BooksBarbecue
Back The Asset
Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

As she walked across the lobby of the hotel, she felt as if she was tempting fate. The place was GRU central. Any active agents in the city were likely staying there. They could be in that bar right now, sipping expensive cocktails as she’d done. If there was any place in the world she was likely to be recognized outside Moscow, this was it.

She went to the reception and told the concierge she’d lost her room key.

“What room?”

“707.”

“You have your ID?”

She showed him the ID she’d checked in under and he created a new key for her. That meant the clock was ticking. Someone, somewhere in the GRU, was being notified at that very moment that there’d been activity on her hotel account.

She didn’t care. If she was going to go out, she would go out in style. She wanted to send Igor a message, a message that he was in trouble, a message that she was coming for him.

She walked past the Chanel boutique where she’d bought the dress. She looked through the window as she passed. The girl who’d served her saw her and waved. Tatyana waved back.

Those days were over.

As much as she hated to admit it, that hurt too. She’d liked those expensive things. They’d symbolized something to her. They were her armor, her sign to herself that she’d defeated something, some monster under her bed that no one but her knew existed.

And then she thought of Spector.

The Asset, the Americans called him.

It was because of him that she was there. Because of him that she’d betrayed her country, lost everything she’d ever valued, and almost lost her life.

And it was because of him that she’d finally stood up for herself. Because of him that she’d finally said enough to the men who’d been fucking her for as far back as she could remember. Because of him that she’d dared to challenge the men, and the system, that had taken her mother from her, and her father, and her grandmother, and almost her own soul.

She’d always thought it ironic that she was a GRU agent, fighting for the most powerful men in Russia, and the only man who ever stood up for her was an American.

She sat down at the bar and ordered a martini. Across from her, right there, barely thirty feet away, was Harry Mansfield, Director of the NSA, the traitor who’d caused Lance Spector’s death.

The bar was busy and she made sure he didn’t see her, not yet, but she watched him.

He was drinking a beer, relaxed. He looked at his watch every few minutes. It was clear he was waiting for someone.