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

done to Olcott’s team, every promise made and broken, every assessment that was wrong, every shady trick they found out about after the fact. “I’ll talk to Eric about this as soon as I get back to the office.”

“Eric—that’s Eric Newman, right? You work for him,” Dentley says like she’s just putting two plus two together. “You know, there’s a rumor he’s coming to the NSC.”

This is a first heard for Lyndsey. “What?”

“As senior director.” Uncertainty flits across her face. “You didn’t know? Tony is going to retire in a couple months. He says four years is long enough. He’s going to go back to Michigan and dote on his grandkids. I heard Eric’s name is on the long list for Tony’s replacement.”

Lyndsey is at a loss for words. Eric Newman plays his cards very close to the vest indeed. Has he been getting ready to bolt for new pastures? Senior Director for Russian Affairs would be a plum position, indeed. Finding the mole who eliminated CIA’s top Russian asset would be certain to clinch the nomination. The revelation doesn’t sit well with Lyndsey but she’s not sure why. It doesn’t change anything, not really. Yet she can’t help feeling like there’s a veil over her eyes obscuring her view.

—

Back at headquarters, Eric is overjoyed to hear how the meeting went. “Thanks, Lyndsey. Sounds like you handled it perfectly. That’s a load off my mind.”

He seems relieved, though Lyndsey can’t figure out why. It wouldn’t be impossible to bring the NSC into the investigation, and they’ll have to do it at some point anyway. Of course, some managers don’t like to have outsiders looking over their shoulders. Things would get complicated once the NSC stepped in.

“Something wrong?” He’s studying her.

“Renee Dentley mentioned that Tony Olcott is retiring in a few months. Did you know?”

She doesn’t fool him. Eric smiles as he leans back in his chair. “Oh, someone let the cat out of the bag while you were there, didn’t they? Yes, I heard a rumor that my name might be on the list of replacements . . .”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs. “They’ll probably pick someone else, someone with more policy experience. I didn’t want to rattle the team here, have them think I’m leaving.”

His expression says he’s not telling the truth. He’s so pleased that he’s like the cat that ate the canary, but she won’t call him on it. “And if you are selected? Would you go?”

A mask descends, and she can’t read him. He’s trying to read her, too, though: the slightest narrowing of his eyes, tension around the mouth. “I’ve been in this position for some time . . . Most men would’ve moved on by now, wouldn’t you say?”

That’s his ambition showing itself. “So, you’re saying you’d take it?”

He laughs lightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s just say I’m comfortable here.”

It could be he’s afraid of jinxing it by talking about it—or that he doesn’t want to make himself vulnerable by admitting that he wants it. She decides to let it drop. “There was one other thing. Cavanaugh asked why Popov’s killer didn’t use Novichok. You know, the poison from the Skripal case.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Now it’s her turn to shrug. “I can see reasons why they might not . . . but I’ll talk to the poison expert and see what he has to say.”

Eric has gone a bit glassy-eyed, lost in thought. He tugs at his lower lip. “Interesting. Yeah, let me know what he says.”

The unanswered questions nag as she walks back to her office. Why would the Russians be subtle? If they knew Popov was a traitor, why didn’t they want everyone to know they’d killed him? Playing it subtle would be uncharacteristic, to say the least.

And yet, that’s what happened.

For today, she has no answers.

THIRTY-THREE

Back at her desk, Lyndsey checks her IM and sees a little green box by Detwiler’s name. He’s at his desk.

She types, Heard you put out a report on the Genghis toxicology report.

His reply is almost instantaneous. I did. But I found out something since that report. I did a little more research on the variant of gelsemium used on Genghis. Turns out it’s slightly different from the compound the Russians have used in the past. Chemical makeup suggests the variant found in Genghis’s body was gelsemium rankinii and not gelsemium elegans . . .

Lyndsey types furiously. In English, please.

A pause. It’s not the kind found in previous Russian killings, which is actually Chinese in origin . . .

The conversation with the NSC directors, Dentley and Cavanaugh, flashes through her mind. They were right to be suspicious about the poison. What are you telling me? she types. Was it the Russians or wasn’t it?

It’s not that simple.

She resists the urge to slam her hands on the keyboard. It’s never a simple answer with these analysts. It’s always messy and complicated. Let me ask you something. If it was the Russians, why didn’t they use Novichok? Isn’t that their poison of choice lately?

There is a long pause, the cursor blinking at her like some kind of electronic eye. Finally, he replies, Granted, Novichok is what they tend to use these days. But it’s not their only poison and it depends on a lot of things. Availability, for one . . .

She types, cutting him off. She is going to force the issue. If they kill someone today, which poison is most likely?

Blink, blink. Assessing, weighing. Figuring the odds. The wait seems maddeningly long. Probably Novichok.

She stares up at the ceiling. The ground is crumbling beneath her feet. Or, at least, it feels like it. Until the meeting with Dentley and Cavanaugh, Popov’s death seemed like a slam dunk. It was the Russians. They had found out about Popov and killed him. Then they found out about Kulakov and Nesterov and killed or detained them, too.

Now Lyndsey is not sure.

And Theresa being the one behind it all? She feels a glimmer of a doubt.

She types her thanks to Detwiler and closes the window.

A minute