The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

Dominika continued to stay away from the US delegation. God knows what trouble would ensue if the admiral recognized her. After a day of liaison meetings with an uncooperative Russian Naval Command, the Americans would stop in London for two days, after which the admiral would return to Washington for more preliminary briefings, and to await the selection of the final candidate. Then congressional confirmation hearings. In no more than ten days Gorelikov would know who would be running CIA. Dominika frantically calculated if she’d have enough time to trigger a crash-dive meeting with case officer Walters to pass an urgent warning to Nate and Benford. Gorelikov, the prescient warlock, seemed to read her mind.

“Will you be flying down to the reception at the cape tomorrow with me? I’ve reserved the Falcon 7 before Bortnikov or Patrushev could claim it. We all have to fly separately; it’s a regulation.” This is a mild test, thought Dominika. Do I fly down with him, or show a little independence and go a few days later, try to make a meet with the Station in the meantime? No. You’ll never get rid of your new bodyguards, and you’ll never get through to the Station. Act naturally. You stick to Anton for now.

“I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t invited me,” said Dominika. “How many guests are expected?”

“Total over the four days, not more than two hundred,” said Gorelikov. “But you have your dacha and your privacy. The rest of us stay in the main house on the presidential wing, elegant, but nothing like your own sea view. You don’t get lonely by yourself?” Dominika knew Anton was not flirting.

“No, I do not become lonely,” said Dominika.

Gorelikov smiled. “I’m sure you will not be,” he said. You mean when Randy Vlad comes scratching, thought Dominika.

When Admiral Rowland was first invited to accompany the delegation to Moscow by the Chief of Naval Operations, she almost panicked and declined. For MAGNIT the mole to visit Moscow and rub elbows with the intelligence officers who were running her was sheer folly. A little more thought on the matter convinced Audrey that this trip would burnish her credentials for selection as DCIA, and that smooth Anton Gorelikov would ensure that no compromising contacts would be attempted. It would be enough for the Russians to see her across the ballroom, and to marvel at her cool nerve and audacity. She accepted the invitation to travel to Russia, sent a short message to SUSAN to inform the Center that she would be arriving, and packed her best uniforms.

After arriving in Moscow, Audrey stayed close to her colleagues, because she was still nervous about her security. After diplomatic pleasantries with Gorelikov and other officials at the Kremlin reception, Audrey assumed that would be the only contact with her handler, and the danger was past. She could finish her time in Russia, fly to London, then return to Washington to find out if she had been selected by POTUS as DCIA. It would be the most audacious penetration of an opposition service in the history of espionage.

She should have known better. The Russians could not resist the temptation to enter her Moscow hotel suite through the door of an adjoining room on the last night of her stay in the capital. The room was dark, and Audrey sat up in bed when the silhouette of Anton glided across the room, backlighted by city lights from the window. Without saying a word, he pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed, leaned close to her, and patted her hand.

“We are very glad to see you,” Anton said. “It has been too long. Are you well? Is contact with the woman in New York satisfactory?”

Audrey was astounded that Anton would take the risk of coming to her room. “Yes, yes. Everything is satisfactory,” said Audrey. “It’s insane coming here like this.”

Anton patted her hand again. “There is no way I could not have spent a few seconds with our most productive friend. We are very excited and expect the best of news regarding the selection process. As we speak, we are working on an enhanced communications plan for you if you are named Director.”

“Communications better be enhanced,” whispered Audrey. “You must not take any shortcuts. You sit here in Moscow reading the intelligence I send you while I run all the risks. And no more Washington meetings with those clods from GRU—I only want to meet with SUSAN from now on.” Too many risks, she thought. What if someone from the American delegation knocked on my door right now?