Red Sparrow

“I read the file. There was promise. Why did we not?” interrupted Zyuganov mildly. Dominika willed her eyes not to grow large as she saw the parabolas of black unfold from behind Zyuganov’s shoulders like bat wings. Shaitan, thought Dominika, pure evil.

“You’ll have to ask the chief of the Fifth Department,” said Dominika, not looking into Zyuganov’s eyes, not wanting to see what lived behind them.

“Perhaps I shall,” said Zyuganov.

“Enough. There’s no value in recriminations. Corporal Egorova, it is not your place to question the decisions made by senior officers,” said Vanya mildly.

Dominika kept her voice level as her eyes never left her uncle’s. “This is why the Service is struggling to exist. This is why Russia cannot compete. Attitudes like this. Officers like Simyonov. They are krovopiytsy, attached to the belly, sucking blood, impossible to remove.” There was silence in the room as they stared at each other. Zyuganov watched her face; his hands did not move on the arms of his chair.

“What am I to do with you, niece?” said Vanya finally, getting up from his desk and walking to stand in front of the picture window. “Your record is strong, you should not jeopardize the career ahead of you. The manner in which you have spoken to me already is enough for your separation from the Service. Do you wish to continue your complaints?” And think about your mother, thought Dominika.

“And think about your mother,” said Vanya. “She needs your support.”

“I am taking advantage of our relationship, I know,” said Dominika. “But our work is too important to let it be done starinnyj, in the manner it has always been done.” She turned to watch her uncle at the window and knew two things. Vanya did not care about any of this, he had another agenda that involved her, and she had some latitude in her comments. She also knew Zyuganov was drinking her words in, she could feel him radiating like a furnace. He was a creature that was not content unless he had prey. She did not look at him.

Looking out the window, Vanya shook his head. Welcome to the modern SVR, he thought—improvements, reforms, public relations, and women in the Service. Junior officers could criticize the old ways. “So you do not like the old ways?” said Vanya.

“I do not like to fail at an operation that could have succeeded, whatever the reason,” said Dominika.

“And you believe you are ready to manage your own operation?” said Vanya softly.

“With guidance and advice from officers like you and General Korchnoi… and Colonel Zyuganov, of course,” said Dominika. She forced herself to include the little cadaver-lover sitting beside her. He turned his head toward her, jug-handle ears extended, and nodded.

“Most would say you are too young, too inexperienced, but we shall see.” Dominika noted the tone of Vanya’s voice, the honeyed phrase before the knout. “The nature of the assignment I have in mind unfortunately will take you out of the Americas Department.”

“What is the assignment?” she asked. She would scream if he told her she would have to seduce someone.

“It is a foreign assignment, to a rezidentura, to do real operational work. A recruitment operation.” Vanya’s own recollection of foreign operations was dim, but he spoke as if he relished it himself.

“A foreign assignment?” Dominika did not know what to say. She had never been out of Russia.

“To Scandinavia. I need someone new, fresh, with those instincts you have displayed,” he said. You mean with a man, she thought bitterly. He saw her eyes and put up his hand. “I don’t mean what you’re thinking. I need you as an operupolnomochenny, an operations officer.”

“That’s what I want to be,” said Dominika. “To be a member of the Service, to work for Russia.”

Zyuganov spoke, his voice mild and oily, the words coal-black. “And so you shall. This is a delicate task which will require great skill. One of the most difficult tasks. You must destroy an American CIA officer.”

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From his office, Maxim Volontov, SVR rezident in the Russian Embassy in Helsinki, watched Dominika walk across the hall to return the dun-colored file to the file room for the evening. Since she had arrived in the rezidentura from Moscow, Dominika would check out the file each morning and take it to a work area to read, usually writing in a notebook, taking notes. At the end of each day she would return it to the file clerk per established rezidentura practice. Besides Volontov, Dominika was the only officer allowed to check out this particular file. It was a copy of the SVR papka on the American CIA officer Nathaniel Nash, transmitted from Yasenevo.