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

Russian handler comes to town and too many questions left to be answered.

The main thing, however, is that she needs to call Sally Herbert at FBI. It won’t do any good to go in to work right now: she has to wait for normal office hours. Eventually, when she can’t stand it any longer, she swings wide on an empty stretch of road and heads back to the apartment. By the time I take a shower and get into the office, it will be eight a.m., a reasonable time to call.

Overnight, Lyndsey compiled a wish list for FBI longer than her arm, but she knows she has to pare it back. Like CIA, FBI has limited resources and she can hardly demand that they stop whatever they’re doing to help her out. There is only one favor she is going to ask for today: find out everything they can about Claude Simon’s trip. Why was he on the same flight as Yaromir Popov? And she needs them to find out as quickly as possible. Simon’s trip may be innocent, a simple coincidence, but if that’s the case, Lyndsey wants to eliminate this poisonous suspicion of Eric Newman.

The eight a.m. call finds Sally Herbert at her desk. “I didn’t have you pegged as an early bird,” Herbert jokes. “I thought you guys in the clandestine service all kept late hours.”

“I’m not sleeping much since I got this assignment,” Lyndsey answers truthfully, before explaining what she needs. She gives Herbert everything she has on Simon.

“I’ll see what I can do.” It helps that Herbert has the authority as squad supervisor and that she’s sympathetic. “I’m glad you called. There is another thing we need to discuss, though. FBI needs to stand up an interagency task force. It’s part of our protocol for cases like this. We’re going to pull in a couple agencies to do the work that falls outside our mandate, like the U.S. Attorneys office and State Department. I know CIA is concerned about possible leaks, but we do this all the time. We know how to manage it.”

Lyndsey had been hoping it keep this tightly held for as long as possible, but she knew this day was coming. It’s going to accelerate now, like a train barreling down the track. “I understand.”

Herbert hesitates before continuing. “The other thing you should be prepared for is that this is going to be out of CIA’s control very soon. We’re talking about arresting a U.S. citizen and charging her with espionage. Once you bring in other agencies, you can’t put the genie back in the lamp.”

She thinks of the seventh floor, how they hate to be blindsided. But there’s no doubt in her mind that, if she tells anyone at that level of her suspicions about Eric, he’ll know about it within an hour. He is king of Russia Division. Inside the building, loyalties can run deep.

“I understand.” Inwardly, Lyndsey roots for Herbert to find something to put her fears to rest.

“And your boss? He seems to have control issues.”

Lyndsey swallows. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle him.” She prays that she can.

“Okay. Sit tight. I’ll be in touch.”

—

Lyndsey is mulling over her call with Herbert when there’s a knock at her door. Randy Detwiler stands with a folder in his hand.

“I hope it’s not too early in the morning to talk poison,” he says with a smile. He takes the chair opposite her desk; the space is barely able to accommodate his tall frame.

He slides the folder to her. “The police’s medical examiner shared a blood sample from Kyle Kincaid.”

Lyndsey flips to the report. “And what did they find?”

“It looks to be Novichok-7, an experimental agent. Really powerful. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Definitely a trademark Russian poison. Though it’s usually administered through contact, through an aerosol spray, or put on a surface that the victim touches, say on a doorknob.”

“It wasn’t this time?”

Detwiler shakes his head, then pushes his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “As far as the examiner can tell, it was ingested. That’s his guess, anyway.”

“He took it willingly?”

Detweler shrugs. “It does raise the possibility that Kincaid was a Russian agent, and he was given the poison to take in case he was discovered.”

Kincaid doesn’t strike Lyndsey as the type to sacrifice himself. If he was a Russian mole, and had been found out, Kincaid seems the type to offer to sing like a bird in exchange for leniency. Besides, why would he go to a motel fifteen minutes from his home and get half-undressed before attempting to kill himself?

“I don’t think that’s what happened.”

Detwiler rises to leave. “If he ever comes out of that coma, you can ask him yourself.”

Lyndsey glances back at the report. fairfax county police, office of the medical examiner. At the very top, it reads, Victim was found unconscious in room 207 of the Tysons Inn on Westwood Avenue. Police and ambulance arrived on the scene at 10:14 p.m. on December 7, 2018 . . .

Her heart begins to race. Kincaid was found unconscious on the nineteenth. She’s seen that date, in conjunction with Kyle Kincaid, before. The chat messages Molina sent to her.

That was the night Kyle Kincaid was meeting Theresa Warner for a date.

—

A date with Theresa ends with being found in a coma on a hotel bed. Could Theresa really do something like this? Lyndsey turns cold when she realizes, yes, she could. The woman Lyndsey knows absolutely could.

Before Lyndsey has time to ponder the implications, Maggie Kimball stands at her door. The office manager has her arms full, as usual. A stop on her way. She tilts her head toward the office. “Eric would like to see you. And between you and me, he’s not in a good mood.”

He has no reason to be, as far as Lyndsey can tell.

As she hurries the few steps to Eric’s office, she weighs whether to tell him about Kyle Kincaid and the likelihood that Theresa is responsible. But