Red Widow

THIRTEEN

Lyndsey is barely back at her desk when there’s a large figure lurking in the doorway. Raymond Murphy stands just outside, hovering like a vampire waiting to be invited in. The thought amuses Lyndsey briefly, until she remembers that he might very well be there to tell her she’s lost her clearance, to pack up and go.

But no, it seems she’s been spared for another day. “We have a development at Moscow Station,” he says as he drops into a chair. Let it be Cassidy, she says to herself, and doesn’t even feel bad for it.

Murphy sounds pleased, though he tries to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “Turns out they flagged one of the case officers, Kate Franklin, as a potential concern. She’s been at Moscow Station for a year, with the Agency about twenty years. The Chief of Station came to us a few weeks back after noticing something odd about her. We’ve turned up some irregularities in her finances. Money in a bank account not covered in her financial report.”

Lyndsey’s disappointed that it has nothing to do with Cassidy. Still—so much for Hank Bremer’s complaining at the teleconference about Raymond Murphy’s inquiry: he’d reported the employee himself. Which is part of a COS’s job, after all. On the other hand, she knows what it’s like to be questioned over what seems like a minor infraction.

“Hank’s talked to her,” Raymond continues. “Turns out it’s a little gambling problem. The thing is, she didn’t do the usual online thing because she was afraid of being discovered by us. So, she was doing it the old-fashioned way: with the locals. She’d been losing money steadily and then—voilà, she suddenly scores a jackpot.”

“And you think it’s a gift from the FSB?”

“It’s not impossible, is it? They find out she’s an intelligence officer, try to reel her in. Now she’s in a blackmailable position, accepting bribes from an adversary. ‘If you don’t want CIA to find out about it, do this one small favor for us,’” he says in a bad Russian accent.

“A bit tenuous, isn’t it? What’s her relationship to the three cases?”

Resentment in the set of Raymond’s shoulders: she’s caught him. “That’s yet to be determined. We don’t have the whole story from Station yet. Franklin knew about Nesterov. She’d backed up the case officer on more than one occasion. But I’m not sure yet about Popov and Kulakov.”

The whole thing makes Lyndsey nervous. If this gets out, everyone will think they found the mole. They’ll be relieved to have a suspect, any suspect. Success will be assumed, and CI will slow the rest of the investigation. But remembering Masha’s texts—the FSB knew about him, he didn’t trust Gerald—this sounds to Lyndsey like a distraction from the real culprit.

“I’m not sure…”

He rises from the chair, extracting himself from the awkward corner. “It’s not something you need to be worried about, is it? I’m dealing with Moscow Station. That’s the division of effort.”

She’s tempted to snap back at him but that won’t help the situation. “I don’t want anyone thinking we have the guilty party until we’re sure.”

Murphy sniffs like he’s been insulted. “You’re not calling the shots here, if you remember… CI has the lead. You’re only here because Eric Newman insisted. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

He wants to make sure she knows her place. And to think she had almost told Murphy about Cassidy, hoped he could dig up something without Eric getting wind of it. Now she’s glad she didn’t. Murphy would only use it to get her into trouble if he saw a chance.

He rolls his eyes. “And it’s not like our investigation against you has been dropped, you know. It’s been put on hold. They’ll open it up again as soon as this is over. And then we’ll see.”

The look on his face is petty and exulting, the face of the mob outside the jail, waiting for the hanging. He glares at her, as though she personally did something to hurt him. What she did was a minor bending of the rules, she reminds herself. It should be a minor infraction. It’s only a big deal because someone has it in for her.

She turns her attention to the computer monitor. “Are you done? Because I need to get back to work.” She waits until he’s left to react. She pushes the keyboard away, pressing her hands into the desktop to stop them from trembling. She feels like she’s been hit by a truck. This is getting a taste of what Franklin must’ve felt: that once you make a mistake at the Agency, there are some people who will never let it go. Who will make sure it haunts you for the rest of your career, if not your life.

Lyndsey doesn’t return to the present until she realizes Theresa is standing in the same spot where Murphy was just a few seconds ago. Staring at her.

Her smile is tentative. “Something happen?” She nods in the direction of the front door, where Murphy undoubtedly has just left. “Want to get some coffee?”

The cafeteria is near-empty, for which Lyndsey is grateful. People stroll by in twos and threes on their way to the steam tables and cashiers, but she and Theresa have the seating area to themselves. Two steaming paper cups stand on the table between them.

She turns the cup gingerly in her hands. It’s blisteringly hot but she barely feels it.

Theresa winces as she watches. “Do you want to talk about it? I assume it had something to do with the guy I saw leaving your office?”

Theresa is right: Lyndsey feels the need to talk about Davis pushing against her chest, but who can she talk to? It’s not the kind of thing she can talk about with anyone outside the Agency, and it’s not the sort of thing to confess to someone inside. The idea of calling Davis suddenly flits through her head but that would be the last wise thing to do, especially with the investigation still open. During the exit interview in Lebanon, she told Security it was over with him. It had hurt like hell to say that but now it hurt even more to make it stick.

If she tells her secret to Theresa, it will change everything between them. Or… maybe not. Maybe Theresa’s not like that. She’s been through a lot, after all. Suffered more than her share.

Theresa is throwing her a lifeline. Lyndsey decides to take it.

“I’m under investigation.”

Silence. Theresa leans back in the plastic chair. “Wow. No offense, but you seem like the last person who’d break the rules.”

“Am I that much of a goody-two-shoes?”

“It can’t be too bad if they’re letting you keep your badge.”

A half smirk. “It’s only because of Eric. For the investigation.”

Theresa’s eyebrows shoot up. She seems to start to say something, then hesitates. “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to…”

Say it fast, like pulling off a bandage. “I dated a foreign intelligence officer while in Beirut.” Theresa is working hard to suppress whatever thoughts she’s having. Lyndsey can’t tell if she’s being judged at this moment.

“He’s a Brit,” she adds, knowing that will make a difference.

“Did you get any good intel from him? If you got any reportable information out of it, all would’ve been forgiven,” Theresa cracks. She’s trying to lighten the situation but it’s not entirely untrue.

“It wasn’t like that. We didn’t talk about work.” That is never true, not in this line of work. Now Lyndsey doesn’t want to say anything more, doesn’t want to relive it all over again. The wound doesn’t smart as sharply as it did this morning. Finally telling someone about it has loosened its power over her.

Except now Theresa knows something bad about her. Something she could hold over Lyndsey’s head if she chose to. She has given The Widow leverage.

But a true friend wouldn’t do that, would she?

“So, he was just a fling, this guy?” Theresa asks. “That’s too bad… It’s good, you know, being with someone in the business. They understand what you’re going through.”

Lyndsey’s heard this said before. But she’s not sure this isn’t just a way for Agency folks to excuse themselves. My wife doesn’t understand me. Then hop into bed with a coworker.

“It would be a shame to lose this guy if you really like him. It’s hard to find the right one. It would be too bad if you had to let him slip away.” Theresa takes a long draw on her coffee. “There’s another way to look at this, of course. Without a man in your life, you’re free to do what you want. Ask for an assignment in Paris, or Timbuktu, any place that takes your fancy. Take that plum assignment, volunteer to be the Director’s executive assistant. You can do the long hours now.”

Lyndsey chuckles. “You’re not going to tell me I need a husband?”

“God, no.” Theresa turns somber. They are treading on sensitive ground. “Marriage is a big deal. A commitment. I truly believe that. It’s a test of who you are as a person. You have to be sure that you’re ready.”

For a while, they sit in silence. The most important thing in Theresa’s life, it seems, was her marriage. Now that Richard is gone, what does that mean for Theresa? What is she if she’s not Richard Warner’s wife?

Lyndsey puts down her cup. “Thanks for being my talk therapy. I liked Davis—this man—a lot.” Referring to him in the past tense rankles, but Davis Ranford is part of her past now. She can’t see any way to get back together with him, not as long as she’s still working.

“The only advice I have is to do what feels right,” Theresa says. “If that’s fighting to keep this man, then fight. Or if you know in your heart that it was a mistake, let him go. Only you know the answer to that.”

Lyndsey walks out to the parking lot with Theresa. The women say their goodbyes and Theresa heads off to where she’s parked her Volvo as Lyndsey sits behind the wheel of her rental. She’s been unable to stop thinking about Davis since the conversation in the cafeteria. Was it a mistake to let him go, is this what’s been troubling her? There’s nothing she’d like to do more, at that moment, than lean against his long, rangy frame and feel his arm slip around her shoulder, drawing her close. To feel him nuzzle her hair and remind her that life is too short for regrets.

Taking a deep breath, she turns the key in the ignition and drives away.