the entire world, actually.” He gave a wan smile. “If that many nuclear warheads exploded all at once, it really wouldn’t matter where they landed. The resulting fallout and nuclear winter would mean the end of the world.”
Chapel couldn’t speak.
Hollingshead pushed the one-time pad away from him, into the middle of the table. “Now you know everything I know about the Dead Hand. Fortunately, we have another source of intelligence available to us.” He glanced at his watch again. “She should be waiting out in the hall, if you would be good enough to get the door.”
Chapel stood up and reached for the doorknob. “She?” he asked. “It’s a woman? You don’t mean—”
He turned the knob and opened the door and there she was.
Nadia.
The Asian woman from the party yacht. The one who had saved his life.
“Jim,” she said, and gave him a warm smile. “You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you. I’m so glad.”
She held out a hand. It took him a second to collect himself enough to shake it. “Please,” he said, “come in.”
She walked into the room, and Chapel closed the door behind her.
She didn’t look exactly like he remembered her. For one thing, she wasn’t wearing a thin sundress and basically nothing else. Instead she had put on a black business suit over a white blouse. The skirt was maybe two inches shorter than would be considered conservative, but she would have passed for a civilian staffer outside in the halls of the Pentagon. She had cut her hair a little shorter. On the boat she had worn subtle but elaborate makeup, but now she had on only a dark red shade of lipstick and maybe a touch of eye shadow.
She was, though, every bit as striking as she had been the last time he saw her, when she was wearing nothing but panties and sharing a cramped shower stall with him.
She was empty-handed. No briefcase, no purse. The director indicated with a gesture that she should take a seat. That meant she had to walk past Chapel. Her perfume—very light, very clean—trailed through the air after her.
“The two of you have met, of course,” Hollingshead said. “Though I imagine you were not, ah, properly introduced.”
Chapel realized he was still standing by the door, and the two of them were looking at him expectantly. Hollingshead gestured at a chair across from Nadia, and Chapel took it. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he sat down.
“Captain James Chapel, United States Military Intelligence,” Hollingshead said, “please meet Nadezhda Yaroslavovna Asimova, Federal Service for Technic and Export Control of the Russian Federation.”
“Nadia to friends,” she said, with a smile. “Which I hope already includes the both of you.”
Chapel tried to smile back. He was worried if he moved his mouth too much, his jaw might drop and hit the floor.
He forced himself to recover a little professionalism. “FSTEK,” he said. “Technic and Export Control—that’s the group that oversees information security and technology transfer. Part of the Russian intelligence community.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “Forgive me for using a loaded term—but we don’t get a lot of Russian spies here in the Pentagon.”
Nadia laughed to show she hadn’t taken offense and rolled her eyes. “You make us sound so glamorous! Boring stuff, of no interest, truly. We make sure all the Kremlin’s computers have proper antivirus software and oversee sales of Russian information technology to other countries. I am little more than a glorified file clerk back home.”
Chapel shook his head. He turned to stare at Hollingshead for a while. “Sir,” he said, “are you telling me that you had a Russian agent shadowing me on my last mission?” He couldn’t believe it.
“A Russian agent who saved your life,” Hollingshead pointed out.
“I did what I could to help, that is all,” Nadia said.
Chapel stood up out of his chair and paced around the room.
Chapel couldn’t speak.
Hollingshead pushed the one-time pad away from him, into the middle of the table. “Now you know everything I know about the Dead Hand. Fortunately, we have another source of intelligence available to us.” He glanced at his watch again. “She should be waiting out in the hall, if you would be good enough to get the door.”
Chapel stood up and reached for the doorknob. “She?” he asked. “It’s a woman? You don’t mean—”
He turned the knob and opened the door and there she was.
Nadia.
The Asian woman from the party yacht. The one who had saved his life.
“Jim,” she said, and gave him a warm smile. “You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you. I’m so glad.”
She held out a hand. It took him a second to collect himself enough to shake it. “Please,” he said, “come in.”
She walked into the room, and Chapel closed the door behind her.
She didn’t look exactly like he remembered her. For one thing, she wasn’t wearing a thin sundress and basically nothing else. Instead she had put on a black business suit over a white blouse. The skirt was maybe two inches shorter than would be considered conservative, but she would have passed for a civilian staffer outside in the halls of the Pentagon. She had cut her hair a little shorter. On the boat she had worn subtle but elaborate makeup, but now she had on only a dark red shade of lipstick and maybe a touch of eye shadow.
She was, though, every bit as striking as she had been the last time he saw her, when she was wearing nothing but panties and sharing a cramped shower stall with him.
She was empty-handed. No briefcase, no purse. The director indicated with a gesture that she should take a seat. That meant she had to walk past Chapel. Her perfume—very light, very clean—trailed through the air after her.
“The two of you have met, of course,” Hollingshead said. “Though I imagine you were not, ah, properly introduced.”
Chapel realized he was still standing by the door, and the two of them were looking at him expectantly. Hollingshead gestured at a chair across from Nadia, and Chapel took it. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he sat down.
“Captain James Chapel, United States Military Intelligence,” Hollingshead said, “please meet Nadezhda Yaroslavovna Asimova, Federal Service for Technic and Export Control of the Russian Federation.”
“Nadia to friends,” she said, with a smile. “Which I hope already includes the both of you.”
Chapel tried to smile back. He was worried if he moved his mouth too much, his jaw might drop and hit the floor.
He forced himself to recover a little professionalism. “FSTEK,” he said. “Technic and Export Control—that’s the group that oversees information security and technology transfer. Part of the Russian intelligence community.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “Forgive me for using a loaded term—but we don’t get a lot of Russian spies here in the Pentagon.”
Nadia laughed to show she hadn’t taken offense and rolled her eyes. “You make us sound so glamorous! Boring stuff, of no interest, truly. We make sure all the Kremlin’s computers have proper antivirus software and oversee sales of Russian information technology to other countries. I am little more than a glorified file clerk back home.”
Chapel shook his head. He turned to stare at Hollingshead for a while. “Sir,” he said, “are you telling me that you had a Russian agent shadowing me on my last mission?” He couldn’t believe it.
“A Russian agent who saved your life,” Hollingshead pointed out.
“I did what I could to help, that is all,” Nadia said.
Chapel stood up out of his chair and paced around the room.
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