The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

“I arrived with Nathaniel posing as an art restoration supervisor,” whispered Agnes. “My name is Agnes Krawcyk. Nathaniel was arrested within five minutes of our arrival. I could tell he was surprised. Someone must have given him up.”

Dominika sipped at her champagne. “How long have you known this Nathaniel?” she asked, still cautious.

“Only several years,” said Agnes. “But I worked during the Cold War in Poland for Tom Forsyth.”

“Describe this Forsyth,” said Dominika.

“Salt-and-pepper hair, six feet tall, and slender; he wears his reading glasses on the top of his head. Very experienced, amazing operational mind. He brought Nathaniel to Helsinki from Moscow and saved his career. Satisfied?” Her halo was steady, assured. Dominika put the pistol on the ledge of the balcony. This was Nate’s wingman, and Benford’s clever addition: sacrifice Nate, clear the field, and hope for success. Crazy, but it worked; this woman was here, wasn’t she?

“I’m sure your instructions were never to come to this dacha,” Dominika said.

“I don’t care about the rules anymore,” said Agnes. “I want to save Nathaniel. Where is he? Do you know? Is he all right?”

More than professional focus, thought Dominika. There’s a personal dimension here too. “They were halfway to killing him this afternoon. They broke a finger and his left arm. He resisted a preliminary course of psychotropic drugs. As the Director of SVR, I argued that he should be kept incognito in Moscow, in good condition, to use as a future bargaining chip as developments require. He’s already on a plane to the capital.”

Agnes put down her glass. “You sent him to Moscow? I can’t get to him there. There’s no way he can escape.”

“I saved his life by sending him to Moscow. What were you going to do, shoot your way into the guardroom, grab Nathaniel, and run for the beach? There are five hundred troops in these woods.”

“He might be in one of your prisons for five years,” whispered Agnes.

“I’ll worry about Nate later,” said Dominika. “Right now, you and I need to accomplish one thing. I believe Nate’s superiors in Langley arranged a canary trap to determine the identity of a high-placed mole in the United States named MAGNIT. Did Nate tell you any of this? No, he probably didn’t know himself. During Nate’s interrogation they kept asking about an informant with a code name of CHALICE. I believe that is part of a blue-dye test, a telltale incriminating variant, because I’ve never heard it before. Do you understand what that is? Do you know the word CHALICE? Forsyth and Benford need to know that variant immediately. The word CHALICE will flag the identity of MAGNIT. Do you understand?” Agnes nodded.

“Tonight you’re getting on that drone speedboat, whatever they call it, and you’re going to bring back that code name, and deliver a thumb drive with the details. Demand to speak personally to Simon Benford the minute you get on board the navy ship. Directly to Benford at CIA. No one else. Do you understand?” Agnes nodded her head again.

“How can you protect Nate in a Moscow prison?” asked Agnes.

“There’s only one thing that’s important now,” said Dominika, ignoring Agnes’s mule-headedness. “CHALICE. Bring that name back to Benford. I’ll watch over Nate in Moscow.”

The dacha’s doorbell rang, a strange cacophony of tubular bells that sounded more like wind chimes. Putting a finger to her lips, Dominika signaled that Agnes should hide in the spacious bedroom closet next to the vast bed. Agnes slipped in and soundlessly pulled the louvered doors closed. Dominika ran downstairs, put Agnes’s champagne glass in the cabinet under the sink, and left hers on the counter with half a bottle of champagne. Tugging at the hem of her nightshirt, and fluffing her hair, she walked across the living room to the glassed-in front door.