Prologue (7 page)

“Aren’t we going in for a conference?”

“Safe house,” he said, directing her to start driving down
Ché Guevara Boulevard
.
“Secret stuff.”

Whatever, she thought, as she drove down the deserted streets, backtracking and stopping in the middle of the street as Igor “remembered” the right way to go. She’d heard that in the Northeast District, the streets were busy as late as
eleven o’clock
at night.
Amazing.

They finally pulled up in front of an unremarkable–but weren’t they all?–office building. Natasha let Igor go in first, and discreetly nudged a stop in the front doorway as she followed him in. Not that she thought Igor would try anything, but it was better not to be locked in.

He took her to an office on the first floor. It was surprisingly well appointed, with comfortable tables, couches and chairs. It reminded Natasha of those pictures she’d seen of Ramada and Holiday Inn hotels in the Northeast District, which looked so luxurious for ordinary
people
that she suspected they were fake.

He flicked on a large computer overhead screen.
“Housing.”

He showed her a streaming video of the
Charles River
in fall. People biked or strolled along the river, and a scull moved silently and smoothly in the background.

“We have an apartment on the first floor of this five story brownstone here”–Igor pointed with the on-screen cursor. “Two bedrooms, air conditioned, kitchen with a stove, oven, microwave, dishwasher and all the modern conveniences. And unusual for a building with only ten apartments, it has underground parking.”

The video switched to the apartment’s interior. Natasha’s eyes grew wide as the camera panned over rooms of paneled walls, Oriental carpets, wood and leather furniture, glass-topped hand-carved tables, crystal and Tiffany chandeliers and lamps, a bathroom with a tub on feet and other things she’d seen only in American movies.

Igor watched her. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“The Agency has this apartment?” Natasha asked in disbelief.

“We secured it some time ago to keep an eye on Professor Ginter who lives on the top floor. We’ve kept it since.”

Natasha struggled to control herself. “How far is it from where I’ll be working?”

“Twenty-five minutes by bike,” he said, moving the video feed to the garage. “
Which is a fifteen-speed
Fuji
you see here, beside the car.
Your car.”

Natasha squinted at the screen. In the lower corner of the picture behind the red bike with the sleek titanium frame protruded a yellow fender. Could it be?

“Is that a Subaru?” she asked cautiously. It couldn’t be.

Igor consulted his paper file and flipped over a page. “Yes. It says WRX-51, whatever that is.”

Natasha sucked in her breath. The Subaru WRX-51, right out of the showroom without any modifications, was supposedly the fastest car ever made. She had never seen one, but recognized the sleek fender from magazine pictures.

“My car?” she asked cautiously.

“Of course.
It goes with the apartment.”

“Looks functional,” she managed to say.

“We like to keep our best agents happy,” Igor said. “Of course, there are other options.” He clicked the video to a quite different neighborhood.

“This is
Dorchester
.” The camera panned a street of houses in various states of disrepair, with mostly black people staring suspiciously at the camera.

“This neighborhood?”
Natasha said almost in disbelief. “We have a house here?”

“This one,” Igor said, zooming in on a corner house. The first floor was ugly brick with rusted but solid-looking iron grating.
“As secure as the one on the Charles, if not more so.
Nobody expects an Agency operative to live here, of course, so it’s a wonderful cover. If anybody suspects you of being Agency all you have to do is let them follow you home one night and they’ll be cured.” He chuckled.

“How far is this from my work?”

“Half an hour, in good traffic.”

“And the car?”

“It’s on a bus and subway line,” Igor said.
“Most convenient.
Although we can arrange to lease a Trabant for you should you fill out the necessary
paperwork.
”

“Given the sensitive nature of my work…”

“Yes, yes, you need the apartment on the Charles. Fancy. I’m so surprised you should think so, Comrade Nikitin.” He clicked back to the first apartment, and let the video run as the camera panned from the heavy wood door of the apartment with beveled stained glass to the restaurants and markets within easy walking distance of the apartment. White mothers and Hispanic nannies played with children along
Commonwealth Avenue
. Outdoor cafés were busy with what looked like foreign exchange students from
Italy
,
Spain
and Scandinavian countries laughing over drinks. The screen showed clothing boutiques and homemade ice cream shops a few minutes walk from the apartment…

“I said
,
do you have a preference?”

“I, I think the first apartment would be more suitable to my mission,” Natasha said.

“Oh I’m not sure,” Igor said,
pausing
the video on the view from the back den of the
Charles River
. “As you know, I have complete discretion in the assignment of housing for Northeast District operatives.

“I would think you could influence my choice,” Igor said. “You see, I don’t get to the Northeast District much, but when I do I like having a place to stay.”

“Of course,” Natasha said.

“I prefer to stay at the
Charles River
location, as it’s closer to the airport and, as you say, generally more convenient to my mission in
Boston
. I don’t mind sharing it with you so long as when I’m in town you don’t mind sharing it with me. Make it seem a little less…lonely.” He began caressing her shoulder.

“So show me how you share,” Igor said, moving his hand down Natasha’s blouse. “Good working relations are–yow!” He jumped up, his cheek stinging. Natasha stood across from him, hands held in the defensive posture she’d learned at the academy.

“You know, I could send you to gulag for that,” he snarled. “I could throw your potato-eater of a sister in
Siberia
. She’d
wish
she was in Jovanograd.”

Natasha didn’t say anything. She didn’t doubt that he could.

“Normally I would. There’s no shortage of agents willing to cooperate, here
and
in
Boston
.” He touched his cheek again. “But there’s somebody above me who wants you there. You’re lucky, Comrade Nikitin, if this
were
completely my project you’d be on the next train to
Nevada
. But someone else in the Agency hierarchy must get into your pants.”

Natasha blinked and looked up at him, a look of surprise etched across her features.

“Enjoy
Dorchester
,” Igor said, digging a key out of his pocket and throwing it on the floor.

For a split second Natasha reconsidered. She saw the wood-paneled rooms and cafés, the bicycle and river, the stroll over the
Charles
Bridge
to MIT and the walks along
Commonwealth Avenue
. Then she thought of Igor showing up for weekends, and expecting her services, since something told her he’d find reasons to visit
Boston
frequently.

“Why thank you, Comrade,” she said, stooping to pick up the key without taking her eyes off him. “I think
Dorchester
should be fine.”

Chapter 4

Natasha and Nigel pulled up in front of deVere’s residence a little after
7:30 p.m.
Nigel guided his BMW hybrid convertible in behind a cream colored vintage Ford Pinto parked directly in front of the house. Natasha raised herself up from the deep leather seat to read the sticker on the Pinto’s rear bumper. “The
United States
will rise again,” the slogan read. At the left end of the bumper sticker was a caricature of the Statue of Liberty and on the right, a waving Stars and Stripes.

“Where does one get such bumper stickers?” Natasha asked in wonderment.

“Oh, those.”
Nigel cleared his throat in an
embarrassed
manner. “A lot of the fire-eaters are putting them on their cars this year. You can get them at the Harvard COOP but you have to ask. They keep them under the counter.”

“Is that Professor Ginter’s car?” Natasha asked.

“No, that one belongs to Judith Wolfe in the Astronomy Department. She and Ginter are old car hounds. I was told she restored it herself.”

“How old is it?” Natasha asked, exiting her door and slinging her bag over her right shoulder.

“I think it’s a 1975 but I’m not sure,” Nigel answered as he came around the BMW and slipped his arm around Natasha’s waist. He appeared annoyed at the question.

The sky was still bright though the sun was low in the sky. The air outside the city was noticeably cooler. Natasha resisted the urge to recoil from Nigel’s arm and instead looked up and smiled shyly. As they proceeded up the walkway he smiled back.

The two-story house was painted bright yellow with five windows across the top and two windows flanking each side of a red center doorway. A mammoth brick chimney painted white protruded from the peak of the roof. Natasha assumed it was a reproduction colonial dating from the 1980s until she saw the granite foundation behind the shrubbery. Inside, the lower than usual living room ceiling confirmed her suspicion.