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

It has a clear line-of-sight to Theresa’s house. Thinking of all these agents, armed and converging on the small Cape Cod, worries Lyndsey. Maybe Theresa was right, maybe this is too dangerous for Brian to be there. But it would’ve been risky to sneak him out. Someone might have seen him leave. Anyway, it’s too late to change the plan now.

“If things go well, we’ll catch our Russian handler. We’ll also take Newman into custody. And Cassidy, for questioning. Your Agency hasn’t turned over the contract yet, so we don’t know if Newman’s signature is on it,” Herbert says, a little coolly on the last part. There’s a rivalry between the agencies, and for some people, their natural instinct isn’t to be cooperative, no matter what the orders say. One more thing to follow up on later, Lyndsey notes, maybe with Patrick Pfeifer.

It’s right around ten o’clock. Outside the van, there’s still traffic, car and foot. This part of the neighborhood is commercial, with small restaurants and coffee shops, a gift store, and a dentist’s office. One block away, it all becomes residential, a mix of the original small houses and McMansions sprouted up from teardowns. It’s a densely settled neighborhood and to think of the activity that will go down before long . . . It would be easy for a civilian to be hurt. Too, she thinks of Theresa, not far away, and how she must feel, alone in her house with her son, knowing that all hell is about to break loose. Earlier, they overheard a conversation picked up by the microphone, a disagreement between mother and son over bedtime. Theresa had ended up snapping at Brian in a way that made him burst into tears, which probably hurt Theresa to the quick. She couldn’t explain why it was so important tonight, of all nights, that he listen to his mother.

The radio crackles to life behind her. “Black Escalade approaching target. Slowing down.”

“We saw that car earlier,” another unit chimes in. “Circled the block fifteen minutes ago. Same license plate.”

“Just the one car?” Herbert asks into a microphone. “No tails?”

“None spotted—yet.”

“Three inside. Possibly more—it’s hard to tell with tinted windows.”

“They’re stopping. They’ve pulled into the target’s driveway.”

Lyndsey checks her watch. It’s five minutes after ten.

“Two men have exited the vehicle. They’re approaching the front door.” Pause. “They’ve gone inside.”

Herbert nods to the other agent, who gets up and heads to the driver’s seat. “We’re getting into position,” she says into the microphone. The engine roars to life and the vehicle lurches out into traffic. It only takes a minute to swing around the corner and slide into an empty spot in front of a neighbor’s house, just out of sight from the driveway.

They can see Theresa’s house, albeit not completely. Shadows move on the curtains in the front room but rapidly disappear. Lyndsey remembers the layout of the house: they’re going toward the back, to the family room and kitchen.

“Thomas, cover the man in the SUV,” Herbert says in the microphone as she draws her weapon and heads for the van door. “Let’s move on my mark—”

But they’re interrupted by the appearance of black figures approaching Theresa’s house. Bulky shadows suddenly glide between the trees like phantoms. They move down the street, past the FBI van, cross to Theresa’s side of the street, and then, with raptor-like swiftness, fall on the SUV in the driveway.

“What the hell?” Herbert mutters into the mic.

Five, no, six. Six men move toward Theresa’s house.

“That’s got to be Newman’s team. What the hell—Move, move!” Herbert says as she bursts out of the van.

Lyndsey sprints after her. She knows she’s supposed to stay in the van until the site has been secured but she can’t help it. Surely the Russian driver has seen the CIA team and notified his people inside. Theresa and her son could be in danger. At that moment, FBI agent Thomas drags the driver out of the van and presses him up against the vehicle, cheek ground into the glass window. But if the driver was quick and attentive, it could be too late.

Lyndsey holds her breath. Gunfire should break out at any moment. How could it not when the FBI teams explode out of nowhere, descending on the CIA team? It’s going to be a debacle, a clusterfuck, as the two teams engage each other. Lyndsey can picture the seventh floor’s reaction. But Herbert is holding up her credentials for the nearest member of the CIA team to see and gestures broadly for silence, so that no one mistakes the other team for Russian. It settles as quickly as it started, nearly noiselessly. Thank goodness Theresa and the two Russians are deep in the back of the house, away from all this.

Herbert continues to the house, her men following her, and the CIA team falls in behind them. In total, there’s a swarm of about a dozen men, weapons drawn.

Herbert tries the front door: it’s open. Clever Theresa. Herbert points a finger to the hall, where shadows fall on an ochre wall, the advancing men darting like mice. Herbert heads down the hall, shouting, “FBI! Freeze!” The team hustles to follow her back, where the Russians will be, and sure enough, there stands Theresa with two men. Brian hides behind Theresa, face buried in her skirt.

The two men’s faces are dark and dour with an unmistakable detachment, as though watching this unfold from far away. They are large physical specimens like linebackers, and dressed for travel, in coats and hats. They take in the FBI agents without saying a word, their eyes doing all the talking, searching left and right for a way to escape. Practicing a story that should get them out of here quickly.

One is clearly the leader. He carries himself with importance. He stands up and puffs out his chest, even though the circumstances call for him to make himself small and unobtrusive. He’s not the type to go down without a fight, then. He’s well dressed, looking