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

wisp of a man, his hair gone completely gray. He’s wearing a tan jacket they probably bought for him in Moscow, and a plaid shirt like something a lumberjack would wear. It seems incongruous and a tad fanciful until she realizes Richard used to be an outdoorsman, loved his hiking and fishing, and he wore plaid flannel all the time.

Brian jumps up and down on the tarmac, but waits until his father gets all the way to the bottom to launch himself at him, wrapping his arms around his father’s legs. Richard leans over to rub his back, a comforting gesture, but doesn’t try to pick him up—is he too weak?

This whole time, Theresa hangs back. She can’t take her eyes off him, but she doesn’t throw herself at him the way Brian did. Moscow Station must’ve told Richard what happened, the reason why the U.S. was finally able to arrange his release. He knows that she made a deal with the Russians. That she gave up names of assets and is responsible for the death or disappearance of two men. She broke the law—but for him, all for him. He should be flattered, logic would seem to dictate. Only someone who loved you very, very much would go to such lengths—right?

But Richard is—or was—a Boy Scout, with unshakable loyalty to the Agency and everything it stood for. After two years in prison, is he still? Will he be able to forgive his wife for what she did?

Lyndsey wishes it weren’t so complicated, for Theresa’s sake. The woman did her best for him. She stands riveted, her face almost pressed against the cold glass.

They look into each other’s eyes, Richard and Theresa, for what seems to be a long time. Maybe they’re thinking about what lies ahead. Both of them have changed in ways the other can’t begin to know. They’ll have to get to know each other once again, and most important, to trust each other. If they’re going to stay together, that is.

The same challenge, sort of, waits for Lyndsey. She doesn’t know if she should stay with the Agency. She knows what she told Claiborne, but she’s had time to think about it. Russia Division is in complete turmoil: for better and worse, it’s losing the man who has been running it for years, who knew it inside and out, knew every man and woman who worked there, knew every asset they’d ever run, knew every operation backward and forward, knew its twisted, wicked history like his own. It’s been rocked by this scandal, made people shaky and timid. People are talking about leaving, finding new positions elsewhere or quitting altogether. The scandal has to be a sign of deeper rot, right? How can you trust this place to do right by you after what happened to Richard and Theresa, two of the Agency’s anointed?

Oh, but there’s more to the story than the rank and file will ever be allowed to know. Yet another deep, dark secret hidden away in its deepest, darkest vaults.

Lyndsey, hands shoved in pockets, pushes through the double doors and meanders out onto the tarmac. She has the same question before her: can she trust the Agency? Patrick Pfeifer has done the right thing, and that gives her hope, but how many men like him are there, and how many more are like Eric Newman, lying in wait? She’s agreed to run Tarasenko, yes, but it feels like she hasn’t fully committed. That she’s still looking over her shoulder, wondering if she’s doing the right thing. Kim Claiborne seems trustworthy. She’s no Eric Newman. But these managers all seem rock solid—at first. You must be confident to be a manager in the Directorate of Operations: people have to be willing to do some pretty dangerous things on your say-so, after all.

She looks at Richard and Theresa, still observing each other at arm’s length. This is what it can do to you: make you doubt the very ground beneath your feet.

Then, Richard stirs.

He stretches out his arm to Theresa.

She tumbles into him, pressing her face to his chest. His right arm wraps around her back, drawing her closer. They cling to each as tightly as possible.

Lyndsey edges closer to the family as they make their way to the ambulance. Richard is about to climb into the back when Theresa waves her over. Her eyes glisten with tears as she takes Lyndsey’s arm and pulls her into their circle.

“Richard, I want you to meet Lyndsey Duncan. We owe her so much . . . We owe her everything. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be here today.”

He squints through his eyeglasses. She can tell he is searching his memory, perhaps remembering something about her face. Lyndsey is shocked to see how he’s aged. He could easily be fifteen years older. His clothes hang off his lean frame. His face is creased with wrinkles, the skin rough, as though he’s been left in bad weather for a long time. There seems to be an involuntary tremor in his hands—but Brian clings to them nonetheless.

But there’s the same intelligent twinkle in his eyes that she remembers from her earliest days in Russia Division. Despite what they did to him in prison, they didn’t manage to destroy the man. To break his spirit.

She’s glad to see, after everything he has been through, that sometimes the best endures.

“Hello, Richard. It’s good to see you.” She extends her hand. “Welcome home.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For those who know of me through my novels, it may come as a bit of a surprise to learn that before I started writing, I had a long career in intelligence, which I drew on to write Red Widow. I always wanted to write a spy novel because I felt there were things about working in this field that people didn’t understand, especially if what they did know came from popular movies, TV shows, and books. I am grateful for my career: as I’ve told many