Red Sparrow

“But your father, was he disappointed that you did not follow your brothers?” Dominika asked.

“Sure, I suppose so,” said Nate. “But maybe I was getting away from people always telling me what to do. You know what I mean?”

Images flashed behind Dominika’s eyelids. Ballet, Ustinov, Sparrow School, Uncle Vanya. “But is it enough to have just run away from your family? Don’t you have to accomplish something in the bargain?” She was going to press him, she decided.

“Running away is not exactly how I would describe it,” said Nate, a little nettled. “I have a career, I’m contributing to my country.” He saw Gondorf’s face floating above the table.

“Of course,” said Dominika. “But how exactly do you contribute?” She took a sip of wine.

“Lots of ways,” said Nate.

“Give me an example,” said Dominika.

Well, as an example, I handle the CIA’s best asset, a high-level penetration of your frigging monolithic service, to thwart the worldwide evil designs of the Russian Federation and your lupine president for life, he thought. “I’ve been doing some interesting economic work lately, working on timber exports from Finland,” he said.

“It sounds interesting,” Dominika said, blinking at him. “I thought you were going to talk to me about world peace.” Nate looked up at her. The purple mantle behind his head and shoulders blazed.

“I would, if I thought Russians knew what world peace was.” He looked around the little dining room. “With Afghanistan and all.”

Dominika took another sip of wine. “Next time I will take you to a Vietnamese restaurant I know,” she said. They sat there looking at each other, neither willing to look away. What the fuck is going on? Nate thought. She had gotten under his skin a little. He remembered that VERONICA thought she didn’t have a job to do. Was she working him? Her blue eyes were steady across the table.

“It’s all right,” Dominika said, reading his thoughts. “Just don’t dismiss Russia all the time; we deserve some respect.”

Very interesting, he thought. “We’ll think back and remember this as our first fight,” he said.

Dominika bit into a piece of flatbread. “How do you say, I will cherish the memory,” she said.

Their food came. Dominika had ordered a rich lamb stew with lentils, which arrived steaming in a large bowl. A dollop of thick yogurt spread out over the top. Nate had ordered bowrani, dark caramelized pieces of sweet pumpkin in meat sauce with yogurt. It was delicious, and Nate made Dominika try a forkful. They finished their wine and ordered coffee.

“Next time I will pay the bill,” said Dominika. “We should go to Suomenlinna before it gets too warm and there are crowds.”

“I’ll let you arrange it all,” he said, and she nodded, looking at him through her eyelashes.

“You know, Nate,” said Dominika, “I think you are honest, and funny, and kind. I like having you as a friend.” Nate braced himself for what could be coming. “I hope you consider me a friend.”

She wants to be friends now, thought Nate. “Of course I do,” he said.

“Even though I am from Russia?”

“Especially since you’re from Russia.”

They sat in the fading light looking at each other, each thinking where this was leading, how each could bring the other along. Forty-five minutes later, they stood on the Metro platform—it was an aboveground station this far out. It was getting dark, cold but not freezing. Nate didn’t offer to drive her back into the city, and in any event Dominika would not have accepted. Nate wasn’t going to risk a chance sighting of Dominika in Nate’s diplomatic-plated car by another Russian from her Embassy.

The fat, glass-nosed train whizzed into the station and slowed. There was no one else on the platform, and the lighted interior of the train was empty. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon,” said Dominika, turning toward him. Their eyes met and she shook his hand, the proper SVR gladiator. He had decided he was going to test her a little, so he held her hand, leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek. Very charming, she thought, but she had seen somewhat more in her short career. The musical horn sounded and she stepped into the carriage unsmiling, a faint limp when she turned and waved as the doors hissed shut.

As the train picked up speed, Nate saw through the accelerating windows an old lady in a parka sitting in the next car with a basket of knitting on her lap. The train was flashing by almost too fast for Nate to see VERONICA flick the side of her nose. The platform had been deserted, so how did she manage to get on the train?