“Right,” Laurel said.

The danger to a defector always came from their own side. The GRU had more assets operating on the east coast of the US than anywhere else on earth. The White House, the UN, the embassies, Wall Street, K Street, Capital Hill, there was a concentration of power there that was unmatched anywhere else. Nothing in London, Berlin, or Tokyo compared.

When Russians defected, this was where they did it.

The land of the free.

The home of the brave.

But there was more to this. Someone was telling them something. Why ask for Lance? They must have known he was more than just another Delta Force operator. And why this mailbox, this location? They had to know it was being watched.

This mailbox wasn’t an accident. And the surveillance team in a van outside wasn’t an accident either.

Laurel worked through what she knew for certain. What she knew and what the person who’d sent the message knew.

They’d know that if anyone came to check the mail, they’d be tailed by the CIA. The store was so small, there was literally no chance of sneaking in unnoticed. A locker at Grand Central would have been better for that.

For an anonymous message, a phone number or email address would have sufficed.

Or better yet, an encrypted messaging service.

“Why are we here?” she said.

“Roth gave us the address.”

“No,” she said. “Why this place specifically? Why would anyone want to meet at a place like this?”

“They’re scared,” the third guy said. “And not of us. If they gave this location to our guys, it’s because they wanted us to be here.”

“We’ve got a Russian defector on our hands,” Laurel said.

“A female Russian defector,” the guy in front said.

“I’ll give her some diplomatic immunity,” the third guy said, smirking.

The others laughed.

“One minute in this van and she’d wish she was in the gulag,” Laurel said.

The guy in the A’s cap asked Laurel for a cigarette.

“You too now?” the guy in front said.

The man shrugged and lit the cigarette. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said. “Whoever owns that mailbox wants to know exactly who’s delivering her mail.”

Laurel nodded.

She called Roth’s cell. It was redirected to his operator.

“I need to talk to him,” Laurel said.

“He’s with the president,” the operator said.

“I know,” Laurel said.

The operator sighed. “You’re sure it can’t wait?”

“It really can’t.”

The operator put her on hold and then Roth’s voice came on.

“Sorry, boss.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m in New York with the surveillance team.”

He cleared his throat. “I had a feeling you weren’t ready to let this one go.”

“I want him, boss.”

“I bet you do.”

“As an asset.”

“Of course. They spot anything yet?”

“No, and they’re not going to.”