My glare answers “Yes” to her question and “No” to Noah’s suggestion. Lori stays. Her job title isn’t her fault, but even among analysts, she’d be looked down on. Could they seriously want someone with no experience in Russia (or anywhere else) for Danny’s backup — especially considering I’m right here?
My cover may be fragile, but if I have to sacrifice it — if I have to sacrifice my job — if I have to sacrifice my life for Danny, no contest.
As we pass through the wrought iron embassy gates to place de la Concorde, I glance at him. What if I’m not the one to make that sacrifice?
Place de la Concorde’s pretty enough, though all the leaves have abandoned the trees. Maybe it’s me, but the air feels colder than this morning.
No, it’s not just me — it’s the distance between me and Danny. Broad sidewalks afford us way too much room as we stroll past the ornate fountains and Egyptian obelisk in the center of the square.
We reach the Seine and start across pont de la Concorde. The words weigh on my tongue — I’ve got to say this. But I can’t, strolling down this street in the heart of Paris, between the classical lampposts and balustrades, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance, a reminder of a happier day not even a week ago.
“I’m sorry.” Danny finally begins the conversation.
“Why didn’t you think to talk to me?” Seriously. I expect major gaffes from me, who’s hardly seen a functional marriage in action. But not Danny, who sometimes makes this relationship work singlehandedly.
He shakes his head in amazed disappointment, not looking at me. “I’m an idiot.”
His excuse is hilariously far from the truth, but I let that slide. We reach the other side of the river, and a Grecian-style palace as suited to Paris as DC. I take a left to walk along the quay beside the river. “I can’t let you do this.”
It’s his turn to stare at me, gauging my reaction, my sincerity, my intent. “Because you think I can’t.”
Because I know Lori can’t. “I’d be surprised if Lori’s ever worked in the field. At all.” I try to keep the derision out of my tone — another vestige of Agency-speak — but fail. “She’s a political analyst.”
“What’s wrong with being a political analyst?”
“Nothing.” I think better of the lie. “It’s . . . I don’t know, the sanitation ‘engineer’ of analysts.”
Danny grimaces.
“There’s a universe of difference between the field and a desk.” I could be wrong. She could be great. But I’m not going to bet my husband’s life on it. “If that’s the best they can do, I just can’t — you can’t.”
“It’s not supposed to be that dangerous. I don’t even have to pretend to be someone else. It’s a cake walk.”
Between his famous-last-words and the temperature, I shiver. That’s exactly what they want him to believe. But I don’t say that.
“If you’re that worried, why don’t you come with me?”
I pick my words carefully, focusing on the ornamentation of the classical buildings across the street — reminiscent of Rostov. “I could. Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Might be even more dangerous.”
Suddenly I realize why it seems so cold: we’ve held hands pretty much constantly since we’ve been here. But now, after that meeting inside and that unexpected blow, the invisible cable of connection between us has snapped.
I have to fight for us. I offer my hand and Danny takes it. “I couldn’t go in as your wife,” I explain.
“Why not?”
I casually check the tree-lined sidewalk, but nobody’s paying attention to us. “Talia Reynolds — Fluker — barrister and solicitor, doesn’t know Russian. She’s never been to Russia. She has no business going with you.”
“Not even on her honeymoon?”
It’s so much more complicated than that. Word could get back — well, that part wouldn’t be too hard to explain. “What if somebody at Shcherbakov phones NRC and mentions meeting your wife-slash-interpreter? They get curious, word gets around . . .”
“What if we didn’t say you’re my wife? You’re just Talia Reynolds, cute interpreter I picked up in Paris.”
I laugh off the compliment. “Talia Reynolds is also a lawyer in Ottawa who doesn’t speak Russian.” The disappointment even tastes bitter. Much as I want it to, that scheme won’t work for a million reasons. I know that, I’ve been through them all, and yet I’m still making the same arguments as Danny in my mind, shooting them down like clay pigeons. But the truth? I do want this, because there’s no way I’m letting him go there alone — or worse still, with Lori.
We reach a gap in the cement guardrail on the left, with stairs down to river level. I turn and lead Danny down. A memory snaps into focus, the two of us cutting through a break in a guardrail just like this, only half a world away, arguing our way down the stairs to the water. Breaking up.
“Where does that leave us?” Danny asks.
Somehow, I don’t think he just means this assignment. “I dunno. You said yes, and I won’t put you in a headlock until you go back on your word.”
He pretends to size me up. “I’d like to see you try that.”
I shoot him a get-serious look.
“Or you could ask. Not like I signed a contract.”
No, but I did. I signed every part of my life away — except him. And that’s what it comes down to. I’m ready to sacrifice anything for my job but him. Now, not even two weeks after our wedding, that’s the first thing the CIA demands.
Bodes real well for the long term. Am I right to resign?
“They could find someone else.” I mean for this mission, to replace Danny. Or maybe I mean to replace me.
He doesn’t answer, focused on the barge tied up by the metal railing. Despite Noah’s insistence that Danny’s the right guy, someone else could do this job. They wouldn’t do it as well, but at least they’d be risking their lives and not my husband’s.
“You want me to say no,” he says. Like I haven’t changed his mind, but I’ve still made the choice for him.
I may not have seen many healthy relationships growing up, but I did pay enough attention in my college Foreign Affairs courses to figure out unilateral decisions rarely make the other parties happy. I can’t say no for him, and I still can’t understand why he said yes.
So I ask. “You wouldn’t agree to this on a whim. Why’d you accept?”
He offers a little smile and a sigh, like it’s not worth explaining. “If you want me to say no this bad, I can say no. Backing out isn’t illegal.”
“Danny.” I stop where the sidewalk dead ends at a narrow parking lot, tucked between the two-lane road and the wide river, and meet his eyes. “Tell me.”
He monitors me, measuring his message, like he’s worried he can’t set it on my shoulders. Whatever it is, I brace myself before he finally speaks. “It’s my fault.”
Because he just said yes? Uh, duh.
“He’d never have gotten the plans if it weren’t for me.”
Oh. “You were only following protocol,” I remind him.
“Protocol that I knew wasn’t smart. I knew putting them on a USB drive wasn’t secure enough, no matter what the rules said. Now anything could happen.”
Though we can’t go into specifics in the open, I know what Danny means. His drone’s intended for recon, but it could be a dangerously powerful tool.
Or a weapon.
Nobody wants that.
“If I can stop that, I have to.” He starts into the parking lot past the little guard’s hut, as if that red and white striped boom barrier will hold back the past and its consequences.
Too late.
The single traffic lane’s the only place to walk, and a little black Renault is coming our direction. We step out of the way, onto the cement barrier between two rows of cars, and I look up at Danny.
“You know you’re not the only one with guilt.” My voice is so quiet
that I worry the passing car swallowed my words. Especially when Danny doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“Believe me, I know.” He has no reason to hide things from me, but I can see it in his eyes. Another reason lurks there, bigger than his own (questionable) culpability. He turns away, headed for the steel pedestrian bridge that crosses the river in a single span. I think we’ve been there before, but we’ve crossed nearly every bridge in the city it seems.
We reach the footbridge’s shadows under the pedestrian paths that lead back to the street above us. A set of stairs rises from our level up through the middle of the bridge. I stop him here, the closest to privacy as we’ve gotten this whole walk. “I want closure, too, but it’s not worth the risk—”
“What were you doing two nights ago at three fifteen AM?”
I blink at the sudden shift to the third degree. “Not sure, but I’m going to go with sleeping?”
He scrutinizes me, gauging whether to believe me. “No. You had a nightmare.”
Now I know exactly which night he means. My gaze falls to the cement at our feet. “Did I wake you?”
“I woke you.”
I only remember the dream ending abruptly, Fyodor’s vacant stare evaporating into the black. In the last three months, I’ve been through enough to fuel a life’s worth of nightmares. We both have.
The rest of the groggy memory comes into focus. Danny asking if I was okay.
Me saying I was fine. A stressed-out dream about missing our flight home. A lie.
Finally, he pulled me over to lay my head on his chest. I stayed there until his breathing was deep and even again, holding still, holding my breath, holding in the tears.
“You wouldn’t cry about not catching a plane,” Danny murmurs.
I should’ve known he knew.
“That’s why I have to do this.”
“No, it’s why you don’t.” I look back to him at last.
Earnestness shines in his eyes like a laser sight trained on me, and I want to look away. “Talia, it’s my fault you went through all that, that you’re still going through it. If I have even half a shot at closure — for you — I want to take it.”
“I ‘went through all that’ to protect you, so you’d never be in danger again.” I let the end of my argument play out in his mind: which is exactly what this assignment would be.
Danny inhales, slow and deep, and releases it, staring at the shallow stairs up to the bridge. “Puts us at an impasse, huh?”
He slides an arm around my shoulders and leads me up the stairs. The bridge is metal, but the stairs are covered in weathered wood. They get progressively shallower, becoming a ramp as we emerge into the sunlight.
Now I recognize this place. We came here our first day in Paris. Along the steel rebar of the bridge’s guardrail hang hundreds and thousands of padlocks, inscribed with names and dates and messages from couples in love.
When we arrived here our first day in Paris, Danny’s wedding gift to me finally made sense: a brass antique padlock with the brand name “INVINCIBLE” scrolled across the body. He’d had our names engraved on the back. We locked it on the railing and threw the key in the Seine, following the ridiculous, romantic tradition. (And updating it by sealing the keyhole with superglue. I know, they’ll use bolt cutters if they want it off, but it’s all about the sentiment.)
The large brown patinaed lock is hard to miss, and we naturally gravitate to that spot. I do not feel invincible.
We gaze out at the same river where we threw away that key. Even this morning, we were those same carefree lovebirds. Now my husband wants to run off on an adventure for my sake. To end my nightmares.
Let’s be honest: how dangerous could visiting an aerospace company be? I’ve only been in trouble a couple dozen times in my whole career; true danger, a handful. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is a cake walk.
Danny tugs on my hand, and I turn to him. “Talk to me,” he says. When I can’t find the words fast enough, he presses on: “I’ve spent the last year tearing down the Great Wall of Talia. This morning, you were open. You were vulnerable. You were . . . silly.”
“I’m never silly.”
Danny casts an oh-really? look at the lock on the steel wire in front of us. He wins that point. “Now your shields are up again. Back at square one.”
My shoulders fall. Withdrawal has always been my best defense — but I have to do better. “You need this?” It comes out as more of a question than I intended.
“I want to end it. Let me do that. For you.”
Don’t know if I can argue. Didn’t Noah try the same closure tactic to tempt me?
If Danny’s going to be the one who ends it, I have to be the one by his side. End of story. But how can I —
The plan hits me harder than an avtobus. I know exactly what to do.
Noah and Jim are desperate. Desperate enough to conscript Lori. Desperate enough to do whatever the mission takes. Desperate enough to try something crazy.
“All right,” I tell Danny.
“You’re giving me permission?” The wry undertone in his voice mocks the entire idea, like he’s extracting a signature from me, the evil parent, for the next cool field trip.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m giving you support. Think that’s okay?”
“Guess I can live with that,” he jokes.
Oh, he’d definitely better live. I’ll see to it.
They page Noah when we return to the Chancery, and the man must’ve run to greet us. I wait until he escorts us back to the CIA conference room to announce our decision to him, Jim and Lori. I step up to the head of the table, like I’m in control.
Because I am. “Here are the terms,” I begin.
Jim and Noah instantly slip into skeptical masks. And yeah, a pronouncement isn’t a great way to start collective bargaining, but they need to understand a few items are nonnegotiable.
“Danny’s going.” I wait one more second before I drop the news. “And so am I.”
Jim and Noah stand to get me to see reason (or to throttle it into my brain), raising their red-flag objections so fast they talk over one another.
I hold up my hands to stop them. “I know—”
Noah breaks in first. “You’ll blow your cover, and we can’t sacrifice—”
“I wouldn’t be me.”
Jim takes the next turn. “We’ve already worked through the details. Lori’s ready.”
“Ready?” I don’t look at her. Sorry, sweetheart. “She isn’t trained for this. It’s not fair to her or Danny.”
“We don’t have any other options.”
I smile that perfectly patient smile again. “I’d love to write you a whole options paper, but I’m not an analyst.” I let that sink in a second before I swing on Lori to continue with my argument. “Do you know where the hospitals in Rostov-on-Don are?”
Jim and Noah exchange a glance, then we all look to her. She stares at the high shine wood grain, and in her reflection, her eyes grow wider. No response.
“Can you get there on your own?”
Silence. Jim and Noah slowly sink into their seats.
“Could you get Danny there in the dark if necessary?”
Danny’s eyebrows jump. “Hoping to avoid a Russian hospital.”
“You have no idea,” I return in the same tone. “But we have to be prepared for when things don’t go according to plan. Do you know where the jail is? What you shouldn’t say to a Russian man? Where you shouldn’t shake hands?”
Noah’s breaks in. “We can brief her on social customs.”
“You can brief her, you can run simulations, you can hook up a virtual reality Rostov — and it’ll never be as good as someone who’s really lived there.” (For six months, five years ago.)
Jim folds his arms. “All right,” he concedes. “You’ve made a valid argument. Don’t think we haven’t thought this through ourselves.”
Uh huh.
; “And,” Noah interrupts, “what if you have to choose between him and your job?”
Okay, someone’s obsessed with that idea. “That’s the beauty of this. I won’t have to choose. He is my job. Basic executive protection.”
Danny folds his arms and frowns. Before I can address him, Jim waves away the topic. “We’ve had this exact conversation with Langley, and the final decision is it’s too big a risk. All it takes is one wedding photo—”
“This is why covers and disguises were invented.” I’ve got him there.
Ooor not. “You can’t just use one of your fake names from back home.”
Maybe they really did go over all this and back again — but I have one trump card that’s never occurred to them apparently. “Don’t need a fake name. You already created a perfect cover.” I cast a meaningful glance in Lori’s direction.
Jim catches my drift and considers it. “What about your disguise — you going to wear prosthetics and face paint the whole time?”
Obviously he doubts the power of cosmetics. (Men.) “Ever see Kim Kardashian without makeup?”
Jim’s brows knit together. I might’ve taken the wrong tactic. “Kim who?”
“Or any American celebrity. Like in a grocery store tabloid. They’re unrecognizable.” I hold out a hand as if to finish the phrase: just like I would be.
Noah stares at his boss from the corner of his eye, clearly not understanding me. It takes half a second, but Jim’s grin grows to mirror mine. In unison, we swing to Lori. Does she see she’s being cut out?
She blows out a long breath, and for a second, I think we’ve deflated her. Then she finally looks up. Tears shimmer in her eyes.
Great. I’m the villain of her little spy dreams.
“Oh my goodness,” she says. “Thank you.”
“What?”
She doesn’t answer, but hops up from her chair and snares me in a hug. “Thank you,” she murmurs again. The reality lands in my gut like bad borshcht.
I’m going with Danny. I’m going to Russia. I’m going to have a lot of prep work.
It’s a long afternoon until we’re finished at the embassy, but I’m far from done with my planning. Normally, CIA officers are ready to travel at a moment’s notice (well, an hour’s notice), and if I’d been home when I got this assignment, I’d probably be on a plane already. Today, our travel plan doesn’t start for a couple hours, and preparation abhors a vacuum.
Spy Another Day Box Set: Three full-length novels: I, Spy; Spy for a Spy; and Tomorrow We Spy (Spy Another Day clean romantic suspense trilogy) Page 59