The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

Agnes held Anton’s wrists and rode out the last paroxysm of his thrashing legs, and he was still, but they didn’t move for another five minutes, tense. They knew he was gone when his trousers showed wet and a pool of urine spread on the floor under him. Agnes was soaked too, but didn’t say a word as she got to her feet, with wild hair. They both looked at Gorelikov, both panting like murderous ancient queens, Clytemnestra and Electra contemplating crimson bathwater. Dominika saw that Agnes’s halo was bleached and faded. Anton’s corpse was wet from waist to knee, his eyes were open, his neck was bruised purple, and his halo was gone. Interesting. Dominika wondered if she eventually would feel remorse—Gorelikov had, after all, befriended and supported her in the Kremlin—for she felt none now. The elegant boulevardier would have had her executed without hesitation.

Dominika fastened the still-warm pearls back around her neck; they were heavy and slick against her skin. They’d never feel the same again, and she’d always have to contend with Anton’s ghost when she wore them. “Are you ready to take a cruise with Monsieur CHALICE?” she asked Agnes. “He’s decided to defect.”

“You’re going to put me in that canoe with Putin’s closest adviser, and strap me in with him to bounce around for thirty minutes?” said Agnes.

“With the president’s closest dead adviser,” said Dominika. “His disappearance will prove he was the mole, a devastating scandal for the Kremlin and for the president personally.”

“Gorelikov becomes CHALICE? The most-trusted man in Putin’s Russia turns out to be the mole who defects? They’ll never believe it,” said Agnes.

“Posle dozhdika v chetverg, we’ll see after the rain on Thursday; we have no idea what will happen. It’s the only evidence they’ll have, and you’ll be gone too, the second CIA operative we all missed when we obsessed over Nate,” said Dominika. “Final confirmation of Gorelikov as the mole will come when Benford arrests MAGNIT.” She ran upstairs to whip the used sheet off the bed and raced back down to the living room to swaddle Gorelikov in the sheet, a burial shroud smelling of Putin’s cologne.

“How are we going to carry him down that steep path to the beach?” said Agnes.

“We each grab one end and drag him down,” said Dominika, gathering one end of the sheet and lifting.

“This is insane.”

“Insane? Now is the time for vera, for faith, and unshakable resolve, which I suspect you know very well.”

Agnes nodded. “Wiernosc in Polish.”

Dominika nodded. “Take his wristwatch off. It’s one of those fancy Swiss models, worth thousands. Keep it, it’s yours, compliments of the Kremlin. Consider it reimbursement for this crazy mission. They never should have sent you. It was an insane risk.”

“Nate came to rescue you and I came to help Nate,” said Agnes. “So I suppose all of us have lost.”

“We have not lost,” said Dominika. “But now it’s time to end this. This is defeat for Them. They sleep in their beds just up the hill, in the main house, while we will be swallowing seawater for Gable, for a white-haired general and two young Sparrows who gave their lives.” She looked at her watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the boat is due, and Anton takes his last Black Sea pleasure cruise. Grab the sheet and help me lift him.”

MOUSSELINESAUCE

Make the sabayon by gently whisking cold water slowly into egg yolks, until triple in volume. Whisk sabayon, slowly adding warm clarified butter until sauce is smooth and glossy. Incorporate lemon juice, salt, and cayenne and continue stirring. Gently fold in whipped cream that has been whisked into firm peaks. Serve immediately.

37

Black Sea Cruise