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

big glass window. “I’m not going to discuss this here. These are highly classified sources and we’re in a hotel, for god’s sake.”

Herbert is unbothered. They’d hoped he’d make this very objection. “I was just about to say the same thing. Let’s go down to FBI headquarters. We’ll use the classified SCIF there, and then you’ll feel like you can speak freely.”

—

It was Herbert’s plan to take him to the forbidding FBI headquarters building all along. Now Cassidy is on Herbert’s territory. He was shaken up by the unexpected visit to his hotel room, but now he’s been whisked away, flanked by a pair of strapping federal agents and escorted through the deserted halls of this concrete fortress to a vault deep in the earth. It must feel like he’s being taken to prison. The overhead lights here are harsh and carve deep circles under Cassidy’s eyes. He looks like a convict. He’s left in an interrogation room by himself for a few minutes while Herbert and Lyndsey watch from behind a one-way mirror.

“It’s good to give them time to think,” Herbert says. “Our job tonight is to get him to tell us what his role was.” On the other side of the smoky glass, Cassidy sits with a forced look of blankness. He tries to seem dazed and overwhelmed and above all innocent, but Lyndsey suspects it’s an act. “This isn’t a typical case, and I’m not exactly sure what we should be looking for. I’ll know it when I hear it. But you should be prepared for bad news, Lyndsey. Whatever he did, we might not be able to bring a case against him. A lot of intelligence work falls outside of U.S. domestic law. There’s a good chance that whatever Cassidy did, it was under the direction of his supervisor. Even if it was illegal, and resulted in an unwarranted death, his culpability will be mitigated.”

Lyndsey tries hard to tamp down her anger, to stop thinking of Yaromir Popov. It’s all she can do not to burst into the interrogation room and shake Cassidy hard. How could you do this to him, she wants to ask. He depended on you. What could be worth that man’s life?

Before she can do anything, Herbert gives her a stern look. “I know how you must feel, Lyndsey, but stay with me. We need him to talk. Follow my lead.”

They go into the interview room together. The room is dingy and the sour smell has gotten worse. It’s the smell of fear. How many people have they interrogated here? It must’ve seen all manner of suspects: presumed terrorists and armed robbers and serial killers, yes, also federal types gone bad. FBI agents who cooperated with drug cartels and organized crime, CIA officers who sold their souls to the other side. Aldrich Ames or Robert Hanssen may have sat in that chair. Greed, ambition, bloodlust: these emotions hover in the air like poltergeists, impossible to banish.

Herbert sits in the chair opposite Cassidy, resting her forearms on the table. “You’re in a SCIF, Mr. Cassidy. Authorization for us to talk to you came from the highest levels of your organization. And you should know that I’ve been read into all Moscow Station’s compartments. There isn’t one aspect of your work that you can’t discuss with me. Is that clear?”

Cassidy gives a halfhearted smirk. He may be nervous but he’s not ready to throw in the towel.

Herbert takes in his smirk and nods. “Let’s get right to it, then, shall we? We know you told Yaromir Popov that the FSB knew of his relationship with the CIA. How had you learned this?”

“I told you: one of my assets.”

“You’ll give us his name. And he’ll corroborate this?” Herbert jabs a finger into the tabletop. “Look, we’re pretty sure the FSB didn’t know about Yaromir Popov. So you just told me a lie. Lying to the FBI is a federal offense.”

“It’s not my fault if an asset gave me the wrong information,” Cassidy blurts, shooting upright. “I was trying to protect him.” The reaction is right, but the tone of voice is all wrong: whiny and high. A liar’s voice.

Herbert doesn’t change. She’s a stone wall. “Look, we know something funny’s going on and we know you’re not behind it. You’re a bit player—you’re being used. Be smart. This is your chance to clear yourself, to give us your side of the story.”

A furrow deepens between Cassidy’s eyes. A man having an argument with himself. “You’re right. I was just following orders.”

“So, tell us what those orders were.” More internal struggle. Herbert tries again. “Who gave you the orders to talk to Genghis? Was it the Chief of Station?”

This should worry Cassidy. He doesn’t want to implicate someone wrongly. His frown is twisted; he’s conflicted.

Lyndsey decides to build on that. “You don’t have to say anything, Tom. We’ll take your silence to mean it was Hank Bremer. Just nod if that’s correct.”

From what she’s heard, Cassidy is tight with Bremer. The Station Chief seems to have been supportive of Cassidy, giving him good assets to run despite his questionable record. Cassidy wouldn’t want to burn that bridge. From where he’s sitting, he’s going to need all the help he can get.

He glares at her murderously. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You have it in for Hank, don’t you?” A good try, but Lyndsey is not going to let him push her buttons.

Maybe it’s the hours and hours of grueling travel, or being surrounded by FBI agents in this dark, airless space, but after another minute of silent struggle, something breaks inside Cassidy. “It wasn’t Hank. Don’t drag him into this—he wasn’t involved. It was Eric Newman. He told me to tell Popov he’d been blown.”

Lyndsey has to force herself not to react. Even with everything she knows and suspects, this is still hard to hear. A man she trusted ordered the death of a man she adored.

Herbert leans forward. “But it wasn’t true?”

Cassidy won’t look