The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

Putin held up his hand. “CIA removed Gorelikov to make us believe he is CHALICE, and that he defected. MAGNIT’s arrest came immediately afterward, a well-timed coincidence, no? But I am telling you this categorically: Gorelikov cannot be the mole. CHALICE is still among us.”

Without knowing why, Patrushev was nodding in agreement like a felt-headed dipping-bird toy sold in kiosks in Gorky Park. “On what do you base this theory?” asked Bortnikov, struggling to retain a modicum of deference. Dominika could see he was furious with Patrushev, a natural podkhalim, a real lickspittle.

“A single fact,” said Putin. “Gorelikov conceived of, planned, and managed the Kataklizm operation to eliminate Alex Larson.”

Silence. All of them looked at Putin in shock. They knew everything that went on in the Russian Federation, but none of them had heard of this before. Eliminate Larson? My God. Dominika knew she had just heard the most explosive secret intelligence of the decade: Kremlin complicity in the allegedly accidental death of the American DCIA.

“Gorelikov planned the death of Larson?” she whispered. “Do the Americans know? There will be bedstviye, calamity over this.” When I tell them.

Putin did not care; he smirked at their discomfort, and his halo shone. Was he not the tsar? Did he not rule Novorossiya? “No asset under the control of CIA would undertake the assassination of its own Director without warning Langley and disrupting the plot,” he said. “Other services might martyr their own, but never the Americans. The Chinese perhaps, the North Koreans certainly, and Stalin without a second thought. But not the Yankees.”

“So the real CHALICE is active?” said Patrushev, not dwelling on the enormity of Kataklizm or statal murder. He seemed eager to please the president, eager to agree.

Putin nodded. “It is clever. We all assume Gorelikov is CHALICE; therefore, the real CHALICE is safe. You all know the Game. We’ve run such deceptions ourselves. Alex Larson’s death proves Gorelikov could not be an American asset. His success in Kataklizm exonerates him.”

“And CHALICE?” muttered Patrushev.

Putin’s face changed from smirking narrator to phlegmatic prosecutor. “The three of you must ask each other that question,” said Putin, staring at them.

“Mr. President, what are you saying?” said Bortnikov, sitting stock-still.

That he suspects one of us, thought Dominika. It’s a wonder he didn’t pass out pistols loaded with blanks to see who would shoot whom. All right, what would Bratok do? What would he tell you? If you don’t keep calm, if you don’t share the outrage, they’ll suspect you. Like a sleepwalker heading toward the edge of a cliff, Dominika heard herself speak. “The American officer Nash is the key. He certainly knows important details, doubtless even the true identity of CHALICE. It is time for enhanced interrogation to begin.” Idiotka, you better pray you haven’t signed his death sentence.

Putin nodded with satisfaction. “Let it be so, and no more talk of comfortable safe houses or spy swaps,” he said, pointing his finger at Dominika. “You are in charge, but I want all three of you there. In the room. I want that name the American hides behind his teeth. I don’t care how you get it. But get it. The medical team is already at Butyrka, waiting. Go now.”

They all knew they had to out-Herod Herod to prove their innocence. With Putin, demonstrable innocence didn’t matter; he just wanted to blame someone.

That month, Lucius Westfall officially joined the Directorate of Operations, and soon would be going through operational training at the Farm, as Nate, and Gable, and Forsyth, and all of them had done before him. After the Farm, Westfall was scheduled to begin Russian-language training in preparation for his first tour in Moscow. The irony did not escape either Benford or Forsyth as they looked on benevolently.

As a renewed, rather frantic search for replacement candidates for CIA Director roiled the political waters of Washington, DC, Acting Director Farrell summoned Benford to his office.

“I am told by Senator Feigenbaum’s former staff director Rob Farbissen that you obviously and deliberately misled the DCIA candidates during their preparatory briefings, and that you withheld asset information from them,” said the Director. “Duchin from Congressional Affairs corroborates Farbissen’s accusations. You were expressly ordered to brief the candidates completely and fully, without reservation.” He straightened the blotter on his otherwise spotless desk.