Sofiya took the western bridge to access the island, and then the circular footpath that surrounded the semi-circular building; then, she walked the width of the eastern building before stopping in the park. She chose the second bench that faced the Riksdagshuset’s entrance as she waited for her contact to arrive.
At precisely five minutes to noon, a nervous man in a business suit came to sit next to her. Sofiya briefly glanced his way and saw that he was sweating profusely despite the fresh breeze blowing in from the lake.
“Relax, man,” she said in flawless Swedish. “You look like a teenager who just bought his first porn magazine and is carrying it tucked beneath his shirt.”
“Easy for you to say,” the young man replied, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
Sofiya had no idea who the kid was; all that she’d been told was the contact protocol and time of the appointment. She guessed the twenty-something athletic blonde was someone’s assistant or a trainee of some kind. Either way, this was his very first time making contact with a Soviet agent, and it showed.
“Fine-looking day,” she said, using the coded phrase that would identify her. “I fancy going for a boat ride.”
“My uncle owns a kayak company,” the man replied, his voice stuttering over his excitement. “I could give you his telephone number.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sofiya said, glancing his way again. If anything, the kid now looked worse than before. He sat at the edge of the bench, with his back ramrod straight, and he looked like he was ready to bolt any second now.
“Would you chill out?” she cautioned. “Anyone looking at you would think you’re sitting on a hot plate. Lean back a little; relax your shoulders.”
“Have you got my money?” he asked, still in that same nervous, hushed tone.
Sofiya patted her handbag before turning her head to the side, seemingly to appreciate the view. Her posture was the opposite of the nervous wannabe-spy. Her back rested against the bench in a natural and relaxed way. She’d crossed her right leg over the left and had one of her hands delicately poised over her right knee, while the other lay on the bench. A soft smile played at the corner of her lips as she basked in the midday sun. The first rule of such exchanges was to look like you had every reason to be here.
It took the young man a couple of minutes to comply with her directives, but he finally managed to relax a fraction.
“Have you got information for us?” she asked after his back touched the bench, and his left foot stopped nervously beating the pavement.
“Yes, I know how you can get to him. He will attend an art opening on Friday,” he explained as he reached for something in his pocket. “I have all the details here.”
“Don’t take it out of your pocket,” Sofiya said, a little louder than was necessary to make sure he’d get the message. Damn, this kid really had no idea what he was doing. “You can’t just hand it to me in plain sight.”
The nervous foot-tapping resumed as she let out a resigned sigh. “Here’s what you’ll do. Put your hand in your front pocket, grab whatever piece of paper you have in there—and I hope it’s small—then place it against your palm and hold it with your thumb so that it remains hidden.”
Without needing to look, Sofiya felt him follow her orders. “Next, you’re going to take your hand out of your pocket and slide it down the length of your pants. Now bend down as if you were going to re-tie your shoelaces.” The young man did as he was told. “Place the piece of paper beneath your foot and redo your laces before sitting back up.”
She uncrossed her legs as she prepared to stand. “See the newspaper on the bench between us? Your envelope is in there.” Before the young man had time to ask her questions, she said, “I want you to take it and walk away. Don’t worry about the note; don’t look back.”
A nervous hand entered her field of vision, and she tightened her grip on the straps of her handbag. She stood up half an instant after the man, and when his feet liberated the folded document, she stepped on it herself. Then she glanced down at her watch while the young Swede disappeared back into the Riksdagshuset. Crouching down, Sofiya placed her handbag on the ground as she pretended to look for something inside it. She pulled a tissue out of it with her left hand while she used her right one to discreetly drop the piece of paper inside.
Sofiya had one more task to accomplish for the FCD that day, and that one saw her heading to a less savoury part of town. In northeast Stockholm, she used the last of the money that had been given to her to buy some under-the-counter surveillance material.
The afternoon was nearly over when she entered the flat on Marieberg. She’d expected to find it empty and was surprised to find that Petrov was already home, and he wasn’t alone. A man with silver hair and a crisp uniform stood leaning on a cane in the corner of the living room. She froze for an instant before recovering herself.
“General Igorov,” she saluted as she entered the living room.
“Comrade Litvinova,” he said in Russian. “I trust the day went well.”
She nodded. “Of course.” She stopped by the coffee table and placed the paper bag that contained the surveillance equipment on the wooden surface. Then she pulled the bank account information and the note she had received outside Parliament House out of her handbag.
Igorov gave it only the briefest of glances. “The password?” he asked.
Sofiya knelt down, found a pencil at the bottom of her bag, and scribbled the ten-digit code on the bank’s stationery.
“Good girl,” he said. “You Directorate-K operatives are ever so helpful.”
Sofiya took no pride in the comment; rather, it ruffled her feathers. There had been something to the man’s tone that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge. She felt uneasy when she turned her back to him to get to the liquor cabinet. She poured them three glasses of Petrov’s expensive vodka and served both men before serving herself.
Both accepted the drinks, though neither thanked her.
“You know what to do with all that,” Igorov said to the other man. “There should be enough money in that account to last the embassy for several years. The rest is to be used immediately. The sooner we can get all this mess behind us, the better.”
The moment his glass was empty, he left it on the coffee table and bid Petrov goodbye. Sofiya was surprised when he requested that she accompany him to his car.
“I know who you are,” the general said once they’d reached the parking lot. “And what your mission here is.”
Sofiya wasn’t sure if an answer was expected of her, but she gave him one anyway. “I hope this new turn of events won’t jeopardize my mission.”
“If you’re as good as they say you are, you need not worry.” He stepped closer to her, his cane tapping the ground in step with his prosthetic leg. “I am not sure I fully understand what arrangement Petrov thinks he has with you, or you with him for that matter. But I have more pressing matters to attend.” Coming closer still, he added, “And that includes another mission for you this week.”
“A mission?”
“Petrov will fill you in on that.” His gaze glanced down and then back up the length of her body as if he were undressing her in his head. “Once that is done, we’ll see… I may have other needs for your special kind of services.”
His tone, more than his words, had made it perfectly clear what he had in mind.