Red Sparrow

“If you are reconsidering our plan,” she said, “I can report that my visit to your room lasted four minutes, and tell them your… ardor… was somewhat, how do you say, ukorachivat kratkiy?” asked Dominika.

“Abbreviated,” said Nate. His color flared at the gibe.

“Yes,” said Dominika, going to the other set of balcony doors and looking out. “The readers at Yasenevo would be delighted by the gossip that CIA officers’ endurance is lacking. Your prowess would be well-known at our headquarters.”

“I’ve always loved Russian humor,” said Nate. “It’s a shame there’s so little of it. But in the interest of protecting our operational legend, I think you should stay overnight.”

In the interest of our operational legend, thought Dominika. “Very well, I will sleep on this divan, and you will sleep in the bedroom, and you will keep the door closed.”

Nate was matter-of-fact. “I’ll bring you a blanket and a pillow,” he said. “We have a long day tomorrow, doing nothing.” Dominika did not slip out of her dress until Nate had gone into the bedroom and closed the door. Another moon, she thought sourly, it shone through the open balcony door. She got up to draw the gauzy curtains but stopped and lay back down, letting the moonlight wash over her, paint her silver.

She was tired of being used like a pump handle by all of them, the vlasti, the inheritors of the former Soviet Union, General Korchnoi, the Americans, Nate, telling her what was expedient, indicating what had to be done. How had Korchnoi done it for so long? How long could she last? She listened for Nate in the bedroom beyond the door. She needed something more from them all. She was weary of having her feelings denied to her.

Nearly 0300, and Nate dully registered the door to his room opening. A diffused orange glow from the street lamps came through the sheer curtains. He turned his head slightly and saw Dominika’s silhouette—that unmistakable catch in her graceful stride—move across the bedroom to the window. She reached out and drew the sheers open, first one side, then the other, until she stood backlighted against the sliding glass door, which she slid open. The night air wafted the curtains out and back, snaking on either side of her, around her, over her face, and across her body. She walked toward him, the curtains parting, and stood at the side of the bed. Nate propped himself up on one elbow.

“Are you all right? Is there anything wrong?” he asked. She did not reply and stood still, looking down at him. The case officer in him instantly wondered whether she had heard something, some noise at the door. Did they have to bug out of the hotel right now? He had checked the back stairwell earlier that evening. Still Dominika did not reply, and Nate sat up, reached out to take her hand softly in his.

“Domi, what is it? What’s going on?”

Her voice was a whisper. “When we have made love, did you report it to your headquarters?”

“What are you talking about?” said Nate.

“In Helsinki and in Rome, when we were lovers, did you tell your superiors?”

“What we did was against the rules, unprofessional; it was my fault, we risked your security, the operation.” She was silent, looking down at him. It was another second before she spoke.

“ ‘The operation,’” Dominika said. “You mean we risked the continued collection of razvedka, the intelligence.”

“Look,” said Nate, “what we did was crazy, both professionally and personally. We nearly lost you. I thought about you all the time. I still do.”

“Of course, you think about the case, about Dominika, the national asset.”

“What are you talking about? What do you want me to say?” said Nate.

“I want to feel that sometimes we leave the operation behind, that there is just you and me.” Her bosom heaved in her brassiere. He stood up and put his arms around her. His mind was a riptide of damage control battling the stirring of his passion for her. He smelled her hair, and felt her body. You gonna slip a third time, Mr. Case Officer? he thought.

“Dominika,” he said, and the rushing in his ears started, the old danger signal.

“Will you break your rules again?” she asked. She saw his purple lust, it lit up the darkened room.

“Dominika…” he said, staring into her eyes. Her lashes caught some of the light from the window. He saw Forsyth’s face floating in the air above his head, scary, unblinking. He wanted her, more than his power to resist, more urgently than it was possible to think.

“I want you to violate your rules… with me… not your agent, me,” said Dominika. “I want you to violate me.”