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

on the forum. There wasn’t a whole lot, barely anything before June and then—bam—she starts using it three, four times a day.”

“Is that unusual?” It seems people usually are active when they first start using a new app, judging from her own experience. You stop using it once the novelty has worn off.

“Not by itself. It does track with your hypothesis, though.” More tapping. “Then I took a look at the activity around those three cases you told me about. Lighthouse, Skipjack, and Genghis.”

“Right.”

“I found her computer serial connecting on threads that have to do with Lighthouse, the scientist, and Skipjack, the cyber dude, all right. She drops in on every thread dealing with those two cases.”

The first part makes sense. Lyndsey has already confirmed with Jan Westerling that Theresa made personal contact. Molina’s work just provides more evidence. But this part about Skipjack is significant.

“What about Evelyn Wang?”

“No joy,” Molina says flatly. “I mean, she connected a few times with both Westerling and Kincaid, but nothing sustained. I think she’s just trying to be seen as part of the gang, you know?”

That doesn’t track with what Kincaid said. “One more thing, and I don’t know if you can do it”—not without higher authority—“but is there any way you can see if there were communications between Theresa Warner and Kyle Kincaid?”

A tense silence. “You mean, like, read their emails? Users sign consent to be monitored in order to get an account on the system, but I’d have to get permission to get records.”

She bites her lip. “Do it. I’ll go to Eric for authorization, if I need to.”

“Raymond can take care of it. I’ll let you know when we got something.” He hangs up.

Lyndsey lowers the phone. As she starts to put the pieces together, she feels a familiar buzz of excitement in the back of her skull. Why didn’t Kyle Kincaid tell her about Theresa? Obviously, she’d been in contact about Skipjack. If Molina finds emails between the two, they might prove interesting.

Molina’s revelations sit badly with her, like spoiled meat. There’s nothing to be done for it but to continue digging.

—

Lyndsey is turning the facts over in her mind when she looks up to find Maggie Kimball standing at her door. Her arms are full of binders and manila folders but her dark eyes sparkle as usual. “Eric wants to see you.”

He sits behind his desk, staring glassy-eyed at the monitor. When she walks in, he looks visibly relieved. “Close the door, please.”

He waits until she takes the seat opposite his desk. “We might have a little complication. I got a call from the NSC.” National Security Council. “They’ve seen the medical examiner’s report on Popov and feel they need to issue some kind of statement. To publicly call out the Russians.”

This is expected. Sovereign states don’t take kindly to other nations poisoning people on their territory. Since the exact time of death hasn’t been determined, there might be some issue over sovereignty, but there is no denying that whoever is behind the killing brought a deadly poison to American soil, capriciously endangering American lives.

She can see why Eric’s upset. That means going public about Popov’s death. So far, it’s been kept out of the papers. As far as anyone knows, it was nothing more than a personal tragedy. A Russian diplomat had a heart attack.

An official U.S. statement would be a complication, to say the least.

Eric swivels in his chair. “I don’t want the NSC mucking around in this. There are still too many unknowns. It’s too early to tip our hand to the Russians. I want you to talk to the NSC. Make them understand we have an important investigation going on and we can’t have it jeopardized. See if you can get them to hold off.”

Why isn’t Eric going? It would be more effective if the request came from the Chief of Russia Division. When she hesitates, he steps in. “I’d go but I’m too busy. I’ve got a full schedule of meetings for the next three days and this can’t wait.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“One more thing,” he adds as she’s almost out the door. “Tom Cassidy is coming into town, in case you need to talk to him. It’s for that other op I told you about. But as long as he’s here, if he can be of any use to your investigation . . .”

Tom Cassidy, the man who failed Yaromir Popov. He’s been stonewalling her, not responding to emails and not returning her calls, using the thousands of miles between them as a barrier. Yeah, she has a few things she’d like to ask him about.

—

At one point in Lyndsey’s career, a trip to the NSC would have been thrilling. It is housed in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, next door to the White House, after all. The West Wing and the Oval Office are mere steps away across the manicured lawn. The building stands behind an iron fence. It’s formal and spooky looking, with a vaguely Victorian mansard roof and embellishments that make it look like an overly decorated wedding cake. The floors inside are a dizzying black-and-white-checkerboard pattern that makes the long corridors seem like optical illusions and always remind her of Alice in Wonderland. She climbs the staircase to the second floor and makes her way to the offices of the Senior Director for Russia.

She’s not meeting with the Senior Director, Anthony Olcott. She has heard Olcott speak on several occasions—a former professor at Georgetown University who started his federal career at State Department, ending as ambassador to Russia before moving to the NSC—and wouldn’t mind seeing him again. He impressed her with his encyclopedic knowledge not only of Russia but of U.S. policy, past and present. It will have to wait for another day because she’s not senior enough to meet with Olcott. Eric would be, yes, but not a mere case officer like her. Instead, she’s meeting with two of the staffers, Renee Dentley