Red Widow by Alma Katsu (interesting books to read .txt) 📕

discussions about Russian internal security like a busy mother hen (which begs the question, who will take over when she retires?). Zach Gelfman, the other officer still working from the Soviet era, is there whenever a question comes up about the Red Square days.

Lyndsey notices that Zach Gelfman comes and goes. Always watching, apparently, only decloaking when a topic comes up that he’s interested in.

Always watching.

Which gives her an idea.

She runs a finger over the sheets, looking for the names that dip in and out of conversations. She recalls vaguely that there is only a small handful of these gadflies, alighting in the strangest places, with no apparent consistency. They’ll comment on anything, from Russian performance in the World Cup to food prices in the outer oblasts to the depletion of old-growth forests in Siberia. The names she finds confirm her suspicions: these are the kooks, people with axes to grind and grievances whom no one listens to anymore.

And, curiously, Theresa Warner.

Lyndsey double-checks her diagram but there is Theresa’s name popping up here and there like a hummingbird. From what she recalls of Theresa’s posts, the ones she read, they’re never anything substantive. Theresa usually just surfaces in the conversation, drops a tidbit of something useful.

The IM window in the corner of her screen flashes: it’s Theresa. Like a genie or a demon, seemingly summoned by the mere thought of her. Lyndsey is so startled that, for a few seconds, she can only blink at her monitor.

Want to grab lunch? Theresa asks.

Sure, Lyndsey types after another second’s hesitation. To turn her down might seem suspicious. Not that there’s any reason to be suspicious.

She locks her screen before heading out the door. She looks out at the big, open office, the physical representation of the diagram she’s just made, the invisible spider’s web of links hanging in the ether. She makes a mental note to find out who is in the corner cubicle: many double agents favored secretive spaces to reduce the chance of being seen doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

She looks in the direction of Theresa’s cube, and then Eric’s office. Should she tell him what she’s discovered even though she’s not sure what it means? It would be good to have him weigh in on her deductions. She needs perspective. Maybe it all means nothing. It’s easy to get lost in a forest of shadows.

Lunch first, she decides. What’s the harm in that?

—

Lunch is salad and more coffee and Theresa’s story of how Brian has started asking for a dog. “A puppy, to be precise. How do you tell a little boy that he can’t have a puppy? That mommy has no time to take care of a puppy? I blame our neighbors—their Labrador just gave birth. The wife offers one to Brian every time we see her. Am I a bad mother? I feel like I’m robbing him of his one chance to grow up with a dog . . .”

Lyndsey listens, stabbing listlessly at lettuce, but all the while her mind is on what she left behind at her desk. She can’t help but wonder, What were you doing in the network chats, Theresa? Of course, she broaches nothing with her friend. Eventually, they amble back to the office, and Lyndsey can’t wait to head to her little office.

There’s a bombshell waiting for Lyndsey when she gets back to her computer. An email from Murphy:

Katherine Franklin was found dead in her townhouse in Springfield this morning. Security was dispatched to her house when she did not report for duty at her normal time and did not respond to supervisor’s phone calls. EMTs found her unresponsive and she was taken to the nearest hospital, where she was pronounced dead. An autopsy will be conducted but preliminary diagnosis is suicide by overdose. A note was found at the scene and, after review by Security, the contents will be shared with you. While not admitting guilt, she does express remorse for her mistakes in judgment.

Lyndsey clutches at her chest. She spoke to Franklin just yesterday.

Now the woman is dead.

Before she can absorb the news, however, there’s a briefing to attend, and she gets pulled into another meeting. Hours pass, during which she turns the news about Franklin over in her mind until she is almost numb to it. I can’t process this right now. There was something else I needed to do . . .

That’s right. The forum.

It’s the end of the day before she can go back to the forum and search on Theresa’s posts. Luckily, it’s easy to find them, just a couple clicks and she can pick up where she left off.

What have you been up to, Theresa? Who have you been talking to?

Theresa replied to Jan Westerling. And Kyle Kincaid.

Friendly little connections made to both reports officers.

Suspicion flares up like acid reflux. Lyndsey tamps it down, blaming the lateness and hours spent poring over tiny bits of information that are now all cloudy in her mind. There’s an innocent explanation for it, she assures herself.

Get a good night’s sleep and take another look in the morning. Don’t stew on it now.

Lyndsey flips the light switch and hurries past Eric’s office. She definitely won’t bring this up to him now. For something like this, you need to be sure.

—

Theresa leans in the doorway to her son’s bedroom, watching him sleep. It’s one of her favorite things to do. He’s so peaceful—not that he’s not peaceful most of the time. He’s such a quiet kid, it worries her sometimes. He can sit completely still for hours, you can barely tell he’s breathing. Not many kids can do that.

Why did she bring up Brian when she spoke to Lyndsey at lunch? She hates to do that; she doesn’t want Brian involved in this horrible business at all. Though it’s impossible: he’s at the very heart of it. She’s doing it for Brian. Though she would never, ever resent Brian for it. It’s her own choice.

She would love to let