The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

As she packed for the reception at the cape, she fingered the sports watch Nate had given her, the satellite beacon that would transmit an emergency signal requesting exfiltration. The beginning of a plan started percolating in her mind. Nate’s always trying to get me to defect. Okay, lover boy, come rescue me.

KREMLINSALAKA

Toast triangles of bread and spread thickly with butter. Lay a boned fillet of smoked herring on the bread, and cover with a soft melting cheese like Russian bryndza. Place briefly under broiler until cheese is melted. Serve with ogrutsky, dill pickles.

33

Exfiltration

When DIVA’s exfiltration signal was relayed by the SARSAT maritime rescue receivers to Simon Benford’s desk in Langley he yelled at Dotty through the door to summon Forsyth, Nash, Westfall, and Gable instantly. She knew he had included Gable as a reflex, and didn’t have the heart to correct him; she saw how deeply he had felt Gable’s death in Khartoum. Benford also bellowed that he wanted Phineas “Finn” Nikula, the extravagant and boisterous Chief of maritime branch—the section in the larger Paramilitary Staff (PMS) that controlled all CIA maritime assets. Along with other ships, Finn Nikula controlled the Agency’s experimental fleet of Unmanned Surface Vessels, and Benford knew he’d need Finn’s cooperation to release one of his precious USVs, stage it on a gray hull in the Black Sea, and program it to retrieve DIVA at Cape Idokopas, even though Benford didn’t believe for a minute that DIVA wanted exfiltration. Her transmission was meant to signal something else, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know what.

Westfall was the first to arrive, then Forsyth, then Nash breathlessly barged through the door, instinctively knowing this crash dive could only mean Dominika was in trouble. Nikula arrived fifteen minutes later, having come from the other side of the Headquarters building where the PMS front office was tucked away as far as possible from the dyspeptic Director and easily scandalized analysts, who were positively allergic to the very notion of paramilitary operations. Nikula was broad shouldered and muscular, and his tweed sport coat strained around the biceps and across the back. He was known to confront people in meetings by neighing like a donkey, implying they were jackasses. He had a wide, rugged face, an ice-blue stare, no eyebrows, and a completely shaven head, which Benford said would certainly make a phrenologist back out of the room in alarm. Gable had once told Finn to his face that he was half a bubble off plumb, and they were firm friends after that. Finn had volunteered to bring Gable’s casket home from Khartoum, but Benford sent Nash instead, certain Finn would bludgeon Gondorf with a toner cartridge from an office copier and throw him in the Nile. Benford wanted Gondorf back alive so he could fire him.

“The transmission was received at 1100 GMT, which means 1400 on the Black Sea coast,” said Benford.

“She’s at Putin’s compound for the four-day reception,” said Nate. “We’ve got maps of that stretch of coast, and imagery. I can show you where her dacha is and the beach below the house.”

“She’s got a dacha?” said Finn, rubbing his head. “Whose Mexican corn did she eat the long way?”

Nate’s face colored. “Spare us the knuckle-dragger jokes,” he growled. “They’re bullshit.”

“You think so?” said Finn.

“Let’s finish operational discussions before the two of you go out back and begin a fight,” said Benford.

“Which I’d win,” said Finn, grinning.

“Both of you, shut up,” said Forsyth. “What do we all think? Does DIVA want out? After refusing to consider defecting over and over?”

“She decided to come out,” said Nate. “She changed her mind.”

“Doesn’t seem consistent,” said Forsyth.

“I agree,” said Benford. “The transmission is a signal for something else.”

“Do we even send Finn’s USV to the beach?” said Forsyth. Nate squirmed in his seat.

“We have to,” said Nate. “She sent the exfil signal. She’ll be on that beach in three days.”

“You guys make up your minds,” said Finn. “I don’t want to send a four-million-dollar USV hull into Russian territorial waters if nobody’s gonna be on that beach.”

Nate rounded on him. “She’ll be there,” he said. Westfall characteristically cleared his throat.

“An observation, if I may,” he said.

“Where’s he from?” Finn muttered to Nate, looking at Westfall’s fogged-up glasses. Lucius ignored him.