Chapter 22
Alice
Carter took what seemed to Alice like a circuitous route out of the city, not that it was a part of the country she’d spent a whole lot of time in.
A surveillance-detection route, she guessed, to make sure they weren’t followed.
After riding in circles for so long, Alice was thoroughly lost until finally they hit a highway.
Weird how she now felt safer on the bike than off.
Weird that she was starting to enjoy the feeling of riding.
With no conversation possible, no music to listen to, no phone to check, there was nothing to do but gaze at the scenery.
And maybe it was the feeling of momentum, maybe it was Carter’s presence, but she realized the pit of worry had lifted from her stomach.
They passed familiar signs—Andrews Air Force Base, Richmond, Pennsylvania Avenue—before they exited the highway and, eventually, pulled into the visitor parking outside an upscale condo.
They took a set of stairs to the fifth floor, where he stopped at a door and entered a security code. The lock clicked and he opened the door and waved her through, before picking up a couple of boxes that had been left on the landing outside.
“What is this place?” Alice said, running her hand along a gleaming baby grand piano.
Beyond it, a wall of windows opened onto a balcony that overlooked the Potomac.
Another wall was filled with books. She peeked into the bedroom, where a huge, beautifully made bed looked out over another balcony.
Would they end up in it again? That hadn’t been her motivation for staying with him, but now they were here, alone, the possibility made her breath shallow out—and made pinpricks of delicious heat spring up in all sorts of interesting places.
“A step up from the cabin,” she said, collecting herself, and trying not to sound as if she was thinking about sex.
“It’s owned by a woman in my mother’s book club,” Carter said, placing the boxes onto a polished concrete dining table and heading to the kitchen. “She’s in London this week.”
“And no one will find us here?”
“What goes on in book club, stays in book club.”
“This is quite some book club,” Alice said, examining the titles in the bookcase.
“Russians Among Us: Sleeper Cells, Ghost Stories and the Hunt for Putin’s Agents, The Moscow Rules: The Secret CIA Tactics That Helped America Win the Cold War, Spies: The Secret Showdown Between America and Russia.
It’s not exactly Memoirs of a Geisha and Where the Crawdads Sing. ”
“I have long suspected that ‘book club’ is code for something else.”
“In my world, it’s code for ‘wine club.’”
“That too, I suspect,” he said, drawing a bottle from the wine rack and reading the label, before sliding it back in.
“All the members of this one are retired CIA or Pentagon. Spy nerds. They love criticizing all the factual errors.” He grabbed a croissant from the pantry, walked up to the windows and looked out, eating—not so much appreciating the view as scanning it.
“What are you looking for?” she said, peeking into an equally grand bedroom that shared the view.
“Never go in without knowing at least two ways out.”
“We’re already in.”
“Okay, genius, how would you get out if the front door was blocked?”
“Fire escape?”
“First place they’ll cover.”
“I would rappel off this balcony with bedsheets, break into the apartment below, make my way down the stairs from there, hotwire a boat and head downriver.”
“Me too.”
“I was kidding! I would put my hands up and say, ‘Okay, fine, you got me.’”
“Also a solid strategy,” he said, wandering back to the dining table. “Always better to talk or walk your way out if you can. Don’t run, don’t speed.”
“First rule of tradecraft?”
“You got it.” He unfurled a small knife from his keyring and opened one of the boxes.
“Are you allowed to open that?” she said, following him. “It’s addressed to a Clive Hartmann.”
“You’re worried about postal theft now? It’s one of my mother’s codenames for me.”
“I can’t believe you live in a family where you have codenames. No, scratch that, I can believe it.”
“I asked her to order us some clothes, among other things,” he said, pulling out the contents. “I think these ones are for you.” He held up a pair of lacy panties.
“Omigod. I mean, I really want to change my underwear, but that seems to be the equivalent of not wearing underwear?”
“My mother is subtle about a lot of things, but not when it comes to me and women.”
“She must be desperate if she’s trying to set you up with the woman you basically kidnapped,” she said, picking out more clothes. “I’m gonna need more scaffolding in this bra. It wouldn’t hold up a marshmallow.”
“Why don’t you try it on, and I’ll give you a second opinion?”
“I think I liked you better when I was the one pulling the strings.”
“Hey, I’m your wooden toy soldier come to life.” He stepped up behind her, caught her around the waist and nuzzled her neck. “What would you order me to do?”
She pulled away, but not before her body responded as if the next step was a foregone conclusion. “Are you calling my characters wooden? Ah, I wish she’d sent shoes. These boots of Nika’s are making my feet throb so hard it’s like a dance party in there.”
Carter pulled a laptop from another box and switched it on. He opened a browser and searched for “Leonard Poole.”
“Whaddaya know? Our friend Leonard is ex-CIA, now owns a one-man tech consultancy. But here’s the thing: he was formerly in IT at Langley, according to his ‘about me’ page. No mention of any overseas postings. So what’s he doing chasing me with a gun?”
“Could he have fudged the details of his résumé? You’re not allowed to talk about what you did in the CIA, right? Maybe it’s the same with him.”
“An IT guy? They’re not usually involved in the clandestine service, not on the ground, anyway.”
“Does he have social media? When he was running back into the hotel, he shouted out to someone called Wade. We could see if they’re connected?”
“Let me see,” Carter said, typing. “He’s friends on social media with a Tyler Wade.”
“Really? Look him up.”
“Also ex-CIA. A former security guard at Langley.” He typed a little more. “Can’t find what he’s doing now.”
“Why are the IT guy and a security guard coming after us?” Alice said, wandering to the lounge area. She sat on one of two overstuffed white sofas and started to take off her boots.
“And are they connected to these guys in the sedan, or is that a different lot?” Carter said, watching her.
“Here, let me help you with those.” He prowled up to her like he had at the cabin, his dirty grin leaving deep imprints on either side of his mouth, and slipped the boots off one by one, which was surprisingly erotic.
“In my limited experience,” she said, “when a man offers to help a woman take off her boots…”
“This happens?” he said, climbing onto the couch and kissing her, and for some reason she let herself be maneuvered until he was lying on top of her and she was kissing him back.
Huh—for some reason? She knew exactly what the reason was.
The reason was that this made her feel good.
He made her feel good. And if this was going to be a short-term thing—because what else could it possibly be, no matter how this turned out?
—she would make the most of it. Take what she wanted, for once in her damn life.
And she did just that, with a hunger that made him laugh out loud.
Later, after they’d helped themselves to cheese and crackers in the kitchen and showered in the en suite bathroom, they began to dress in the fresh clothes.
“You’re right,” he said, popping his head through the neck of a gray T-shirt that was indistinguishable from his previous ones, “that underwear is the equivalent of not wearing anything. You might as well save on laundry and walk around naked.”
“You realize your mother’s plan is working perfectly?”
“For God’s sake, don’t tell her that.”
“Does she know that you’re unavailable for relationships?”
“She doesn’t see a missing wife as an acceptable excuse.
And I’m her only chance at grandchildren, so…
” He tossed a pillow that had ended up on the floor back onto the bed, not that it needed one—it had more pillows and cushions than available space.
“But I am serious about the walking around naked.”
He gave Alice a head-to-toe body scan, of the kind Nika had written about. Alice could almost feel the journey of his eyes along each pore of her body, before his focus came to rest on the boots, abandoned near her feet.
“Your boots,” he said, stepping toward them, his expression turning serious. “Did you say they were Nika’s?”
“Yeah. I never saw her wear them though. They would have been too big for her. They’re a little pinchy on me, and way taller and skinnier than the heels I usually wear, but sometimes I put them on when I want a little more excitement in my day. I didn’t count on this much excitement.”
“I remember them,” he said, sounding a little strangled as he picked them up and examined them. “She wore these on the train for a couple of days, after we left Russia. I hadn’t seen them before, but I remember thinking they were tame, for her usual taste. I wonder…”
“You wonder what?”
He reached inside and maneuvered his hand as if he was trying to pull up the insole. “Where’s that pocketknife?” Answering his own question, he grabbed his keys from the table, pushed the blade into the boot and dug around.
“What are you doing?”
He drew out a small plastic bag containing a tightly folded piece of paper.
“Holy shit,” Alice said.