Spring was in full bloom in the Scandinavian capital, and Sofiya enjoyed the feeling of sunshine caressing her face. Mingling with the locals, she took the bus to the centre of Östermalm and then made her way to the embassy district on foot. The embassy district—now there was a joke, she thought with a wry smile. The Kingdom of Sweden may proclaim its neutrality loud and clear, but it had, nonetheless, made a point to separate the Soviet embassy from its brothers and sisters. While the happy clan of America, Hungary, Turkey, Norway, Germany, Italy, Finland, and Great Britain stood within walking distance of each other in Östermalm, the black sheep of the family had been relegated to a whole other island, some twenty minutes away.
She had no trouble finding the American embassy on Dag Hammarskjölds väg 31. It was another rectangular-shaped grey building that was both imposing and cold—much like the Russian embassy, Sofiya noted. She walked past it and continued towards Nobelparken. She knew the American ambassador enjoyed the luxury of a private house in that park that overlooked Lake Mälaren, but the rest of the embassy staff had been granted the use of large apartments on Linnégatan, a residential street a little further away.
She easily found the building number that Sonia Johnson had given her. Upon her arrival, she announced herself to the doorman, an elderly man with greying hair and a crisp uniform. He invited her to wait in the lobby while he notified the tenants of the penthouse that she had arrived.
When the old man disappeared around the corner of the room, the familiar figure of Timothy Johnson stepped out of the opposite corridor. Without a word, he took Sofiya by the arm and dragged her down the corridor and to the elevator. He almost threw her in before pressing the button to close the doors. He failed to select a floor, and the elevator stayed where it was, trapping the young woman in its small, stuffy, ensconced space.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Johnson asked. The kindness he’d shown her at the garden party had completely evaporated, and the young woman took a step back.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she said, massaging her wrist. “Your wife invited me; she wants us to go shopping. I couldn’t say no, not without giving her an explanation.”
“You stay away from her,” the American said, closing the gap between them again. “And you stay away from me.”
“Trust me; I would like nothing more than to do that.” Sofiya tried backing away again, but she soon felt the cabin of the elevator push against her back. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do.”
“Funny…” Johnson took another step forward. When he glanced down at her body, it was easy to guess at his thoughts. “…you seemed to enjoy yourself the other night.”
Sofiya couldn’t help but notice how their positions echoed the ones they’d had that night, and she felt something creep up deep inside her, which she refused to acknowledge. She had to put an end to this, she realised. In such a tight space and without any weapons at her disposal, she wouldn’t be able to fend him off.
“You were having the time of your life,” she said, her tone scathing. “I was on assignment.”
Bending to take a long whiff of her perfume, Johnson chuckled. “Some things cannot be faked.” With that, he pressed the button to open the doors, and he stepped to the side.
Sofiya was out of the small cabin in no time, feeling his gaze linger on her back the entire length of the corridor. She found Sonia waiting for her in the lobby and acted like she’d been looking for her all along.
The sun was setting when Sofiya returned to the apartment, balancing several shopping bags in her hands. Each one was branded with a different logo on the side, and they contained a variety of skirts, dresses, pants, and blouses that would last her until summer came.
The young woman was surprised to find Petrov nursing a drink in the living room. He’d opened a new bottle of vodka and placed an empty glass for her on the coffee table. She dropped the bags by the sofa before sitting down and facing him.
Rather than filling the silence, Petrov filled her glass.
Sofiya studied him as she reached for it. He’d taken his suit off already and replaced it with a pair of cotton trousers and a white shirt. Though the white garment reached high at the base of his neck, it wasn’t enough to hide the hickey he had on his collarbone. So—he’d been spending time with Svetlana Alexeïeva again. Sofiya chose not to let Petrov know she’d noticed, but she committed the detail to memory.
The silence stretched, and she emptied her glass before pouring herself another one. She was fine with whatever game the diplomat had going; she could do this all night.
“That’s to be expected,” Petrov said eventually. “After putting up with Sonia Johnson for an entire day.”
“She talks a lot,” Sofiya confirmed. “Rarely stops.”
“Tomorrow morning, I want you to go to the Johnsons’ apartment in Östermalm,” he continued. “Pretend it’s to thank Sonia for the delightful day you’ve just had, or something.”
He reached into his pocket and placed two items on the table. The first was a thick manila envelope, and the second, a little black plastic device. It had a switch on one side and an antenna on the other. “Once you’re there, pass this along to her husband, without her seeing it. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Petrov waited for her to nod before standing up and leaving the room.
Returning her attention to the items that faced her, Sofiya pondered the situation. She recognised a kill switch when she saw one. Once activated, the little black device would momentarily disable all electrical equipment within twenty feet of where it stood. As for the envelope, its content was easy to guess. The young spy would bet all her money that it was a mix of compromising photographs and a copy of her wild night with Johnson on tape.
The only unknown that remained was the location at which the device had to be activated.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16, 1986.
As she walked down Linnégatan, Sofiya wondered which course of action to take. The compromising envelope and the kill switch were safely tucked out of sight in her large brown leather shoulder bag, and she knew what was expected of her. Drop the parcel and make it clear that Johnson had better follow the instruction Petrov and Alexeïeva had given him. And then make a swift exit.
If only they’d told her more about the plan and where the device was to be used. The American embassy, for sure, she thought. But then what? How did they plan to penetrate the heavily guarded offices? A Soviet citizen, even a diplomat, would never make it past the front gate, let alone wander through the upper floors. And yet, she was certain the two lovers had an airtight plan at the ready.
She needed to figure it out. Directorate K and Serov may have agreed to let her go unsupervised for a couple of months, but she knew that it was a privilege that wouldn’t last. That sleazy heel would be breathing down her neck soon enough, and when the time came, she had better have something to bait him with.
Reaching the building entrance to the Johnsons’ flat, Sofiya offered a polite smile to the doorman before requesting he announce her arrival. The old man led her inside, and she followed him to the reception, where he proceeded to phone the penthouse tenants. Whoever he spoke to on the line cleared her, and the doorman led her to the elevator.