Red Sparrow

“You wish. Well, it sounds like you guys are stuck. I suggest you think of something to unstick the case. Shake her up, rattle her, upset her equilibrium.” He emptied his beer and called for two more.

“She’s not going to go with the standard canned pitch, Marty,” said Nate. “I’ve been trying to get her to talk more about Russia, about the problems, not pushing her, just giving her openings. Something there in her eyes, but not yet.”

“You have to look for another handle. The good life in the West. Luxury items. Bank account.”

“Wrong direction,” said Nate, “that’s not who she is. She’s idealistic, a nationalist, but she’s not a clunky Soviet. She grew up with ballet, music, books, languages.”

“You talk about the Kremlin? All the shit going on behind the walls?”

“Sure I did,” said Nate. “But she’s too gung-ho. She looks at it all at the level of the Rodina.”

“Hell’s that?” said Gable.

“The whole national myth—the Motherland, the soil, the hymns, chasing Nazis across the steppes.”

“Oh, yeah, some of those Russian Red Army girls were hot,” said Gable, looking up at the ceiling. “Those tunics and boots, they looked—”

“Is this your idea of operational coaching? Are we discussing DIVA?”

“Well, you have to find something to jolt her out of her defensive position.” He leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly, hands behind his head. “Don’t discount her feelings for you,” said Gable. “Maybe she’ll want to help you in your career, a gift. It won’t feel to her like she’s committing treason. Or maybe she’s a thrill freak. Some agents drink adrenaline.”

=====

Nate’s doorbell rang that night. Dominika stood at the door, her face pinched, eyes red. She was not crying, but her lips trembled and she put her hand over her mouth, as if to stifle a sob. Nate checked the hallway quickly while pulling her inside the door. She was leaden, she didn’t resist his tug. He took her coat. She was wearing a white stretch top and jeans. He lowered her gently onto the couch. She sat at the edge of the cushion, looking down at her hands. Nate didn’t know what was wrong or what to do. She was being sent home short of tour, she was in trouble. That would be a first. Exfiling an SVR officer before recruitment.

Got to calm her down. Whatever it is, she’s upset, vulnerable. A glass of wine, scotch, vodka? Teeth chattering against the glass as she took a sip.

“I know you speak Russian,” Dominika said suddenly in Russian, her voice flat, exhausted. Her head was still down, her hair hung on each side of her face. “You’re the only one I can talk to, a boy from the CIA, it’s mad, isn’t it?”

A boy from the CIA? thought Nate. Fuck’s going on? He sat still, made himself blink. Dominika took another ragged sip.

She started talking slowly, in a low voice. She told him about Marta, about her disappearance. When Nate asked why, Dominika told him about Ustinov. When Nate asked how, she told him about her training. Those rumors about State School Four, he thought. Jesus.

She looked at him then, trying to gauge his reaction on hearing she’d been to Sparrow School. There was no pity, no disdain, his eyes met hers. He was always that way. The purple mantle around his head pulsated. She wanted desperately to trust him. He poured her another glass. “What do you need?” he asked in English. “I want to help you.”

She ignored the question, switched to English. “I know you’re not an American diplomat working in your embassy’s Economic Section. I know you’re a CIA officer. You know very well that I work in the rezidentura in my embassy as an officer of our state security. At least you should have realized it when I told you Volontov was my chief. I suppose you also know my uncle is Vanya Egorov, First Deputy Director of the Service.” Nate tried not to move.

“In Moscow after the AVR, I worked in the Fifth Department in an operation against a French diplomat. It was unsuccessful. Then I was assigned to Helsinki.” Dominika looked up at Nate. Her face was puffy. She looked at him searchingly, and he reached out and held her hand. It felt cold to the touch.

“Marta was my friend. She served loyally all her life, they gave her medals, a pension, an overseas posting. She was strong, independent. She had no regrets about her life, she enjoyed everything. In the time I knew her, she showed me who I am.” She squeezed Nate’s hand slightly.

“I don’t know what happened to Marta, but she’s gone, without a word, and I know she’s dead. She never did anything to them. My uncle is afraid of exposure. He would protect himself. There’s a man, a koshmar, a nightmare creature who belongs to my uncle. He would use him for such a thing.”