The story was on page four.
The headline read” Potomac spy theory.
“The woman’s body found in the Potomac two days ago by an early morning runner is thought to be that of a Russian spy. The young woman’s body has been identified as that of Yana Borisova, a Ukrainian Journalist thought actually to be a Russian spy. The Russian embassy has denied all knowledge of the woman.”
He read the details, the discovery, the lack of details of her recent activities. The excess of alcohol and drugs found in her blood samples. Rumours of a sexual relationship with a Russian diplomat were denied by the embassy as scurrilous sensationalist newspaper talk.
He was saddened by the news; he didn’t know her well, but she was a pleasant girl. You never really knew your clients, but Yana didn’t deserve that fate.
The door opened, a customer walked in. “Good morning. I’m looking for Polish and Hungarian stamps…”
OWEN PICKED UP THE phone. The brass plaque on his desk read, Director. Department of Europe. East sector. His office was spacious and looked like an old English drawing room. The decor was all dark woods with wrought iron and brass fittings.
The number had taken some tracking down, not by him of course, he’d staffed it. It rang and then was finally answered.
“God, who’s this? He rubbed his eyes, he’d just awoken.
“Good morning. I have a task for you,” said Owen.
“What? Who is this…”
HE WALKED SLOWLY DOWN the city street, he was early and walked into a café. His hood and dark glasses were his disguise. Nobody seemed to suspect anything. He was anonymous as far as he could tell. The woman served him a coffee and a Pliatsky cake. The man ate it, paid her, then left. The city was bustling today, people went about their business with a spring in their step. People laughed and joked. Life was good. He knew that all this came at a price. He walked around another three blocks and then turned into Kiev’s Dubky Park.
Vasyl, the Father of the Nation, sat on the appointed bench and waited.
She entered the Park from the North end of Saratovska Street and walked up to the third bench, and sat next to him.
He handed her a coffee in its disposable cup; he sipped one himself.
“How are you today?”
“I’m good, Vasyl. I slept well and the sun is shining, all’s well with my world.”
“I read that you were dead, Yana. Found floating in the Potomac.” He smiled at her. “You’re looking well, to say that you’re dead.”
“It had to be done I suppose. Who was it? The dead person?”
“I’ve no idea Yana. I left that to The Sluzhba Bezpeky Ukrayiny. It’s the secret service’s sort of thing. Probably a dead drug addict, I suppose.” He took another sip of coffee. “You did well. The Russians are humbled and have pulled back into the Eastern Ukraine. One day we’ll push them from there too. But for now, we are saved. Our nation is ours, The Black Sea is open again. We tricked them. We thwarted their plans.” He smiled at her. “Now that you’re dead Yana, you can serve your country all the more. The Russians think you’re one of theirs now; that we killed you in revenge. Or that we tried to do but failed, and you killed someone to frame your own death. We’ll see that they find evidence that it was the latter. They’ll be pleased to find one of their own is still alive. The Kievan Unit has great things for you to do. Great things.” Vasyl grinned. “In the meantime, you need a break. Here, take this.” He handed her an envelope. “In it, you’ll find a ticket, booking details and a credit card. There’ll be instructions and a location where you’ll meet your contact. Enjoy your trip, Yana. And thanks.”
SHE WALKED DOWN THE dusty path by the beach. The Bahamas. It had been a surprise, why here? Yana didn’t mind, she’d over two weeks here. He’d said it was a break. Just one meeting and that was it. Freedom; she smiled. She walked by a group of palm shrubs and there it was, The Red Sailfish bar, that was where her contact would be. She pushed the door open, walked in and ordered a Red Stripe beer. The inside was nautical style with sea fishing trimmings. Hooks, nets, gaffs. Photographs of men with large fish suspended from hooks.
“Hi, Yana, better than a forest cabin.”
She turned. There he stood, in shorts and a yellow frayed tee shirt. Bare muscled arms. He grinned.
“Nathan! What are you doing here?” she tried hard to suppress her grin.
“I have a message for you. It’s from Langley.” He handed her a letter.
“I’ll read it later. Why did they ask you to pass it to me?”
“You know me I guess? And I have some free time now.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I have two weeks leave before I report to Naval Submarine school at Groton for the Prospective Commanding Officer course.” He smiled. “They might give me my own boat someday.”
“So Nathan, we both have time off? Let’s make the most of it.”
She walked over, they kissed and…