But now was not the time to think about that. If Nikolai was in fact KGB, that meant he was dangerous. How dangerous, Tom couldn’t possibly know. But in matters of espionage, it was always best to assume the worst—that’s what all the books said. So Tom did his best to become invisible again, watching Nikolai and the beautiful stranger in that way he had trained himself to do—without actually looking….
“So you don’t want to talk to me, I think,” Nikolai said, looking down at her with his own pathetic version of a “sly” smile. His voice was deep, with a thick Russian accent.
No, Tom thought, keeping his profile to them as he pulled a book from the shelf and pretended to read. No, she doesn’t want to talk to you, you idiot. Maybe it’s time for you to go.
“What’s the matter?” Nikolai asked, his voice turning disgustingly nasal as he stepped closer to her and leaned against her bookshelf, posing in his own tragically out-of-date “swinging guy” stance. “You don’t like Russian guys, maybe? Big mistake. Russian guys… we know things, uh? We know what women want, you know? The secrets are passed down through the generations.”
Then he reached out his hand, wrapped his fingers around her chin, and tried to turn her face toward his.
And that’s when Tom broke—the moment Nikolai’s disgusting hand touched her face. Tom slammed his book shut, dropped it to the floor, and stepped over to Nikolai, standing much too close to him.
“Okay,” he spat out emphatically, smiling slightly to cap his overflowing frustration and disdain. “You know, in America, we don’t touch women unless they want us to.”
Nikolai froze momentarily. And in that silent blip of a moment Tom had the sharpest, most vivid sinking feeling that he never should have opened his mouth—that he’d just dropped himself into something very, very far over his head. But he didn’t care. Not right now. Right now, all he cared about was that Nikolai remove his hand from the girl’s face—the girl, who was now staring wide-eyed at Tom with an expression he couldn’t possibly read.
And Nikolai did remove his hand. But he then gave Tom, a look that threatened to tear his heart directly from his chest. It was, without question, the darkest, coldest, most condescending glare Tom had ever seen. “Don’t talk to me,” Nikolai said, with a deep, steady tone that sounded more like a grave warning than an insult.
Tom knew he couldn’t bully Nikolai out of there. Not without using a totally inappropriate karate chop. But Tom had quickly devised a plan that would send Nikolai running from that bookstore without a single punch thrown.
“You know what?” Tom began, trying to lighten the tone between them. “Is that the history section behind you?”
“What are you talking about?” Nikolai mumbled with frustration, glancing briefly behind him.
“I’m talking about books,” Tom replied with a smile. “This is a bookstore, right? I just need a book from the history section behind you.”
Tom simply shoved himself between Nikolai and the girl, “accidentally” bumping Nikolai about three feet back as he examined the bookshelf behind them. Nikolai stumbled backward and nearly lost his balance.
“Look, you little punk,” Nikolai menaced, trying to get in Tom’s face. “Go find your stupid little book somewhere else, you understand? Don’t make me angry.”
“Just a second,” Tom insisted, scanning across the shelves intensely.
This can work, Tom told himself, I know this will work. Be an agent, Tom. You want to be someone’s hero, then be one.
“I know the book is here,” Tom said, ignoring Nikolai’s enraged eyes. “See, I’m a history major, and I’m looking for this book by Mussolini’s foreign minister, Gian Galeazzo Ciano. I’m sure it’s here. I’m sure of it. Let’s see, Ciano… Ciano…” Tom began to spell the author’s name aloud as he searched the shelf ever so slowly. “C… C-i… Damn, I know it’s here somewhere…. C… i… a… Still can’t find it… C… i… a…”
Tom peeked over at Nikolai again. And his face had most definitely begun to change. The more he listened to Tom search for the book, the more concerned he looked. He was getting Tom’s message. He was definitely getting his message.
“What are you trying to…?” Nikolai began.
“Ah, here it is!” Tom announced, pulling a Ciano book from the history shelf. “See, I knew it was behind you,” he said, shoving the book in Nikolai’s face. “I knew the C-I-A was right behind you.”
Tom stared coldly and deliberately into Nikolai’s eyes. He wanted to be sure Nikolai understood his threatening message. And judging from Nikolai’s sudden silence, he had. The slightest hint of paranoia suddenly spread across Nikolai’s face as his eyes darted from side to side, and he even turned to look slightly behind him. He was now wondering if the CIA was, in fact, right behind him—if they were perhaps watching him from all sides at this very moment, observing him. Or perhaps… perhaps the CIA was standing right in front of him? In the form of a twenty-three-year-old grad school student. Of course, that was only true in Tom’s dreams, but Nikolai didn’t know that, did he? He didn’t know anything anymore. Yes, Tom’s little encoded message had him completely spooked.
“Maybe you should go now,” Tom stated, keeping his eyes locked with Nikolai’s.
Nikolai was dead silent. He tried to give Tom one last menacing glance, but his eyes were already darting toward the door. If the CIA was in the vicinity, then Nikolai needed to be gone. All he had left to offer Tom was a small piglike grunt. He looked down at the girl one last time, and then he turned around and walked himself out of the bookstore.
Tom had won. He had just won a showdown with a likely KGB agent. Now if he could just open his mouth and talk to her. Or perhaps, just maybe, she could say something to him? Something along the lines of, “My hero,” perhaps? Maybe a nice little, “Thanks for sticking up for me…?”
But she said nothing of the kind. Instead she stared at him for another long beat, seeming to examine every aspect of his body and his face. And then she finally spoke to him.
“Why didn’t you just kick his ass?” she asked in an elegant Russian accent.
Tom was speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. He was also rather sure that he had just fallen in love.
Face to Face
TONE IT DOWN, KATIA. THIS ONE doesn’t deserve it.
Why did she always have to do this? Why did she have to tease them when she liked them? What was she, five years old? She might as well have pulled his hair or stolen his graham crackers and apple juice.
She picked herself up from the floor, being sure not to leave her journal behind. The last thing she needed was for him to accidentally see the embarrassingly adolescent things she’d been writing about him while that redheaded weasel was trying to accost her.
Suddenly they were quite literally face-to-face. Their first eye contact from across the room had already left her feeling light-headed enough, but this close… she didn’t know what to do with this close.
Relax, she told herself. Relax. Be cool. And for God’s sake, be nice. No more ass-kicking jokes.
“You wanted me to kick his ass?” he asked, staring at her intently. “I just thought it would be better to—”
“No, don’t even answer the ass-kicking question.” She laughed, waving her arms at him. She’d be damned if she couldn’t keep her attitude in check. “We didn’t need to kick his ass just yet,” she assured him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. She stopped her hand just short of actually touching him and pulled it back down to her side, though she wasn’t quite sure why.
No, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly why. She didn’t want to touch him because he was too good-looking.
There were certain men that just looked… well, for lack of a better term… untouchable. And he was most definitely one of them. Of course, it wasn’t the obvious things. It wasn’t his chiseled features, or his ocean blue eyes, or the way his coat lay on his slim but muscular shoulders. No, it was all the adorably imperfect things that made him so p
erfect. The way his hair had been cut too short, like he was headed off to summer camp, or the way his tie had been tied just a little too tightly and his shave was just a little too clean and close. He gave a whole new meaning to the term “boyish charm.”
“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry,” he said most politely, pointing his finger back toward the door. “Did you want to kick his ass?”
A wide grin broke out across her face. She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or if he was messing with her. And she liked that. If he was just giving her attitude back, that was an extremely good sign, and if he was being completely sincere and actually apologizing for his rudeness in interfering with her potential kicking of ass, well, then that would just be downright adorable. Either way, this was turning into an awfully good day. Her absolute best day in the States so far, hands down.
“Oh, no,” she assured him. “Besides,” she went on, trying not to fixate on the near supernatural color of his eyes, “it was much more entertaining watching you do your whole… book… thing.”
“My book thing?” he asked with extreme indignation.
Oh, Katia. The teasing. Watch the teasing.
“My book thing?” he repeated emphatically. “That was no thing. That was a high-quality kiss-off I pulled off there; that was… that was masterful.”
Katia searched deeper in his eyes, terrified that she’d already managed to alienate the man she’d decided was her favorite person on both hemispheres.
Until suddenly… a sheepish grin began to surface on his lips. “Okay, maybe I was overdoing it a little,” he admitted as his grin began to widen.
His smile became instantly contagious, and she let out a loud, spontaneous laugh of relief. Yes. At least one less involuntary alienation in her life.
As her laugh trailed off, she found herself cocking her head slightly to the side and just studying him….
She still did not really understand him. She didn’t even understand how his pretend fumbling for a history book had somehow sent the redheaded weasel on his way. But it was awfully enjoyable to watch nonetheless.
Suddenly they seemed to have fallen into some kind of mutual trance state. She was still determined, however, to at least gather enough breath to obtain his name. “I know you are a history major,” she began finally, taking the circuitous route to his name. “You are a history major, right?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding, and then falling back into their trance for some undeterminable period of time. “Yes.”
Okay, the problem was, if he was going to continue to look at her like that, it was going to become very difficult for her to function with even a modicum of normalcy. Relax, Katia. They are just eyes. Just very blue eyes. Just look into the very blue eyes and talk.
She looked into the eyes. And he smiled at her. A wide, devastating smile.
Okay, that’s not going to work. Look at something else. That’s what you need to do. Just look at something else.
She forced her head to turn slightly, finally breaking away from his glance. Name. All you are trying to get here is his name. Okay, I have an idea.
“What’s your name?” she asked him. Good. Well done.
She felt for a moment like they were toddlers who’d just met in a playground. No, even a toddler probably could have found a more clever way to ask his name. But still, it had served its purpose.
“Tom,” he replied.
“Tom?” she repeated, looking back into his eyes. Tom. Now the eyes had a name. “Tom… That’s the most American name I’ve ever heard. Tom.”
A long, intense pause.
“Well… there’s ‘John,’” he said finally, eyes still unmoving. “John is a more American name.”
Now, they could have been talking about anything. They could have been talking about farm equipment, and it would have been just as arrestingly intense.
“Yes, right… there’s John,” she agreed slowly, not sure what she had just said, nor how much time passed after she said it.
“And I’m assuming you have a—”
“Katia,” she interrupted.
“Katia…” His eyes seemed to turn a shade brighter. “Very Russian. That’s a very Russian name.”
Another long, luxurious moment flew by.
“Katia…” he began finally, somehow increasing the intensity of his gaze even further. “I just want you to know… that in spite of this conversation we’re now having, I am not an idiot. I’m actually extremely bright.”
“So am I,” Katia interrupted, nodding. “I am a journalist. Well… actually, now I don’t know if I am a journalist. Now I think I am a singer, but—”
“You’re a singer?” Tom asked. On hearing this fact, he seemed to fall back into the intense gaze they were working so hard now to overcome. “You’re a singer. That’s just… Can you sing something?”
“Well, if you really want to hear me sing, you should come to my show. Tomorrow night.”
“Your show.” Tom grinned. “You’re doing a show. Well, yes. I mean… yes. I’d love to come to your show.”
“Or you could also come next week. I do a show every Tuesday night,” she said, handing him a flyer with her seductively nonseductive face on it.
“Um, tomorrow sounds perfect,” Tom answered, studying her grainy black-and-white likeness, and wondering what painful back story was lurking behind her powerful and brilliant eyes.
Katia took a deep breath and smiled. “Tomorrow night,” she agreed.
“Tomorrow night. That’s… when I’ll see you.”
He smiled one last time, turned around somewhat clumsily, dropped down the cash for his book at the register, and walked out through that same door she’d seen him come through only ten or fifteen minutes ago. But back then he had only been the most beautiful man in New York City. Now he was Tom. Tom, who was coming to her show tomorrow night.
CIA File # NIR-P4855J [Incident Report]
Rating: CLASSIFIED
Transcript Recorded—10/16/1990
Administrating: Agent John M. Kent
Reporting: Agent Thomas Moore, Agent George Niven
KENT: Hold on, Tom. I’d like you to stop there. So, then, you didn’t go to that bookstore by accident?
MOORE: That’s correct.
KENT: One of our agents sent you there?
MOORE: That’s correct. Agent Rodriguez sent me there. George was actually with me earlier that afternoon.
NIVEN: That recruitment meeting…
MOORE: Yes. Just before I went to the bookstore, George and I were at one of the CIA recruitment lectures at Columbia. I was way too eager to join the Agency, and I’d asked him to come with me and put in a good word. Rodriguez was the agent giving the lecture. That was the first day I’d ever heard that horrible name… Nikolai.
KENT: Well, then I think you should go back a little further, Tom. Can you describe more specifically the events just before you went to the bookstore—your initial meeting with Agent Rodriguez? Apparently that is when this really all began.
MOORE: That’s true. That is when it all started. The picture of Nikolai… I’m sorry, John, I should have started there in the first place. Let me go back…
1983
He caught a glimpse of something. A photo. It passed through the huddle at quite a rapid speed, but through Tom’s eyes, rapid speeds could be reduced to slow motion.
A Tad Over-ambitious
“WELL, THEN I THANK YOU FOR TAKING the time to come here,” Agent Rodriguez said, “and remember, your invitations today were strictly confidential, as was everything discussed in this room. I know I can count on you for your absolute discretion. Best of luck to all of you. I’ll be here a few more minutes if anyone wants to come up with questions. Thanks.”
Tom and George Niven were the only people in the Columbia University lecture hall clapping as the lights came back on. There was something a little sad about that. But then again, popularity and notoriety were not exactly the CIA’s primary goals.
The mo
ment Rodriguez turned his back, Tom grabbed George by the arm and dragged him toward the podium. He’d basically forced George to join him at this lecture. George was, after all, an eight-year veteran of the Agency. And not only had he been a top-notch commander to Tom in the Green Berets, but he had also become a top-notch friend after Tom had completed his service. It was actually still a little strange to see George in civilian clothing instead of military fatigues, but Tom was getting used to it. Besides, right now… he really couldn’t have cared less what George was wearing. All he cared about was a personal introduction to Agent Rodriguez and a very blatant recommendation.
“Tom.” George laughed quietly, forcing Tom to slow down as they approached Rodriguez. “Relax. I told you I’ve already put in a good word for you with Rod.”
“That’s not the same thing as a personal introduction,” Tom uttered quietly through the clenched teeth of his strongest smile.
“Has it occurred to you that there might be such a thing as too ambitious?” George smiled, pinching Tom’s cheek as he sometimes did, knowing how much it infuriated Tom.
Tom knew he was a tad over-ambitious these days, but it had really only been since Oliver had jumped ahead of him on the Agency track. It had all really come down to that one paper on U.S. policy in Latin America that Oliver had written his junior year at Columbia. Somehow it had fallen into the hands of the intelligence community, and someone up there was so damn impressed, they offered Oliver a job, entry level. But now, here it was only a year and a half later and Oliver was already heading up their code-breaking division while Tom had really done nothing but spin his wheels in the Green Berets and grad school.
Before Gaia Page 3