Chapter 30 Maggie
Maggie
This evening was like so many others they had enjoyed at Maggie’s dining table, sharing cocktails and gossip over dinner.
But tonight’s gathering was different. It felt different.
Tonight they were all on edge, and while the liquor flowed as usual, there was almost no laughter and few smiles.
They had driven straight from Boston to her farm, without stopping at the Slocums’ house, so their dinner was uncharacteristically spartan, thrown together from the week-old contents of Maggie’s refrigerator.
Eggs were on the menu, of course; when you own a hundred laying hens, you are seldom short of eggs.
Maggie had ceded control of her kitchen to Lloyd, who could always be counted on to conjure up a decent meal, whatever the circumstances, and he’d transformed a dozen eggs, a few limp vegetables, and six ounces of Comté cheese into a more than decent frittata.
Even so, no one seemed to have an appetite.
Not even Lloyd, who usually dug into his food with gusto. Tonight, he barely picked at his meal, then he put down his fork with a sigh. Maggie handed him the wine bottle, but he waved it away.
“I need my wits about me. We need to think about what we should do next.” He looked at Ben. “Your friends at the Agency. Do they know Ingrid’s name has just been added to the kill list?”
“They’re aware. They asked if she’s in a safe place, and I assured them she was. But I didn’t tell them where.”
“You don’t trust them?”
“Until we know exactly what’s happening in the Agency, we can’t trust anyone.”
“What are they going to do about this?”
“Since they know she’s safe for the moment, they have time.”
“To do what?”
“They don’t want to alarm whoever’s feeding this info to Moscow. If they move too fast, the mole could slip out of their reach.”
“So we put our lives on hold while they take their sweet time deciding what to do?”
“Lloyd, you know how this works. Even if they’ve already identified the mole, they’ll leave him in place. Watch to find out who his contacts are, monitor his comm channels. They can’t alarm him.”
“And Ingrid is safe here,” said Maggie. “We’ll see to that.”
Ben leaned forward, and the ominous thump of his elbows on the table made the glassware clink. “Now we need to get to the meat of the matter. We’ve avoided this issue long enough, but we’re all thinking the same thing.” He turned to Ingrid. “Why are you on the list?”
She said, wearily, “I told you, Ben. I really don’t know.”
“Consider the other people who ended up on Moscow’s kill list. Dmitry Surikov, in Amsterdam. Zoya Larina, in Madrid.”
“I’m well aware of the names.”
“They were all Russians who changed their loyalties and decided to play for our side. From Moscow’s perspective, that’s an inexcusable sin, a capital offense.
Any Russian spy who defects will spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.
Most of them try to stay hidden, unless they’re like Maslov, who said fuck it and went on with his life, out in the open. ”
“Again, Ben. Tell me something new.”
“I’m just pointing out the pattern here. Everyone on that hit list was a defector. Every one of them used to work for Russia. That was the pattern. Until you, Ingrid.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“But we have to consider all the possibilities.”
“What possibility? That I used to work for Russia too?”
Lloyd blurted out: “How dare you, Ben? This is Ingrid we’re talking about!”
Ben nodded. “Yes. One of our oldest friends.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“It’s what we’re trained to do, isn’t it?
” He looked at Declan and Maggie, two people he’d known for decades.
Theirs was a friendship forged during the challenging months as new Agency recruits, months when they’d been pushed to their limits, their weaknesses identified. “Question everything and everyone.”
“Including your best friends?” said Lloyd.
“Everyone,” Ben repeated.
“I’d hardly call that friendship.”
“But he’s only speaking the truth,” Ingrid said quietly.
Lloyd looked at her in disbelief. “He practically called you a traitor!”
“Not a traitor. A Russian defector.”
“Either way, it’s hardly flattering!”
“But it’s a question that needs to be asked.
” Ingrid looked at her friends. “I’m sure the rest of you are wondering the same thing: Am I a Russian defector?
The answer is no. Was I a sleeper agent?
Again, the answer is no. I’m who and what you always thought I was.
Born in Baltimore, faithfully served my country for thirty-six years.
You don’t have to believe me. In fact, I expect you to maintain some small sliver of doubt, because that’s the way we think.
I don’t know why I’m on that list, Ben, or why the Russians think I’m really Lilia Kuraskaya.
But it’s clear they now want me dead. Or someone wants me dead.
I can only speculate that it has to do with recent events.
Maslov’s poisoning. The loss of their operatives in Amsterdam and Madrid. My work with Argus.”
“And Rodrigo Estrada,” said Lloyd.
Maggie watched Ingrid’s reaction. Saw her lips twitch and her expression flatten, like a mask shielding her emotions.
During their careers, they had all learned to don that same mask, to transform themselves into unreadable ciphers, and the fact Ingrid was wearing it now meant she was hiding something.
It might only be her true feelings for Estrada, or it might be another secret. Something she could not share.
“I think they’ve simply made a mistake,” said Ingrid.
“That has to be it. And since when does Moscow target Americans? That’s a move with catastrophic blowback.
They usually avoid killing us on our own soil.
This has to be a case of mistaken identity, unless .
. .” She paused. “Unless someone purposefully fed them misinformation.”
“Who would do that?” said Declan.
“I don’t know. And clearly, the Agency’s not going to give us any answers.”
“Because they don’t know who to trust either,” said Ben.
“It’s turned into a house of mirrors over there.
My contacts have been forced to compartmentalize information from each other, with each cell guarding its own.
It seems like every week, someone’s ordered to empty out his desk and be escorted out of the building. ”
“I can think of another way Ingrid’s name came to Moscow’s attention,” Maggie said, and she looked at Lloyd. “We put her there.”
“What are you talking about?” said Lloyd.
“They know you were in Amsterdam looking for your wife. You showed that woman Ingrid’s photo, told her Ingrid’s name. She would have queried Moscow. And that would have brought Ingrid to their attention.”
Lloyd let out a breath. “Oh God. I just wanted to find my wife. Did I put a target on her back?”
A pall settled over the table. There was no simple way out of this situation. To stay alive, Ingrid might have to pull up roots, assume a new identity, and disappear. It would mean the breakup of their circle. It would mean the end of the Martini Club.
Declan said, “We have one advantage. We don’t know who they’ll send to kill her, or when he’ll strike, but we do know he’s coming. And we’ll be ready to deal with him.”
“Shouldn’t we tell the police?” said Lloyd. “We could use Jo’s help.”
“No,” snapped Ben.
“Why not? Jo’s a good egg. We can trust her.”
“She’s also too straight an arrow. She won’t approve of our plans.” Ben looked around the table. “I assume we all agree what needs to be done?”
“It is self-defense, after all,” said Declan. “And no one has to know about it.”
They waited for Lloyd’s response. Surely he knew what they were talking about, and he understood the consequences if they were caught. He took a deep breath and sat up straight. “You’re right. No one has to know.” He looked at Declan. “I take it you’ll need our cell phones?”
“And your chargers.”
Lloyd handed over his phone, which was still powered off.
Ingrid slid her phone to Declan as well. “We’ll take shifts,” she said.
“No,” said Ben. “You and Lloyd have to stay out of the action. Let us handle this.” He looked at Maggie and Declan, who both nodded.
“We start tomorrow night?” said Declan.
For the first time all evening, Ben smiled. “It will be just like the good old days.”