Red Sparrow

“Then something screwy happens. You realize that you thrive on this life, on the risk and the trickiness and the ice and the deception and the secret in your head every day. You thrive on it, you develop a real taste for it.” The wine came, and Gable sipped. “How am I doing?” he said. Dominika crossed her arms.

“So suddenly you’re betrayed again, this time by the people you thought were the good guys, but that would be the wrong way to think about it.” Dominika blinked at Gable sideways. “The general, and Benford, and all of us wanted you to assume the general’s place as our top gun in Moscow. Maybe we should have asked you, but it didn’t happen. So now we’re in the last act, and Benford is trying to get you back inside Moscow, and sweetheart, it’s up to you. No one can force you; you have to decide on your own.” Dominika looked out at the black water, then back at Gable.

“What are you going to do without all this?” he asked. “What are you going to do without your fix?”

Dominika closed her eyes and shook her head. “You think I cannot live without this?” she said.

“Forget about the CIA. Think about the general; he’d tell you the same thing. Go back and get to work. Don’t think about the CIA for the first six months, a year. Don’t give those bastards at the Center an inch. Run them over. You have a head start now; begin building your career. Go back and finish with your uncle. Tell the Center what he did, make sure he gets what he deserves. You’ll be on the winning side, and it’ll make you seem unpredictable and dangerous. First you caught Korchnoi, now you demolish your own uncle. They’ll be scared of you.

“Choose, demand, force them to give you an important job, something with a lot of access, somewhere in the Americas Department, Line KR, whatever. Run your shop like you mean it. Recruit foreigners, cause trouble, catch spies, make allies, throw your enemies off balance. Be bitchy around the conference table.”

Dominika tried not to smile. “Bitchy, this means zlobnyj, I think,” she said.

“Once a year, twice, you come out on an operation of your choosing and I’ll be there. You tell us what you want to tell us. You call the shots on internal communications. If you need to see us in Moscow, I’ll personally make sure you’re safe. You want commo gear, we’ll give you some. You need help, you got it. You want us to go away, we’re gone.”

“And would Nathaniel be involved in the future?” she asked.

“People think it would be ill-advised to bring the two of you together, given the operational history. But I’m here to tell you that if you want him handling outside meetings, we can arrange that.”

“You’re being very accommodating,” said Dominika.

“This work, Dominika. It’s in your blood, you can’t leave it alone, it’s in your nose and under your nails and growing out of the tips of your hair. Admit it.”

“I would never have come to dinner with you if I knew you were a janychar,” she said. “Did the CIA take you from your crib and train you from youth?”

“Admit it,” said Gable. The air was filled with purple.

“And now you’re being nekulturny,” she said.

“You know I’m right. Admit it.” She was enveloped in it.

“Mozhet byt’,” Dominika said. “Perhaps.”

“Dominika,” he said. His purple cloud had descended from above his head and was swirling between them.

Dominika’s face was calm and clear. “Perhaps.”

“Think about what I said. I want you to agree, you know that, but whatever you decide, you have to make up your mind by tomorrow.”

“I see,” said Dominika. “I detect another surprise from you. Why must I decide by tomorrow, dear Bratok?”

“Because we need you, Benford needs you, in Estonia tomorrow.”

She looked at him coolly, her hands flat on the table. “Tell me why, please.” And Gable told her about the swap in Estonia, watching her eyes narrow.

“Don’t get mad again,” said Gable. “I didn’t tell you before because I wanted to talk to you without it hanging over our heads.”

“And you are not making this up?” said Dominika.

“You’re going to be walking past him on the freaking bridge,” said Gable. “It would be difficult to fake it.”

“I assume the CIA could build a bridge.”

“Be serious,” said Gable.

“All right, I will be serious,” said Dominika. “By telling me this you are again making me the general’s executioner. You are not giving me a choice at all.”

“What did I tell you before?” said Gable. “It is your choice. You can decide right now, right here, not to continue. We already owe you a modest resettlement. You have a bank account. I will call Benford and then personally fly with you to the United States. Tomorrow.”

“And the general?” she said.

Gable shrugged. “He was the best Russian asset we ever had. He lasted fourteen years. He engineered his own demise because he was at the end of his run; he thought he found in you a replacement for his work, he wanted continuity. But it was his decision. Assets live and die. You are bound by the situation to the extent you let yourself be.”