Of course, we’d have to talk in code. Our calls were probably being intercepted by the Russian authorities and there’d be hell to pay if they thought the CIA was running an op in their country. We had to sound like a couple of typical twenty-somethings. “I thought you were on that business trip,” I said.
“I got back last night and found you gone. Your...dad told me about your vacation in Moscow.” She sounded casual and cheery, while letting just enough of a hint of fear bubble through that I understood her real message.
“Yeah, well...I figured it was time I saw the world. You know I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” I’d moaned plenty of times to Nancy about wanting to try field work.
“Sure, sure. But Moscow? I didn’t think the travel company you use even did that sort of trip.”
I frowned. The Company was slang for the CIA. She was hinting that the op didn’t make sense. Roberta had said something similar. Why was the CIA—and Adam—so interested in Luka? And why had he sent me, not someone experienced, like Nancy?
I pushed the disquiet down inside me. This was my one chance. I wasn’t going to start second-guessing my new boss. Maybe she was just jealous, although that wasn’t like her at all.
“Don’t you think you might have rushed into things a little?” Nancy asked. “Your dad says you’ve already fallen for some guy out there. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken, Arianna. And this guy sounds like a real heartbreaker.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. She wasn’t talking romance. She was talking about my body being found floating in a Moscow river.
“You don’t know what these Russian men can be like,” she said. “A lot of them have big families. Lots of brothers.” She was talking about the brotherhood, the Russian mafia. “It makes it difficult for them to form attachments with women. In fact, they don’t get on with women at all. Do you remember I told you about my old boyfriend, Dmitri? He was Russian.”
I felt sick. I remembered Dmitri. She’d told me, one night after too much wine, about how one of her first missions had required her to steal documents from his office. He’d caught her, beaten her and tried to rape her. “I remember,” I said in a small voice. “But Luka isn’t like that.”
“I really think you should come home,” said Nancy. “I know your dad thinks it’s good for you to be out there, seeing the world, but I’m really worried you’re going to get your heart broken. Just come home, Arianna.”
“I’m fine,” I said again. The car was slowing. “I have to go. Take care.” And I ended the call before she could argue.
I wanted nothing more than to speak to her. Hearing her voice after so long with nothing familiar around me was like coming home. But if I kept talking to her, she was going to persuade me to bail. God, she didn’t even know about the trip on the yacht, yet. If she knew I was planning to do that, she’d freak out completely. And the scary thing was that she was absolutely right—I was way out of my depth.
The cab pulled up outside a boutique that was all soft lighting and artfully displayed mannequins, a world away from the places I normally shopped at back home. My stomach tensed. In theory, I had the new Arianna Ross credit card Adam had given me, but my instincts took over. Shit! I couldn’t afford this!#p#分页标题#e#
As soon as I took a step inside, a woman in an immaculate black designer dress stepped from behind the counter. Her blonde pixie cut was so precise I suspected it was styled with a laser. Something about my clothes clearly marked me as a tourist, and not a rich one. “Can I help you?” she asked in English.
There’s a certain way that store assistants can say Can I help you so that it sounds like Please get out of my store.
“Um,” I said. “I think I need some clothes. Quite a lot of clothes. I’m not sure exactly what.” We stared at one another. Well done, Arianna. Very decisive. I looked around. “I’m not sure I can afford this place…”
The store assistant gave me a smile so incredibly patronizing, it felt as if she’d kicked me in the chest. “There are some cheaper stores a few streets down,” she said sweetly. And she picked up the coffee she’d been drinking and leaned against the counter, smirking. Even her coffee mug was designer, with some achingly cool clothes company’s logo on the side.
A hot flush rose in my cheeks. She made me feel as if I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I turned to slink out and then remembered something. “Luka Malakov sent me,” I mumbled.