The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

Audrey was stirring out of her benzodiazepine-fueled, four-climax coma, her head surprisingly clear, her thighs sticky and trembling. As per procedure, the Sparrow always slipped out of the room as the recruiter came in, and Dominika shouldered past him, ignoring his courteous nod. Audrey didn’t even see her go, and she didn’t know that the inveigling Sparrow’s role was complete. For Audrey, what’s-her-name would be only a fading memory—a Venus with blue eyes holding that hairbrush—albeit immortalized permanently on digital video.

Audrey likewise didn’t know that the Kremlin recruiter was the renowned Doctor Anton Gorelikov, the fifty-year-old director of Putin’s mysterious Sekretariat, a shadowy office in the Kremlin with a single member—Gorelikov himself—that handled delicate, strategic matters of importance, such as the coercive recruitment of a young US Navy officer. Uncle Anton had scored monumental recruitment successes over the years. Speaking in fluent Oxfordian English, Gorelikov had a number of issues to discuss after Audrey finished dressing and came out of the gilt bathroom nervously combing her hair with the still-hot hairbrush. He rarely used threats, preferring instead to rationally discuss the benefits of cooperating with Russian intelligence, and ignoring the “unpleasantness” that had just concluded.

They sat in the salon, Audrey apprehensive but clueless. It was two o’clock in the morning.

“It’s a distinct pleasure to meet you, Audrey,” said Uncle Anton.

Audrey shifted in her chair and looked at him. Some of her starch was on display. “How do you know my name?” she said. “Who are you?”

Gorelikov smiled the smile that had doomed a thousand blackmailed recruits. Audrey’s voice was not calm; he heard the telltale wavering tone. “Please call me Anton,” he said. “I know your name because your bona fides are superb: a brilliant career in weapons research ahead of you, excellent prospects for promotion, influential mentors, and powerful sponsors who will supercharge your navy career.”

“How do you know so much about me? What entity do you represent?” said Audrey, still not comprehending what this was.

Uncle Anton ignored her questions. “As for the brief liaison this evening with the young girl from the bar, it is wisely left unmentioned—best for all concerned,” said Uncle Anton. “I greatly admire the wisdom of the US Navy’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell reforms. Sadly, our Russian military is too monolithic for such liberal farsightedness,” he sighed.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” said Audrey, whose exceptional mind was beginning to connect the dots. A cold wave ran down her back.

“I have an abiding worry,” said Uncle Anton. “I fear that if your sapphic indiscretions become public, the old institutional prejudices in your service regrettably would almost certainly reemerge, putting you at risk of early retirement on the beach at half pay. That would be both unjust and unfair.” With prescient timing, Gorelikov pointed the remote at the television in the corner of the salon, which began showing precisely which indiscretions he was talking about, namely, images of Audrey’s trembling legs in the air with what appeared to be a lemur’s tail protruding from between her buttocks. Audrey sat numbly in the armchair, watching expressionless, giving few psychic clues to the wily old wizard, which was interesting—she was placid, emotionless, acquiescent. She accepted a cigarette and drew on it deeply. Gorelikov knew she was considering the consequences. Good sign.

Audrey indeed was considering the consequences. She knew what would happen as they had been given security briefings on just these situations. She had chosen to ignore them; they were regulations that would not, did not, apply to her. She was going places in the navy, and she didn’t have the time. But she knew she was in a jam: The Russians would concoct a charade. The young Russian girl would come forward, tearfully claiming to the authorities that she was coerced into making a salacious sex tape, which was a violation of at least half a dozen Russian morality laws. Such a scandal would destroy Audrey’s career, this career she had been preparing for since graduate school, through Officer Candidate School, to the research lab, in order to climb the ladder, to outdo her ungenerous father, to best his own accomplishments in the navy, and to earn the benefits and prestige of flag rank in a service that was the impenetrable preserve of smugly solicitous men. All this would be hers; nothing was more important. Her physicist’s mind leapt ahead with comprehension.

“In the simplest terms, you are blackmailing me, an officer in the US Navy.” Audrey couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. Uncle Anton held up his hands in an expression of alarm.

“My dear Audrey,” he said. “That is the furthest thing from my mind. The very notion repels me.”