“Now, the name of CHALICE,” said Bortnikov. “Let’s be reasonable. All we require is a name. Sometimes it is easier to write it rather than to actually say it out loud.” He took out a pen and a notebook and put them on the arm of Nate’s chair with an encouraging smile.” You see we’ve left your right arm and hand alone for the time being so you can write the name,” said Bortnikov.
“The hospitality and honor for which Russia is widely known,” said Nate, gasping and still bent over. He didn’t reach for the pen.
“Let the sergeant help you,” said Bortnikov. The giant took the pen and placed it between Nate’s index and ring fingers and squeezed, lighting up the ulnar nerve in the hand as the pen ground against the bones. Nate’s head went back in agony.
“CHALICE?” said Bortnikov. Suddenly Dominika knew she had to do something, anything. She was the Director of SVR. She got up from her chair, put a reassuring hand on Gorelikov’s shoulder, and strode forward.
“Let’s stop this display,” said Dominika, with vehemence. “I wonder if the three of us could talk outside for a second,” she said, indicating Bortnikov and Gorelikov. The senior officers were taken aback, especially at the tone of her voice, and they filed outside onto the little decorative porch of the cottage, leaving Nate with Sergeant Neanderthal. She followed her colleagues out, slammed the front door behind her, and stared at the two startled men.
“What the fuck are we doing?” hissed Dominika. She amped up her indignation. “This is not 1937 with Stalin running amok.” She paced up and down the little porch while Gorelikov and Bortnikov followed her with their eyes. Dominika knew both of them were capable of pulling rank on her, and probably would, but she had to get them to stop breaking things on Nate.
“We don’t have the luxury of time,” said Gorelikov. “If this CHALICE reports the name of MAGNIT, we lose the best asset in the history of Russian espionage.” And probably both your heads, Dominika thought.
“I know that, Anton,” said Dominika. “But what do you intend to do with this American? Break every bone in his body? No SVR officer would be safe in the United States or abroad thereafter. And which one of you would care to explain to the president that an American intelligence officer was willfully killed during interrogation?”
“What would you propose we do about discovering the identity of CHALICE?” said Bortnikov.
“Think about it, gentlemen.” Dominika laughed. “We have found moles before. The guest list is manageable. Two hundred suspects is nothing,” she said, mock hearty and confident. “We’ll be able to cross off a hundred fifty names right away, you both know it, and I know it. The morons who run the Joint-Stock Companies, Russian Railways, or RUSAL state aluminum could never know such secrets. The remaining fifty can be interviewed, or put under surveillance, or electronically monitored. The FSB can handle that easily. Better yet, we can order all the prime suspects to attend a weeklong closed conference—something political like Governance in Novorossiya—in Nizhny Novgorod, so there will be no possibility of CHALICE communicating with anyone. By then it will be too late and MAGNIT himself will be able to tell us CHALICE’s identity. The mole is removed, MAGNIT is in place, and we initiate the systematic destabilization of CIA and the US government.” Dominika made a conscious effort to use the masculine pronoun when referring to MAGNIT.
“And the American?” asked Gorelikov.
Dominika shrugged. “He’s a discarded chess piece. For the time being, send him to Moscow and hold him incognito. Not in a prison, but in a remote district—or even a provisional capital, under supervision, house arrest. We keep him for future use: a show trial if we need it; a diplomatic concession; a spy swap. He’s not going to get near CHALICE, and the problem will be solved in a week’s time.” Bortnikov looked at Dominika from under bushy eyebrows.
“General, what you say makes sense. Your facility with operations is apparent. But there is still a risk that we do not find the mole in time. Are you willing to accept responsibility if we lose MAGNIT?”
“I do not even know MAGNIT’s true name,” said Dominika. “This will work and we will succeed without covering the walls of this ghastly little cottage with blood. Sergeant Riazanov will have to kill and eat a bear tonight instead.”
Gorelikov was impressed with his protégé. What she said was astute; it was a clever solution, specifically since he secretly had not approved of the physical aspects of the interrogation. He thought them barbaric. He looked over at Dominika.
“You’re sure it’s not that you’re taken with the handsome American?” said Gorelikov. Joke or hint? Anton had always circled around Dominika’s loyalty, poking and prodding. It was creepy and ominous, the mentor always testing the protégé.
“You have a point, Anton. Not counting Sergeant Riazanov, he’s the handsomest man in that room,” said Dominika. Both men laughed, their blue haloes positively shimmering.
DOVER SOLE
Place flour seasoned with salt, pepper, and dill in a shallow dish. Pat boned sole fillets dry, season both sides with salt and pepper, and dredge fish on both sides in the flour. Heat oil in a large skillet, add butter and swirl to combine. When foam subsides, add fillets and cook until golden brown on both sides. For the sauce: Heat drippings from skillet, add butter, and cook until slightly brown, remove from heat and add dry white wine, chopped parsley, lemon juice, and capers. Spoon sauce over fillets and serve immediately.
36
Hussar Condoms
It was 2230, and Dominika walked through her dacha, turning off the lights. She had taken off her party dress and was wearing a satin sleep shirt with snaps down the front. The doors to her upstairs bedroom balcony were open and the gauzy curtains heaved back and forth with the land breeze. Dominika knew she would not be able to sleep, not with Nate handcuffed to an aircraft seat flying back to Moscow, his broken arm and finger haphazardly set in a cast and splint. At least she had stopped the interrogation—for now. It had been a relief that Gorelikov and Bortnikov both had ultimately endorsed her plan of stashing Nate in Moscow and holding him in reserve as a hostage. Once commo with Benford was reestablished, she would inform Langley about Nate’s whereabouts, and diplomatic negotiations could commence to retrieve him and return him home.
That unmanned boat was due on the beach below her dacha at midnight tonight, according to the exfiltration plan. Dominika would meet the silent craft, open the hatch, and emplace a thumb drive with a detailed report of the events of the past three weeks, but primarily with the presumed identity of MAGNIT. The mole was US Navy Admiral Rowland; Dominika had approximately five days before the admiral was confirmed as CIA Director. Would Dominika’s intel get back to Benford, from the 6th Fleet frigate on patrol in the Black Sea through US NAVEUR in Naples, through the maze of the Pentagon, and onto Benford’s desk in that short period of time? She would, of course, address the thumb drive to the immediate attention of Simon Benford, CIA, but the ponderous US Navy bureaucracy was an unknown. Would they react accordingly?