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

and Bruce Cavanaugh. NSC staffers are often on loan from other federal agencies, careerists familiar with policy in the subject area. Sometimes they come from outside the government, academics or researchers with a background on the topic whose outlook is in line with the administration’s position. Lyndsey has met Renee, a political officer at State Department, several times before, but Bruce Cavanaugh is new to her.

Lyndsey is ushered into a small office shared by the two. “Thanks for coming down.” Renee Dentley has always struck Lyndsey as a typical State Department officer, smart and composed but recklessly overworked. She looks exhausted, too worn out to care much about her appearance. Cavanaugh, on the other hand, is nattily dressed. He must’ve risen at five a.m. to look this good. She heard that he came from a university in the Midwest and so he’s not had much experience dealing with intelligence types. He watches Lyndsey as though he fears she might try to set the office on fire.

“We’ve been told you’re working on the Popov murder,” Dentley continues. “We saw a report on the poison. It’s definitely Russian?”

Apparently, Randy Detwiler has already released a report on his findings. Lyndsey can’t blame him—it’s his job, and it’s important to get this information on record—but the timing could be better. Maybe he didn’t imagine the NSC would pick up on it so quickly.

“It appears to be, but—”

Cavanaugh leans forward, eager to use his prerogative as an NSC staffer to interrupt. “I thought it was strange that they didn’t use Novichok. If it really were the Russians behind the hit, they would’ve used Novichok, wouldn’t they?”

Novichok is the poison du jour, it seems. It was used in the spring of 2018 to poison Sergei Skripal, a Russian military officer who had been spying for the British, and the case seems to have made everyone a Russian poisons expert overnight. That’s Lyndsey’s sum total knowledge on the subject, however. If she had known they wanted to talk poisons, she would have brought Detwiler with her.

Lyndsey levels a cool eye at Cavanaugh, hoping to take the edge off his aggressiveness. “I’ll ask our poison expert for his opinion, but my guess is that the Russians wouldn’t use it on Popov if they didn’t want to tip their hand. It doesn’t mimic a heart attack or look like natural causes—it doesn’t provide plausible cover, in other words. And don’t forget: Novichok is far from a sure thing. Skripal and his daughter survived.”

Cavanaugh nods. “So, you don’t think the Russians want us to know it was them?”

“Their thinking is unclear.”

“But CIA believes it was murder?” Dentley adds.

“Popov was definitely murdered. But we’d also like to ask you not to take any action against Russia at this time.”

The two exchange worried glances before Cavanaugh starts up again. “Ms. Duncan, you’ve just told us that the Russians committed a murder on U.S. soil—”

“It was aggressive, no doubt about it. But hear me out, please. We have reasons for asking you to sit on this—for now,” she says. Cavanaugh fumes and avoids Dentley’s attempts to catch his eye, but to his credit he lets her speak. “We think there might be a mole on the U.S. side giving the Russians information. We’re guessing that’s why Popov was killed.”

“Guessing?” Dentley asks, raising an eyebrow.

But Cavanaugh is cowed. “Criminy,” he says, his voice about an octave higher now.

“We think they found out he was a CIA asset and had him executed.” She’s just given them a field promotion since neither was cleared for Genghis’s compartment; Lyndsey makes a mental note to have the pair read in later. “We’re making good progress on the investigation, but we haven’t found the mole yet. It’s too soon to let the Russians know that we know what they did.”

She braces for the pair to blow up: how could you not know anything about this, an asset blown, a mole in the ranks? She may get her chance to have face time with the NSC senior director after all.

The two staffers are so dazed that they sit stunned. Finally, Dentley says, “The Brits have been pressing us on this. They’re still smarting after Skripal’s assassination attempt. They want us to accuse the Russians, and use the incident as the basis for another round of sanctions.”

“But that’s out of the question now,” Cavanaugh hastens to add. “We’ll tell them the medical results were inconclusive and that we have to run more tests. That will buy us time. When do you think you’ll have this investigation wrapped up?”

Lyndsey sends up a silent prayer of thanks. “I’m not sure. We’re moving quickly, but you know how these things can drag out . . . A month?”

Dentley is about to respond—probably to give her two weeks, max—when Cavanaugh taps his watch. “I’m sorry—we have another meeting. We’ll have to wrap this up.” The place runs on meetings. Every hour on the hour. Can they ever do anything more than scratch the surface? It’s a miracle any decisions get made.

Dentley reaches for her leather portfolio, a signal that it’s time to leave. Cavanaugh has already bolted out the door, as though he can’t get away from the spook fast enough. It’s a good reminder to Lyndsey that outside of the Washington bubble, most of America is leery of who she is and what she does.

Lyndsey stands and follows Dentley into the hall. Dentley leans in close to Lyndsey. “Look, I’ll give you a break this time because we’ve worked together before. We’ll stall the Brits for now, but they won’t be patient forever. This whole thing sounds a little half-baked to me, but I’m trusting you. Keep us in the loop. Let us know when you’re close.” She furrows her brow, searching Lyndsey’s face. “If I find out you’re hiding something from us, there’ll be trouble.”

Where is this hostility coming from? Has she ever broken a promise to the NSC? Ah, but it’s not just her track record being questioned here. It’s everything Russia Division has ever