Red Sparrow (57 page)

As they walked, stairstepping through neighborhoods, they used time over distance to ensure they weren’t covered in ticks. Korchnoi talked to her, sometimes stopping her to put a hand on her shoulder. He described the Life, of working for the CIA from within Russia, undetected inside the Service. They sat on a bench near an obelisk, spooning granitas, rich coffee ices, stealing looks at their watches, and pedestrians, and parked cars, as Korchnoi told her how a spy must know the difference between risk and recklessness, and about evaluating—but not necessarily accepting—the direction of your CIA handler. “It’s your life, your welfare,” Korchnoi said. “You ultimately decide what to do and how to do it.”

The Roman light freed her and she told Korchnoi more about Helsinki, about her activities, about how she felt with her secret, the sweet ice of it, she said, looking at the cone of frozen espresso in her hand. She spoke sparingly about Nate, for she did not know how he felt about her, or what she felt herself. Did he see her as an agent first, and a fleeting lover second? It was too hard, and Korchnoi saw it, knew it.

The general spoke of restraint, and calculation, and patience, the trinity that enabled him to survive for fourteen years as a CIA asset. It was unspoken that they would “work together,” but they did not try to define their partnership further. They knew agents seldom spied in tandem. Korchnoi did not speak at all about his vision of “succession” or of Dominika’s role as heir apparent.

What else they did not talk about—perhaps could not—was Russia and their sentiments about their country. This was boggy ground of betrayal and treason, and they left it alone. That would come later. Right now they just had enough time to finish the SDR and make it to the brief-encounter site and meet the Main Enemy.

MARBLE had informed Langley via satellite burst that Dominika’s approach to COS Rome would signal their arrival in the city. That would trigger a meeting in twenty-four hours, ironically at a long-inactive KGB site in the Villa Borghese that MARBLE remembered from fifteen years ago. He had also transmitted a brief sentence—
She passed, she’s ours now
—indicating to
Benford that Dominika had, in essence, been rerecruited by him. A most extraordinary situation. Two agents, each witting of the other, a single handler, the whole case directed by a mad scientist of a CI chief, two mole hunts—and the added necessity of having to decide where to eat dinner. This was Rome, after all, MARBLE thought.

Dominika’s cheap little phone trilled as they walked up a staircase to the northern limit of the Aurelian Walls, catching glimpses of blue-green trees and the biscuit-colored tiles and the golden domes. Korchnoi answered it in Italian and listened for ten seconds, then abruptly clacked the phone shut. “They’re in place. Would you like to take a stroll through the park?”

They walked in the heat of the Roman afternoon, through the Porta Pinciana and into the Villa Borghese. Korchnoi wore a light gray suit with a dark shirt, open at the neck, Dominika a navy skirt and a pink-and-blue-striped shirt. She wore her hair up against the heat. Together they looked like father and daughter, prosperous Romans, walking perhaps to visit the museum in the center of the park. Korchnoi could see she was excited and nervous, her blue eyes flashing. But he also saw her darting glances, checking for surveillance, cataloguing casuals.

Of course, Korchnoi knew the park. He had been assigned to the Rome
rezidentura
as a junior. He had met agents there, had left packages for assets in buried caches, his young wife watching for him. A lifetime ago. Now he and Dominika walked down the broad gravel avenues dappled by sunlight filtering through the plane trees. Korchnoi led Dominika past reflecting pools and paused at the perfect Fontana dei Cavalli Marini, with the rampant seahorses with cloven hooves. They walked around the hippodrome of the Piazza di Sienna and down the Viale del Lago. Korchnoi had seen no repeats, no indication of coverage, despite their serpentine route. Two minutes to the site. He felt rather than saw that Dominika was becoming nervous, was tightening up. Korchnoi slipped his arm in hers and told her a joke:

“A frightened man came to the KGB. ‘My talking parrot disappeared,’ he said. ‘This is not our case,’ says the KGB, ‘go to the criminal police.’ ‘Excuse me,’ says the man. ‘Of course I know I have to go to the criminal police. I am here just to tell you officially that I disagree with that parrot.’ ”

Dominika snorted, then covered her nose with her hand. Korchnoi
watched her and knew his instincts had been correct. She would be his replacement. She could do it. Benford would realize it after ten minutes with her.

They were nearing a small artificial lake with a classical Ionian temple to Aesculapius on an island in the middle. She followed Korchnoi’s gaze and saw a short, rumpled man sitting on a bench at the edge of the lake.

“Benford,” said Korchnoi. “I will greet him.” He nodded his head in the direction of the island. “Keep walking around the lake,” he told her. “There is a footbridge connecting the island with the shore.” He walked to the bench. Dominika saw the man get up, shake hands with Korchnoi. They sat down.

Dominika began walking around the small lake on legs she could not feel. Her heart was pounding, she could hear herself swallow. What would she say to him? That she missed him? Glupyi.
Stupid. Stay professional. It’s not just the two of you here. There are others present, and this is the first day of the rest of your life as a spy. Stay professional.

Beneath a willow at the shoreline she saw a dark figure standing on the little steel bridge, at the top of its graceful curve. She knew his form, how he held himself, leaning against the railing, a silhouette in shadow. She could see the halo around his head, darker than she remembered, but that may have been the shadow of the tree. He was moving now, his footsteps echoing on the steel of the bridge.

Blossoms from the willow floated on the still water. She walked up to him, offered her hand.

“
Zdravstvuy,
” she said. Hello. She stood still, waiting for the bubble to pop, for him to ignore the handshake and wrap his arms around her.

“Dominika,” Nate said, “how are you?” He extended his hand and she took it, feeling his grip, remembering everything. “We were worried about you, it’s been a long time not knowing.” Purple and glowing, like she remembered.

She let go of his hand. “I am fine,” she said. “I have been working with the general.” That at least was now out in the open, the secret she had been searching for.

He did not want to talk about MARBLE with her, for the rules of compartmentation made it difficult for him. He had replayed what he would say
to her when they met: how he had thought about her every day, how much she meant to him, but it came out wrong.

“I’m glad you’re out,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.” He heard his donkey words, the words of a midgrade agent handler. Before long he would be reviewing the agent meeting sked with her.

Dominika could see him struggling—his halo was pulsing, as if slaved to his heartbeat. They looked at each other wordlessly, and Dominika tensed because she knew she would put her arms around his neck if he didn’t move first in about three seconds.

They heard a soft click of fingers snapping gently, and Nate’s head came up. Benford waved; he and Korchnoi were now standing. Benford pointed and started walking. Nate waved the assent, then walked after the two men, Dominika at his side.

The four of them sat in the elegant sitting room of Benford’s suite at the Aldrovandi Hotel, on the opposite side of the park. Muted earth tones, a vase of flowers, a dazzling white marble floor. Turquoise swimming pool in the garden below, behind a screen of cypress pines. The breeze through the open balcony door blew the white sheer curtains in gentle spirals. A bottle of wine stood unopened in a copper bucket on the counter.

They sat in chairs around the coffee table, the curtains lifting and falling. Benford had discussed—was still discussing—the quite unique situation of MARBLE and Dominika. “It’s unconscionable,” said Benford. “The worst security possible. We’re going to have to make adjustments immediately.”

“An excellent idea,” said MARBLE. “I would like to speak with you about this very subject, Benford, privately. I fear it would be best, for the moment at least, if Dominika were not in the room. And while I appreciate that Nathaniel is responsible for me as my case officer, I’m sure he would not mind instead going with Dominika, to keep her company.” The two left the room, and MARBLE turned to Benford, who was lighting a cigarette.

“She is young, and passionate, but she is smart,” said MARBLE. “Ever since I placed her in my department, she has been looking at me, not
speaking, assessing me. I could see her resolve. I made her admit her recruitment in Helsinki herself. I suspected as much. Were you ever going to tell me?”

Benford shrugged.

“And I told her about myself, obliquely, but she picked it up instantly. We have been talking. About risk, danger, work—about
penetrating
the Center. She listens, not a blink, not a tremor. Quite satisfactory,” said MARBLE.

“That’s most reassuring,” said Benford dryly. “I still think that as a junior woman in your Service she will have challenges in her career. It will be years before she attains any important position, if ever.”

“You know the Game as well as I, Benford,” said MARBLE. “The ones who start small and grow into the role are the best, the most secure. She is perfect.”

“And will she be able to turn you in?
Can she?
”

“She will if she does not realize what she is doing. It will make her performance all the more convincing, her shock will be genuine. In any case, she will follow instructions. I am sure she will.”

“This is preposterous,” said Benford. “We need you now more than ever. To contemplate losing you before time . . .” He stubbed his cigarette out in a crystal ashtray.

MARBLE shook his head. “We cannot calculate time. I have no way of knowing how close they are getting to me. Vanya is active. Apart from the
kanareyka zapadnya—
”

“Translation, please,” said Benford.

“—the canary trap he is running, God knows what else he and Zyuganov are hatching.”

“The point?” said Benford.

“The point is that I may have much time or a little. It’s critical that Dominika be prepared as soon as possible. If they catch me before she turns me in, the profit is lost.”

“Pardon my French, but ‘shit,’ ” said Benford.

“Stop complaining, my friend. We are doing something unheard-of in our game. We trade, what, a year or two of my information in exchange for positioning a new spy, with the potential for working in place for twenty, twenty-five years. It’s inspired.”

Benford shook his head. “This is not what you worked for, all these years, with the danger and the risk. You deserve retirement, rewards.”

“My reward will be to leave things in place, to continue this work through her. It remains for us—you and I—to choose the right moment,” said MARBLE.

“This Rome trip may not be the right time,” said Benford, lighting another cigarette. “We do not want to wait too long, but I would like to wait long enough to observe whether there is a nibble from my little test.”

“Will you tell me?” said MARBLE.

“I briefed that the American mole is stricken with shingles. It’s what you said Egorov told Nasarenko.”

“Poor Nasarenko. May I ask who you fed the birdseed to?” asked MARBLE.

“Fifteen members of the SSCI, officials at the Pentagon, a few staffers in the White House,” said Benford. “Small-enough group that we can check if we get a sonar return on the canary trap.”

“
Vsego dobrogo,
my friend,” said MARBLE. “Good luck to you. I will keep an eye open and signal in the event poor Nasarenko jumps out a window.”

“Very helpful,” said Benford, “and if you could keep your eyes open for any other clues . . .”

“I have something in mind, but later,” said MARBLE.