"Mmm."
"Nick, I understand. It's unheard of. There's not much trust on either side. I have to make sure Vysotsky doesn't go to the Kremlin with that video. He has to make sure we're really going after Lodge. He's sticking his neck way out here. So am I. Korov is the deal maker."
"Does Rice know about this?"
"No."
"When does Comrade Korov get here?"
"They're not comrades anymore. Today. This evening. I booked him into the Marriott. I want you and Ronnie to meet him tomorrow and bring him here."
"You put him in a hotel? Bring him here? For Christ's sake, Director."
"Here." She gave him a hard look. "They already know where we are and who we are. He won't see anything he doesn't already know or suspect. I want you to get a sense of who he is. Bond with him."
"You want me to buy him a beer while I'm at it?"
"That's a good idea. He might prefer vodka."
Harker smiled.
"What's so funny?"
They all laughed.
"Bonding and togetherness with the Russian comrade. I'll remember this."
"I'm sure you will."
CHAPTER FORTY
Selena opened the door to her new condo. The place was empty and clean and smelled of new construction. She loved that smell. Ready for life, full of potential, a blank canvas for new possibilities. Sunlight streamed through the windows. It filled the empty rooms with light and spilled gold over the hardwood floors.
She closed the door and stood for a moment looking at the space. The kitchen opened onto the living area across a curving expanse of polished granite. It was one of the things she loved about the design. She walked across the room. Her footsteps echoed in the silence. The floor was on top of the building. Somewhere a siren wound through the streets far below and faded into the distance.
Her things from San Francisco would arrive in a few days. She hadn't had time to look for furniture yet. Selena pictured the Klee on the living room wall. Or maybe in the bedroom. She'd arranged to upgrade the alarms. A former CIA operative and friend of her uncle would take care of it.
She toured the bedrooms, the baths, came back to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter. What would it be like, living here? With Nick, if that worked out? She'd been on her own for a long time. She liked her privacy, her space. She liked doing things her own way. She liked arranging things as she pleased.
She was having strong second thoughts. Nick had done nothing about subletting his apartment. Why was she pushing it?
She opened the sleek refrigerator. It was empty except for a six pack of bottled water. She took one of the bottles and closed the door. Walked over to the counter with the bottle.
She took in the beautiful space and suddenly felt depressed. That happened a lot recently. Feeling depressed. As if all the light was leaving.
Her life had changed so much since her uncle's murder, since she'd met Nick. She could never have imagined it, not in her wildest fantasies. It was as if she'd stepped through an invisible barrier into an insane video game, where nothing was fixed and people stayed dead for real.
She didn't think much about her safety. She thought that was weird. She ought to be worried. But she wasn't. When something bad went down, she became the moment. She was the moment, doing whatever she had to do. It wasn't a conscious thing. After, she might think about what it meant, what she'd done. That was part of the problem. Nick had told her once not to think about things before they happened or much about them after. Easy for him to say. It wasn't easy for her. She didn't think it was really as easy for him as he made it out to be. Otherwise, why did he have nightmares? Now she had them too.
Maybe it was all meaningless. Maybe what she did wouldn't change anything. But if it was meaningless, she couldn't justify the deaths she caused. Not only that, she was good at killing people. It bothered her. She'd always tried to be the best at whatever she did. It carried over into killing.
In the beginning, the first time she'd killed someone, she'd felt guilty about not feeling guilty. It wasn't like that now. Now she just felt plain guilty.
Did she really love Nick? Maybe she was just hooked on his Alpha Male competence. Not to mention the sex. He took her places in bed like no one she'd slept with before. Not that she'd had many lovers, she'd never been promiscuous. Where would it go, after he moved in with her? Where would it be ten years from now?
If he's still alive. If I'm still alive. What about children?
The thought was unexpected. Unwelcome. She couldn't imagine children here. She couldn't imagine children anywhere. Her gut twisted. If she kept doing this there would never be children. Any path she walked with Nick didn't have children on it. She didn't know if she wanted children. Her mind was a stew of conflicting thoughts.
"Screw this," she said to the empty room.
She let herself out. She thought she'd have a drink somewhere. Maybe she could meet Nick for dinner and they could pretend they were like everybody else.
Normal.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Nick stepped out of the entrance to his building. He was on his way to meet Selena at a restaurant near DuPont Circle. He thought about what he'd say to her. About living with her in the new condo.
A gleaming black Cadillac limo sat by the curb, motor idling. Nick recognized it as the armored Presidential model. Not something you saw every day. A $300,000 car. Five inch thick armor. Run flat tires. Turbo charged 6.6 liter diesel engine. Security countermeasures beyond most people's conception.
The windows were black. At the same time he saw the limo, he saw a man on either side of him. His hand moved toward his pistol.
"Please don't, Director Carter. You are in no danger." The man on the right had a deep voice, calm. "Someone wants to speak with you."
Both men wore dark overcoats and sunglasses and earpieces. They might have been Secret Service, but something told him these two didn't work for the Treasury Department. They kept out of reach and made no sudden moves. Their hands were outside their pockets and away from their bodies. Both men wore their hair short. Both had hard, experienced faces. Nick assessed his chances. He figured it at about 50/50 in a fight. He'd never reach the gun in time.
He stopped on the sidewalk. A driver in a dark suit got out of the car. He had sunglasses and an earpiece, like the others. He came around to the curbside and opened the rear door. Waiting.
"If someone wants to talk, why not call?" Stalling. He felt the adrenaline kick in.
"Director. I assure you, there is no harm intended." The voice of the man was educated. "If you would please get in the car."
"I have a dinner engagement."
"Ms. Connor has been advised that you will be delayed."
"And if I choose not to get in?"
"As you wish, Director. No one will attempt to force you, but you would be making a mistake." No menace in the comment, just a recitation of fact.
The car door beckoned. If they knew about Selena, knew where she was, they were efficient, organized. A possible threat if they wanted to be, maybe to Selena. Nick weighed his options, shrugged, got in the back seat of the Cadillac. Sometimes you had to go with the play. The door closed.
The windows were opaque. The interior was lit by overhead halo lighting. The back of the limo stretched comfortable and long, with the smell of new leather. The leather was black. The limo had a black glass partition in front, behind the front seat and the driver. Another partition of thick, black glass ran all along the length of the rear compartment. Nick had never seen anything like that in the back of a Cadillac. He could not see the driver, or whoever sat on the other side of the rear seat. A speaker grill was set in the glass by his head.