and stared at Gorelikov’s silhouette in the dark room. “I presume you are referring to my love life. Are you are telling me the days of our secret vacations abroad will end?” she said.
“Yes,” said Anton. “I suppose I am. I cannot imagine any other way forward.”
“That would be, in a word, unacceptable,” hissed Audrey in the dark. “I expect you to arrange a suitable alternative.”
The three-star admiral giving orders, thought Gorelikov. We’ve come a long way from the meek physicist with a daddy complex.
Anton leaned toward her solicitously. “Audrey, the security measures required of us if you become Director will multiply tenfold, and with them will come significant personal sacrifice. When your tenure at Langley ends, your personal, permanent vacation begins. You’ll have the money to do whatever you want.”
“Marvelous. And in the meantime? You’ll want me there for as long as possible, right? Some DCIAs have served five years. What do you propose I do all that time?”
“You could tend to your doll collection,” said Anton, using his hammer-and-sickle voice. “Those charming little china faces. They will all look on you from the shelves in your living room with approval of your professionalism and discipline.”
Audrey’s head came up. “You’ve been in my quarters? Tell me you’re bugging my fucking house.”
Prozreniye. Epiphany. It came in every agent’s career, the realization of exactly what the relationship amounted to, who was vassal and who was master. It was Audrey’s turn, tonight, in a pitch-black hotel room. “Whether your quarters are bugged or not is immaterial,” said Gorelikov without emotion. “You are one of the most prolific clandestine intelligence sources in the service of the Russian Federation. You are on the threshold of being Russia’s best American spy ever. What you want and what you do not want is unimportant. I require you to dedicate yourself without reservation and to remember the mission. If that means you must live for three years without putting your fingers in a Buenos Aires prostitute, then that is what you shall do.”
“You can’t talk to me that way,” said Audrey, her voice shaking.
“Of course I can, my dear,” said Gorelikov, pushing back his chair silently. “You belong to me.” He left through the connecting door, his steps muffled by the sour threadbare carpet.
Dominika’s new Moscow apartment was in the massive city block–long building on Kutuzovsky Prospekt with two outlandish neoclassical towers. The address—number twenty-six—had been the residence of Premiers Brezhnev and Andropov, and party ideologue Suslov. Building security bristled with cameras, controlled elevators, manned checkpoints, and twenty-four-hour valet and food service. Her black Mercedes was always ready for her in the underground garage. Could I tell my driver to follow a surveillance detection route? The penthouse had been beautifully remodeled in beige and brown, with luxurious bathrooms and a gleaming kitchen that Nate would love to cook in. Dominika looked at the outside private-line telephone on the sideboard. A suicidal overseas call to CIA’s SENTINEL number to blurt out her epiphany about MAGNIT would be recorded (at both ends), and she would be finished, but at least Benford would know. Likewise, crashing the gate of the American Embassy to spill the tale to COS Reynolds would forever burn her bridges. She’d become a permanent exile inside the embassy, living in one of the temporary apartments, a historical oddity like Hungarian Cardinal Mindszenty who took asylum in the US Embassy in communist Budapest for fifteen years. Dominika would grow old, the faded beauty giving Russian lessons to young American wives, unable herself to even walk outside in the chancery compound for fear of snipers. A fine end. She wouldn’t do that. Without time to make a personal meet, and with no SRAC, she had no way to communicate the intel that would save her life.
As she packed for the reception at the cape, she fingered the sports watch Nate had given her, the satellite beacon that would transmit an emergency signal requesting exfiltration. The beginning of a plan started percolating in her mind. Nate’s always trying to get me to defect. Okay, lover boy, come rescue me.
KREMLIN SALAKA
Toast triangles of bread and spread thickly with butter. Lay a boned fillet of smoked herring on the bread, and cover with a soft melting cheese like Russian bryndza. Place briefly under broiler until cheese is melted. Serve with ogrutsky, dill pickles.