Anya ate little, anticipating what was to come. She finished her wine while they talked and ate. Stepanov filled her class a third time. When they were done eating, Stepanov poured a small glass of golden liquor for her. It tasted of honey and autumn sunlight.

  Stepanov stood and took her hand.

  "This way," he said.

  He picked up the bottle of liquor and led her to the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, the room was done in shades of black and white. The bed was wide, deep, the bedcovers turned back. The sheets were of red satin. A large mirror was mounted on the ceiling above, another on the opposite wall facing the bed.

  Stepanov pointed at an open door.

  "The bathroom is there. You will find a robe on the back of the door."

  "I'll be back in a minute," she said.

  Anya went into the bathroom and closed the door. The fixtures were gold. Perhaps plated, perhaps not. A pale blue silk robe hung on the bathroom door. She gripped the edge of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Get it over with.

  She took off her clothes and put on the robe. The silk caressed her skin.

  When she came out, Stepanov was lying naked on his back, his large penis pointing at the mirrored ceiling. His body was covered with hair. He watched her walk across the room.

  "Take off your robe," he said.

  She shrugged off the robe and let it fall to the floor.

  "You are very beautiful, Anya."

  In spite of herself she looked at his erect organ.

  "Come here," he said.

  Later, she couldn't remember much except the unpleasant feeling of his body against her and his animal grunts of passion. She was glad she'd had that third glass of wine. It wasn't enough to make the sex pleasurable, but it helped make it endurable.

  After a while, Stepanov fell asleep, sated. He began snoring. She got up, went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When she'd washed away as much of him as she could, she still felt unclean. She turned off the water, dried herself, and put on her clothes. Stepanov would not want her there in the morning. Of that she was sure.

  His snores were loud and deep as she came out of the bathroom. She dressed quickly and left the bedroom. She passed a door on her left, open to a library and study.

  Stepanov's briefcase sat on the floor, next to a desk. She could hear his snores coming from the bedroom. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she went into the room. The briefcase was unlocked. Inside was an unmarked folder.

  She opened it and began reading. It was an evaluation of combat unit readiness. Anya was used to seeing things like this, but there was something different about the file she held in her hands. Her job meant she knew almost everything there was to know about the Federation's military, but this folder contained references to units she'd never heard of. They all had one thing in common. They were specialized submarine units, secret units.

  They had another thing in common as well. They were all currently at sea. Under Tarasov, the submarine fleet had become a primary weapon in Russia's wartime arsenal.

  With a shock, she realized the list must mean the Federation was getting ready for war. She placed the folder back in the briefcase, closed it, and set it back down by the desk.

  Her worst fears were coming true.

  Chapter 37

  Kramer, Davidson, and Carlson were meeting in Kramer's office.

  "All right, Lewis, you have our attention. Tell us about this Moscow walk-in."

  "She's not your typical walk-in," Carlson said. "This woman works in the Ministry of Defense. She's in a position where she knows damn near everything that's going on with their military planning. She's also the focus of a major publicity campaign designed to encourage women to choose the military as a career. Her boss is the First Deputy Minister of Defense, General Stepanov. Moscow station thinks we need to jump on this."

  "That's Greenwald, isn't it?" Davidson said.

  "That's right. He wouldn't push this up to us if he didn't think it was gold."

  "It seems too good to be true. She could be a plant, meant to give us false information. Mislead us."

  "Why does Greenwald believe her? Why would she want to help us?" Kramer asked. "What's her motivation?"

  "He thinks it's a combination of revenge and patriotism."

  "Patriotism? How does a traitor get to be a patriot?" Davidson said.

  "According to Greenwald, Colonel Volkova believes the current leadership is taking Russia down the path to war. She fears the destruction that would result from war."

  "She's got that right," Davidson said. "We'd wipe them off the face of the earth."

  Carlson continued. "It's classic agent motivation, ideological. She believes her country is on the wrong course and fears the consequences if something isn't done."

  "What's the revenge part?" Kramer asked.

  "Volkova had two younger brothers, both in the army, both dead. One brother was killed in a training accident because of incompetent supervision. The officer responsible was promoted. Her second brother was killed in Syria recently, during the firefight with our forces there. Tarasov made him into a public hero and awarded him the Gold Star. It's the Russian equivalent of our Medal of Honor."

  "So this Colonel Volkova and her family are a big deal," Davidson said.

  "A very big deal," Carlson said. "Her family has a long history of service to the state. Her father was SVR. Her grandfather was an aide to Andropov when he was running the KGB, and his father was in the NKVD under Beria. Her family background means she's considered part of the unofficial elite. She's been watched since she was a child and marked for advancement. She's trusted."

  "Interesting," Kramer said.

  "Volkova oversees all the logistics of the Russian offensive. She knows what's going on in real time. She knows what they're planning. She's already revealed weaknesses that helped us slow the Russian advance."

  Kramer looked thoughtful. "You think she's the real thing."

  "Yes. We haven't got anyone in Russia with that kind of access. Tarasov's security services are good at what they do. Until she came along, the only thing we've gotten out of Russia in recent months is chicken feed. Nothing as good as what she gave us to prove she was who she said she was."

  "What kind of protocols have been set up with her? Who's her handler?"

  "She doesn't have one yet," Carlson said. "She's only been told someone will contact her. Greenwald thought it best to let us make those decisions."

  "Then we'll assign someone."

  "We have an opportunity for a face-to-face meet coming up. She's been added to the Russian delegation that's going to Helsinki for the conference. She's listed as an advisor to General Stepanov. Greenwald thinks she may be Stepanov's mistress."

  Davidson snorted.

  "Sure, advisor. Bed bunny, more likely."

  "I have a suggestion," Carlson said. "Thorne is already there. He's been through the drill. He knows how to get the most out of an asset. We can have him contact her."

  "That might be counterproductive," Kramer said. "You sent him there to see if you could draw out our mole. If he's been compromised and meets with Volkova, she'll be exposed."

  "Not if he's careful not to be seen with her. The conference starts tomorrow. We could send someone else, but why do that when we have someone in place?"

  "I don't like Thorne," Davidson said. "We should send someone else."

  "Your personal dislike doesn't mean he can't handle this," Kramer said. "Besides, it will save money. That will make Bradford happy. Lewis, tell Thorne to make contact. Warn him his cover may be blown."

  "He's not going to like that. I told him there was no way a mole could know he was going."

  "Then you'll have to come clean. We can't risk losing Colonel Volkova as a source."

  "But..."

  "You got yourself into this, Lewis. Get yourself out. Are we clear?"

  "Clear, Director."

  "How will she know Thorne is genuine?" Kramer asked.

  "When she contacted the embassy, she told them to send someone wearing a red flower," Carlson said. "I'll tell Thorne to do the same. What are we going to call her? She needs an operational designation."

  Kramer entered a few strokes on her keyboard. A list came up on the screen.

  "OPERA," she said.

  "Let's hope she's a good singer," Davidson said.

  Chapter 38

  The steady buzz of his cell phone woke Thorne in his hotel room. The woman in the bar had turned out to be a high-priced hooker, not an agent for the opposition. When she'd realized Thorne wasn't going to avail himself of her services, she'd moved on. After she left he had two more drinks. A pounding headache told him that had been a mistake.

  He fumbled and picked up the phone. It looked like any other modern cell phone, but it was a product of the Defense Intelligence Agency's skunk works. It had satellite capability and was encrypted with unbreakable technology. No one was going to listen in on the conversation.

  "Thorne."

  "Michael, this is Lewis. I have an assignment for you. It's priority importance. Are you clear to talk?"

  "It's three in the morning and I'm alone in my hotel room. Yeah, I'm clear to talk."

  "We want you to arrange a covert meeting with someone who's with the Russian delegation at the conference."

  "You make that sound simple," Thorne said. "You realize what kind of security they have?"

  "I'm sure you'll find a way. Her name is Anya Volkova. She's a Colonel, traveling as an assistant to General Stepanov. He's the First Deputy Defense Minister, which makes him a major player."

  Thorne remembered the articles in Izvestia and Red Star.

  "Volkova? The woman whose brother was killed in Syria?"

  "That's her. It sounds like you already know who she is."

  "Only what they've printed about her."

  "She happens to be in a perfect position to know what the Russians are doing. She contacted the Embassy in Moscow. She wants to help us."

  "She's a walk in?"

  "That's right."

  "Why would she help us? She's on the fast track. They've turned her into a national figure."

  "We ran it by Psych to be sure. They say she checks the boxes and we should believe her."

  "Far be it from me to argue with the head shrinkers," Thorne said.

  "You really should stop making those derogatory comments," Carlson said.

  "Are you going all PC on me now, Lewis?"

  "I'm going to ignore that. She'll be staying in your hotel with the other delegates. Contact this woman and gain her trust. Her designation is OPERA. Set up communication protocols with her. Give her some basic tradecraft. She's an amateur. She'll make a mistake if she doesn't learn quickly."

  "Has she given any indication she wants to defect?"

  "Negative. We don't want her to defect. Don't mention it if she doesn't."

  "What if something happens and her cover is blown?"

  "If something happens, whatever we do will be time and situational dependent," Carlson said.

  "You're willing to get her out if there's trouble? She'll need reassurance."

  "Of course. You always were protective of your assets."

  "Is there anything specific you want me to find out when I talk with her?"

  "Stepanov's wife has ALS. It's possible Volkova is his mistress. That would be good to know, if true."

  "You want me to ask her if she's sleeping with Stepanov? That's a great way to build rapport. From what I know of her, she doesn't strike me as the mistress type," Thorne said.

  "Come on, Thorne, she's a woman. She wouldn't be the first to sleep her way to the top."

  "You really should stop making those derogatory comments, Lewis."

  "There you go again," Carlson said. "You can't help being a smartass, can you?"

  "Something in you brings it out of me. Is that all?"

  "There's something else. If we have a mole, it's possible he knows about your mission. You need to be careful when you meet with the source."

  "You said there was no way that could happen."

  "Yeah, well, I was wrong. Sorry about that."

  Sure you are.

  "Is that all?"

  "Yeah, that's all. I expect timely updates. Don't screw this up, Thorne."

  Carlson hung up.

  Thorne got up and put on a robe. No way he was getting back to sleep now. He turned on the Keurig provided by the hotel, inserted a pod, and waited as it filled a cup. He sat down and sipped the bitter brew, thinking about how to make contact with Volkova.

  The top floor of the hotel had been set aside for the Russian delegation, due to arrive later today. SVR agents were already stationed at all access points to prevent unauthorized personnel from entering the floor. There was zero chance he could meet her there. It would have to be while the conference was in session, when all the delegates were down on the ground floor and out of their rooms.

  Maybe it wouldn't be as difficult as he thought. In the days of the USSR it would have been impossible to approach her. Someone like her would have had KGB minders with her when visiting the West. The Federation was more open, at least on the surface. Life was better in Russia now than it had been under the communists. The old paranoia about people defecting to the West was still there, but it wasn't as much of a concern as it once had been.

  There would be breaks in the conference sessions. The weather was good, people would go outside. That might provide an opportunity.

  The conference could last for several days, or end quickly. There was no way to tell. Thorne doubted Moscow had any intention of agreeing to anything, but they might drag things out to make the West look unreasonable in negotiations. It's what he would do, if he were them. He would have to be patient and hope an opportunity presented itself to approach her.

  Jenna had confirmed that there was a mole, and now Lewis had told him to be careful. Thorne had to assume the worst, that his cover was blown. If the Russians knew who he was and saw him meet with Volkova, she was toast. They'd take him off the board if they considered him a threat, neutral ground or not, and Volkova with him.

  On a shit scale of one to ten, this mission had the potential to be a twelve.

  It wouldn't be the first time.

  Chapter 39

  Two large men held Sokolov by his elbows and marched him along a narrow alley hidden behind the Institute for Cosmic Biology. That was when he recognized where he was being taken. The alley led to GRU headquarters, a rundown, ten story offense to architectural design called "The Aquarium" because of the extensive use of glass in the building.

  Sokolov knew he was in trouble. Why had he been picked up? And why the GRU, not FSB? His dissident activities were well known. They had cost him his job at the University and forced him into a tiny one room apartment in a crumbling building built when Brezhnev was still running things.

  But the GRU? That was a different kind of worry. What could they want? Inside the building, the guards marched him past the security desk with a nod to the man on duty. They passed the bank of elevators and started down concrete stairs toward the basement.

  It was never a good thing when they took you to the basement. Russian basements had been places to fear since the time of Ivan the Terrible.

  Sokolov began to sweat.

  The stairs ended in a long corridor painted a sickly green, lit by the flickering glow of fluorescent lights. The lights did nothing for the color. Rows of doors lined the hallway.

  The two guards stopped halfway down, opened a door, and shoved him into a square room. The door closed behind him. He heard the lock click. A scarred table was bolted to the floor in the center of the room. There were two chairs. A large mirror was mounted on one wall. High up in one of the corners, a camera watched him.

  Sokolov breathed a small sigh of relief. It wasn't a cell, or a torture room.

  Interrogation room. They're watching me through that mirror.

  He sat down. The feeling of relief vanished as quickly as it had come. He tried to compose himself.

  After what seemed a long time, the lock clicked and the door opened. A man dressed in the uniform of a major came in, carrying a folder. He was accompanied by one of the guards. The guard walked to a corner of the room and stood at ease, watching. The major sat down at the table, across from Sokolov.

  He opened the file and began reading. After a few moments, he closed the folder with a snap and looked up.

  "You are the dissident, Vlas Sokolov?"

  "Excuse me, Major, I am not a dissident. I have learned I was wrong to criticize our government."

  "So you say."

  "Why am I here?"

  "I will ask the questions in this room," Petrov said. "You are here because we want to talk to you about your relationship with Colonel Volkova."

  "My relationship? I don't have a relationship with her. She was a student in one of my classes, when I was still teaching at the University."

  "Do you deny recently meeting Colonel Volkova in Presnensky Park?"

  "I was waiting for a game of chess. She appeared and sat down. I hadn't seen her in years."

  "What did you talk about?"

  "Small talk. I told her I was sorry to hear about her brother. We discussed chess. I am ranked as expert. I remember we talked about the Sicilian Defense. It's a classic in chess strategy."

  "I know what the Sicilian Defense is, Sokolov."

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you didn't understand chess."

  "What did you do after the game?"

  "I went to a café I know. I can always find a good game there, and the coffee is excellent."

  "You met Colonel Volkova there, did you not?"

  "Not really. I mean, I was surprised to see her in the café. I didn't know she would be there."

  "There are many cafés in Moscow. Do you really expect me to believe she accidentally chose the exact one you had gone to after your meeting in the park? Why didn't you walk there together? Why go to the trouble of separating and taking different routes?"

  Sokolov felt sweat running down his back, between his buttocks.