Red Widow by Alma Katsu (good books to read for beginners txt) 📗

effort, she turned her attention to Tarasenko. This was going to be harder, she knew. There was bound to be less paper on him, given that he was younger and more junior in his career.

Theresa did not find the first report with Dmitri Tarasenko’s name until the end of the next day. At this point, she’d looked at so many reports that she thought maybe she was hallucinating, seeing what she wanted to see. Surely it was a different Tarasenko. Her vision was blurry from staring at the screen for hours. She rubbed her eyes and forced herself to focus on the words. It was real; there was his photo, too. He was a few years younger, and there was no ugly scar, but she recognized the cagey set to his eyes, predation simmering just under the surface.

The report itself gave little insight into the man, just included him in a list of officers who were known to have recently moved from the army to the FSB. But it gave her an idea, something out of the ordinary. She decided to call Arthur Brown, the author of the report. He was a military analyst at DIA, the Defense Intelligence Agency. He might know about Tarasenko and it was less risky than speaking to the military analysts at CIA. And, an extra bonus: her name would mean nothing to him. He wouldn’t know he was talking to The Widow.

His name and secure phone number appeared at the bottom of the report. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail. “I’m looking for information on a Dmitri Tarasenko, now with FSB, formerly with the Russian Ground Forces’ Southern Military District. I’d be grateful if you could return my call.” She left her secure phone number and wondered if she’d ever hear from him.

—

There was a message from Brown on her voicemail the next morning. She called him back right away.

He sounded like a smoker, raspy and out of breath. “I don’t know if I can help you. Tarasenko left the service in 2010, like a lot of men, after the reforms. Everything I got on him is old.”

“That would still be extremely helpful. That’s what I’m looking for.” A way to understand the man, that’s what she wanted.

“I could send you a few reports.”

“I’d appreciate it.” There was something else bothering her. “For someone you haven’t covered in a few years, Tarasenko’s name seems to have jumped out at you.”

A throaty sigh. “You don’t forget the Butcher of Tskhinvali. He was in the South Ossetia campaign in 2008. You probably don’t remember that—you sound kind of young—but it was a big deal. Relations between Georgia and Russia had been bad for a while, so Russia used South Ossetia as an excuse to push into Georgian territory. It was a pretty nasty campaign, bad on both sides, don’t get me wrong, but the Ossetians wouldn’t have done the damage they did without Russian support. In the end, the UN criticized Russia for its role.”

“And Tarasenko was involved in this?”

Brown chuckled. “He was a lieutenant, eager to prove himself. He was the advisor attached to a South Ossetian unit that was guilty of the worst stuff. We’re talking war-crime-level behavior. Razing towns, dragging grandfathers out to fields to shoot them, every woman in the village raped. Nasty stuff.”

This was the man who sat next to her in the museum. A wolf in human clothing. She remembered the scar on his temple, the white teeth. A cold chill danced up her spine.

“He whipped the Ossetian troops into a frenzy and then he unleashed them. And the UN may have criticized Russia, but there was no punishment. The Russian military rewarded Tarasenko for this. After the Ground Forces were reorganized in 2010, he was moved to a cushy position in the FSB. Where they know what to do with a world-class asshole.”

—

Arthur Brown’s email appeared in Theresa’s inbox an hour later, as promised, and she read through the reports, one by one. They traced a path of destruction, described air strikes raining bombs down on defenseless villages before the troops came through to finish the job, slaughtering villains who hadn’t been smart enough to flee earlier. The Russians stole anything of value, even livestock, and burned farms behind them. Tarasenko’s name was sprinkled through it all, urging the South Ossetians to give free rein to old grievances, pumping their ire, stoking their hate. All to prove to Georgia that it wasn’t a good idea to stand up to Russia.

Theresa fell back into her chair, stunned. By now it was lunchtime, but she had no appetite. All she wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over her head but she was afraid of carrying this viciousness back with her.

This man. This fire-breathing ogre. She was bound to him now. How could she have been so naïve? For her plan to work, she needed to be in control. She would never be in control of either man. Not Morozov the spymaster, nor Tarasenko the bastard.

She pushed those thoughts away. No, she couldn’t accept defeat from the start. She knew she was as smart as them. What she lacked was ruthlessness, but she’d learn. She’d find a way to succeed. She had to: there was no other choice. It wasn’t just Richard’s life at stake, or hers. There was Brian. You don’t give your son over to a monster. It was her job to protect him, to stand between her precious boy and the monsters. Even the cold-blooded murderers and confirmed war criminals. She was only one woman, but she was his mother.

That’s what mothers did.

TWENTY-FIVE

PRESENT DAY

The little office is oppressive now. It’s become Lyndsey’s prison cell.

She doesn’t want to make Theresa suspicious by going in and out too often. At the same time, she can barely stand to be in there, knowing Theresa is just beyond the door.

Is Theresa the mole? It’s not