Mistress(98)

When it finally abates, she says through her hand, “The week that Nina stayed at my apartment…was the week that…everything happened.”

“The week you gave the video of you and the First Lady to the Russians,” I say. “And the week they showed it to Craig Carney.”

“Yes.” She takes a deep breath. “I wanted a head start. I knew Kutuzov’s people were keeping tabs on me. I wanted them to think I was staying at my apartment.”

“So as they watched your apartment from a distance, they’d see someone who looked like you and wore your clothes going in and out of your apartment, sleeping there, feeding the cat—and they’d think you were still around town. When in fact you had left the country. Someplace warm, I assume. Someplace without an extradition treaty with the United States.”

She nods again. The CIA probably used its considerable resources to relocate her and decided that they didn’t care one bit about an extradition treaty. I picture an acquisition team dropping out of a black helicopter, arresting her on a beach or something, and then whisking her back to Quantico.

“And why call me to install the surveillance?” I ask. “You just felt like embroiling me in an international conspiracy? Misery loves company?”

“Because you were the only person I could trust,” she says.

I don’t respond. Inside, I am fighting the temptation to believe what she’s saying. She’s fooled me enough for one lifetime.

“I realized the Russians might try to kill me once they had the video and I was no longer any use to them,” she explains. “And if they tried to kill me, I wanted them on video inside my apartment.” Diana looks up at me. “Ben, I swear to you, I didn’t know they’d move so quickly. Nina was going to leave the next day. I didn’t think they’d come after me that night. I…I didn’t want her to die. I didn’t. I swear.”

I don’t know if I believe her or not. But either way, she was being awfully reckless with someone else’s life.

“And who covered up Nina’s death?” I ask. “The CIA?”

She looks at me like the answer’s obvious. “Of course. By then they knew everything. They might have even known that the Russians were coming for me. They made a decision that they wanted everyone to believe I was dead.”

And it worked. For a while, at least. Until I got curious.

But now it’s over. Diana checked her morals at the door, made an admittedly bold and daring attempt at scoring a huge payday, and lost as badly as someone can lose. Now she will spend the rest of her life in a cell.

I loved this woman. You can’t just turn off that kind of feeling. But I loved a person who didn’t exist. I loved someone Diana was pretending to be. Maybe the signs were there, but I refused to see them. Maybe I didn’t want to see them.

The guard approaches and tells me that my time’s up. I take a deep breath and look at Diana.

I place my hand gently on the bars of the cell and look at Diana one last time. “There’s still good in your life,” I say. “It’s going to be harder to find it. But it’s there, Diana. Don’t stop looking for it.”

Then I walk away, wondering if I should start taking some of my own advice.





Chapter 113



Professor Andrei Bogomolov doesn’t answer the door when I ring the bell. Instead, a nurse leads me back into his den, where Andrei is lying on a hospital bed positioned against a wall.

Andrei looks twenty times worse than the last time I saw him, only a week ago. The hideous disease that ails him is rapidly winning the fight. Wisps of hair atop his head stand in various directions. His eyes are black and vacant.

The hospital bed wasn’t here the last time I came. Or at least he didn’t let me see it. It tells me that the end is near for him, and that he wants to die at home, not in a hospital.

He tries to smile, but even that small feat seems to cause pain. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it gently.

“Hello, old friend,” I say.

“You are…a hero,” he manages. You’ve done well, Grasshopper.

“All in a week’s work.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat.

I look out the window to the garden, recalling that barbecue only weeks after Mother died. If you ever feel that you’re in danger, Andrei had said to me, you can call me, Benjamin. I will help you.

“You have come here…for a reason,” he whispers.

“I came to see my good friend.” I smile at him.

Andrei winces, and then a coughing attack ensues. I pick up a washcloth at his bedside and wipe his mouth when it’s over.