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

that Eric once hired the man who may have killed Yaromir Popov. Eric knew him, knew what kind of work the man did. And the man did bad deeds. He was in the bad deeds business.

It is plausible that someone at CIA hired him to kill Yaromir Popov.

It is plausible that Eric Newman was that man.

That thought causes her stomach to clench.

Why would Eric Newman want Popov dead? More important: even if there was a reason, a valid reason, how could Eric do that to someone he knew and to whom he owed so much?

The late hour and her disorientation make it easier to free associate. Her thoughts are liquid, slippery. There was a photo of Simon in the file. Forties, a big fit man with a heavy beard. Dark eyes, dark hair. Nothing about him would make you think he has any qualms about what he does. There is a remorselessness about him. He is the kind of man you cut a wide berth should your paths cross. A man who could hunt another man through an airport with a needle hidden in his palm, looking for an opening. Slipping in behind his victim as they queue to board. A quick brush pass, a scratch or needle so light that it’s unnoticeable.

Yes, she can picture Simon doing it, but why? Why would Eric Newman want Yaromir Popov dead? He had been, at one time, the Division’s top asset. Lauded as a crown jewel by no less than Roger Barker, the hard-to-impress head of the Clandestine Service. Of course, that was a few years ago, when Lyndsey was his handler, but something catastrophic has happened in those scant few years. Apparently, he’d decided not to cooperate since then. To know why, she’ll have to talk to Tom Cassidy. For some reason, Yaromir Popov became expendable. To be completely cold-blooded about it, it was better to eliminate your former assets than to leave them like unexploded bombs.

But that wasn’t how CIA operated. That’s what they chose to believe about the enemy. That’s why they were the bad guys. You don’t hand your assets over to the enemy. That would be the consummate betrayal. You’d be no better than the Russians. How many times had she heard that from her colleagues?

Except Eric didn’t tell the Russians that Popov had betrayed them. No: he may have had him killed himself.

That means the Russians didn’t know Popov had been a spy. The secret would be safe for a little while, until the FSB figured out what was going on.

Could that be why Eric doesn’t want the NSC to open an investigation? Why was it important for him to keep Russia in the dark a little while longer?

And if Theresa had turned those names over to them—Lighthouse and Skipjack, and everything points that she had—it won’t take them long to figure out. Two assets are uncovered, a Russian officer makes an unscheduled midnight flight to Washington . . . The FSB will jump to conclusions, it’s the cautious thing to do. This confirms for Lyndsey that Masha and Polina are in danger.

Unable to sleep, Lyndsey gets out of bed. She sits in the dark in the front room with a glass of cold water, listening to the hushed sound of traffic on Route 7 beyond the apartment complex. Tysons Corner never sleeps, even at three a.m.. A handful of lights are on in one of the new high-rises across the highway; Lyndsey takes a little comfort in the fact that she’s not alone.

Could Eric be involved in this somehow? She takes another gulp of water, hoping it will jolt her out of this dreamlike state. I must be half-asleep. I’m overlooking something. Why would Eric push an investigation, bring her in, and put her in charge, if he were involved?

This. Is. Maddening.

Is Eric the kind of man who could condemn Yaromir Popov to death? The answer is yes—of course. It comes with the job. But there would have to be a good reason, one that she can’t see.

Some men would resign before carrying out that order. Lyndsey would’ve quit. Why didn’t Eric?

What she needs is someone to talk to. But the only one she has is Raymond Murphy and she can’t go to him with a half-baked suspicion about Eric. Raymond is not up to being entrusted with such an explosive secret. There’s no way it wouldn’t get back to Eric and, if he’s innocent, he’d never forgive her.

If he’s innocent. Her subconscious knows there’s a shadow of a doubt.

There are other ways it could’ve gone down. Yaromir Popov might’ve been poisoned before he got on the plane. A Russian agent could’ve gotten to him on the way to Sheremetyevo or inside the terminal. The timing would probably work. She’ll have to see if Detwiler can tell from the toxicology report.

Claude Simon could’ve been on the plane for personal reasons. He could be innocent, this could all be an unfortunate coincidence.

A huge, crazy, unlikely coincidence.

But she’s never been one to believe in coincidence.

There’s only one remedy for it. She’ll talk to the FBI tomorrow, see if they can’t find out what Simon was doing in Moscow. That would help put her mind at ease.

Three a.m. She can catch a few hours’ sleep, if she’s lucky. She carries the glass to the kitchen, then shuffles to the bedroom.

THIRTY-SIX

In the morning, Lyndsey tries to clear her head with a run. Six o’clock and the neighborhood is blanketed in a gray haze, a mix of fog and frost. She starts out at a slow jog past neighbors armed with briefcases and backpacks, heading for their sedans and SUVs, the early-morning shift at one of the many corporations with nearby offices. After a mile, she feels better physically—her heart pumping, sweat trickling down her face—but her thoughts still skitter all over like spilled marbles, no better than the night before. To make it all worse, time is ticking. There’s only a handful of days before Theresa’s