The Kremlin's Candidate (Red Sparrow Trilogy #3)

“US naval officers are exceedingly adept in unfamiliar social situations such as tonight’s reception,” said Gorelikov, rubbing his eyes. “They receive schooling in diplomatic conversation and comportment, and handle themselves with confidence. Our senior officers are krestyane, peasants and plowmen, by comparison, hesitant to say anything for fear of revealing the color of the hulls of our ships. It’s positively Soviet, the way they act.”

Dominika wanted to work on him a little. “Back then they were all terrified of Stalin,” she said. “He purged the entire officer corps in the thirties.”

“Yes, but now? The president supports the armed forces.”

“Old habits fade slowly,” said Dominika, noncommittedly. “But who was the female admiral you were speaking to? She was the only woman in the bunch.” Gorelikov’s halo wavered, and Dominika listened for the deception.

“I don’t recall her name. She apparently is a science genius,” said Gorelikov, dismissively. “She is retiring soon, and doubtless will be offered seats on boards of defense contractors as a consultant. These admirals can manage little else in retirement.” Interesting. You don’t know her name or where she works, but it has not escaped your notice that she is retiring soon. Dominika forced herself to yawn, as her mind churned.

IF this admiral was the girl Dominika seduced twelve years ago at the Metropol, and IF Gorelikov had been successful in pitching her as MAGNIT, and IF New York–based illegal SUSAN was now undetectably meeting her, and IF she were selected and confirmed as CIA Director, the first thing Gorelikov and Bortnikov would ask from her would be the list of active recruited CIA sources inside Russia. DIVA/Egorova would be at the top of the list. A lot of ifs, but Dominika knew there was grave danger.

Why wasn’t Gorelikov telling her the admiral was MAGNIT? Professional covetousness? Orders from the president? Was she somehow suspected? No. They had specifically selected her to meet SUSAN on Staten Island. Were they waiting for her promotion and a further demonstration of loyalty? Perhaps.

Dominika continued to stay away from the US delegation. God knows what trouble would ensue if the admiral recognized her. After a day of liaison meetings with an uncooperative Russian Naval Command, the Americans would stop in London for two days, after which the admiral would return to Washington for more preliminary briefings, and to await the selection of the final candidate. Then congressional confirmation hearings. In no more than ten days Gorelikov would know who would be running CIA. Dominika frantically calculated if she’d have enough time to trigger a crash-dive meeting with case officer Walters to pass an urgent warning to Nate and Benford. Gorelikov, the prescient warlock, seemed to read her mind.

“Will you be flying down to the reception at the cape tomorrow with me? I’ve reserved the Falcon 7 before Bortnikov or Patrushev could claim it. We all have to fly separately; it’s a regulation.” This is a mild test, thought Dominika. Do I fly down with him, or show a little independence and go a few days later, try to make a meet with the Station in the meantime? No. You’ll never get rid of your new bodyguards, and you’ll never get through to the Station. Act naturally. You stick to Anton for now.

“I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t invited me,” said Dominika. “How many guests are expected?”

“Total over the four days, not more than two hundred,” said Gorelikov. “But you have your dacha and your privacy. The rest of us stay in the main house on the presidential wing, elegant, but nothing like your own sea view. You don’t get lonely by yourself?” Dominika knew Anton was not flirting.

“No, I do not become lonely,” said Dominika.

Gorelikov smiled. “I’m sure you will not be,” he said. You mean when Randy Vlad comes scratching, thought Dominika.



* * *





* * *



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.”

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