The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel

Looking at herself suddenly deformed into an out-of-body dream; the image in the mirror was someone else. An unbearable melancholy washed over her. She stifled a sob, momentarily overwhelmed by her situation, by tonight’s danger, and by her whole existence as a spy. Look at you, she thought. What are you doing? Who are you? A ridiculous fanatic fighting alone in the dark, overwhelming dangers arrayed against you, the odds of surviving slim, your friends far away, separated from the man you love. How long will you last? How did her mentor General Korchnoi—he spied for CIA for fourteen years—summon the will and determination to keep going? Dominika blinked as tears slid down the cheeks of the revenant in the mirror. It wasn’t her; it was someone else crying.

CIULAMA DE PUI—IOANA’S CHICKEN WITH MUSHROOM SUPRÊME SAUCE

Cut chicken into small pieces, boil in salted water with rough-cut carrot and onion until tender. Make a Suprême Sauce by melting butter, then stir in flour, add chicken stock, egg yolk, and sour cream to make a velvety sauce. Sauté thin-sliced mushrooms in butter, add to the sauce, and finish cooking without boiling. Add chicken pieces, chopped parsley, season, and simmer. Serve with Russian mashed potatoes. (Mix mashed potatoes with sour cream, heavy cream, egg yolks, dill, and butter. Spread half of potatoes on greased pan, layer with caramelized onions, cover with remaining potatoes, and top with sour cream. Bake uncovered.)

7

Polestar of Humanity

Two aides escorted her down the brilliantly lighted corridor, while Dominika composed her features for a last-minute meeting with Gorelikov, probably routine, but she always half expected the room would be full of security goons gathered there to arrest her. The life of a spy.

She was on the third floor, residential wing of the Senate building, where Lenin and Stalin both had maintained comfortable apartments and where Stalin’s second wife, Nadezhda Alliluyeva, in 1932 committed suicide. With a revolver probably, thought Dominika, after she realized she was married to the messenger of Lucifer on Earth. An aide knocked on a plain wooden door, waited a beat, and then indicated that she should go in. Anton Gorelikov stood from behind the desk in his Kremlin office, a corner room on the north angle of the three-sided Senate building. The office was spacious, lined with bookcases, and richly carpeted in deep red. An ornate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. Gorelikov’s desk was littered with papers and folders in assorted colors. How many other operations are you hatching around the world? Dominika thought. Today Gorelikov wore a blue shadow plaid suit by Kiton, a light-blue shirt by Mastai Ferretti, and black knit Gitman Bros. tie. He was more elegant than a London banker—no match for the damp tubs of suet on the Kremlin Security Council.

“Ready for your trip?” Gorelikov said, arms outstretched in greeting, like a grandfather welcoming a grandchild back home for spring break. Dominika shook his hand and sat gingerly in a plush leather chair in front of his desk, crossed her legs, and told herself not to bounce her foot.

Gorelikov had read Dominika’s New York ops proposal—a document outlining alias identity, clandestine travel, and meeting protocols with the illegal—which she had wired directly to him last night from SVR headquarters in Yasenevo via an embargoed privacy channel. “Excellent plan, Colonel, excellent tradecraft, quite satisfactory.” He beamed at her as the blue halo around his head shone and pulsed. Strange. He normally didn’t vibrate like this; Gorelikov had some other villainy in mind, she was sure of it. “Sergeant Blokhin is making his own travel arrangements, and he will contact you on arrival. He will lightly countersurveil for you in New York City, but will not, repeat not, accompany you to the meeting with SUSAN the illegal. I made that quite clear to him and Major Shlykov both. If you have any trouble with Blokhin following instructions, abort the meeting rather than risk SUSAN.” Dominika nodded, thinking how in the world she could stop Blokhin from doing anything he wanted to do. Her self-defense moves in Systema could not match his brute strength.