Kissing The Enemy (29 page)

I
KEPT
MY EYES on my screen when he walked in, but then I pretended to glance at the clock so that I could sneak a split-second glance at him. I looked back at my screen and then closed my eyes and studied the mental snapshot.

He was in his late fifties, with a charcoal-gray suit and a white shirt that was soft at the creases, not hard and sharp. Hazel eyes, whites a little bloodshot. He had an expensive-looking red tie on with an ornamental tie clip. I was too far away to read the lettering but it looked as if it might have been from a college. Definitely not anyone I’d seen before. I wondered if he was from a level up, or even a level above that.

I have a photographic memory. It’s not as much fun as it sounds. There are some things I’d rather forget.

“Arianna Scott?” he asked, like a teacher summoning a student.

I slowly stood up. Roberta was standing next to the guy, arms folded in that particular way that means she’s really mad.

The guy studied me for a moment and then nodded to himself.
What? What does that mean?

“Follow me,” he told us. No
please.
The fact he could speak that way to Roberta immediately placed him several branches up the tree diagram. Up where the cool stuff happens. I felt my heart shift up a gear.

It took two elevators and a walk to get to his office, and every step took us further from the geeky, airless cave where we toiled all day and closer to the CIA you see in the movies. When I saw the sign on the door -
Adam Kinlen, Director, Special Activities Division
, my heart started full-on racing.

There was a window that looked out over a big, open-plan office. People were busy at screens that showed world maps, fingerprints, and photos. Some of them had headsets on, talking to field agents thousands of miles away. It was the real thing.

Roberta and I sat. Adam folded his hands behind his back and stood staring out over his empire, either unaware or uncaring that Roberta was glaring at him.

“Roberta speaks very highly of you, Arianna.” he told me without turning around. “Hard worker, excellent Russian skills and outstanding retention.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “I’ve got a photographic memory. It’s easy for me.”

He turned around at that. “
Really?”
He sounded genuinely interested and enthusiastic. I was starting to like him. “Close your eyes,” he said.

I closed my eyes.

“What’s on my desk?” he asked.

I wondered if it was a trick question, because that was easy. “There’s a half-full glass of water, a sandwich that looks like pastrami on rye, your computer, your phone, a memo with a yellow post-it note stuck to it and a classified report on the French Prime Minister. The report has a coffee stain in the bottom-left corner. It starts off, “
We believe that he and his secretary—”

“That’s enough!” Adam said quickly.

I opened my eyes. Adam strode across the room, grabbed the report and shoved it into a desk drawer. Roberta was smirking.

Adam gave me a look that was halfway between irritated and impressed. “Roberta also tells me you’re eager to get out of support and into some field work.”

I glanced at Roberta. She gave me a look that very clearly said
no.

I looked through the window at the busy people doing real intelligence work. I thought of another four hours of transcription that afternoon.

I nodded.

“Good,” said Adam. “I think you’re wasted in support.” And he gave me a smile that made my whole heart lift. I mean, not in
that
way. He was old enough to be my dad, if my dad had still been alive. But it felt as if he really believed in me. “I want you to help us on a little op. You can play the violin, right?”

I blinked. It had come so completely out of left field that it took me a few seconds to answer. “Yes,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, I haven’t for a while….”

“You’ll have a few days to practice,” he said. “You’re twenty-two, correct?”

I nodded.

“I want to go on record as not liking this,” said Roberta. “Arianna’s not a field agent.”

“She went through basic training,” Adam told her.

“There’s a reason they call it
basic.”

“Ultimately, it’s up to Arianna,” said Adam. He grinned at me. “Would you like to try? If it goes well, we can look at gradually moving you over to field work.”

It sounded too good to be true. It was exactly what I’d wanted. I glanced at Roberta and got the
no
look again. I looked at Adam and he was a hundred and ten percent
yes.

I nodded. “I want to try,” I said firmly. “What would I have to do?”

Adam’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s get you some coffee while we talk.” Then he glanced at Roberta. “You can go.”

I didn’t dare look at Roberta as she walked out. I felt...
disloyal?
But that was crazy. This was good for my career. She’d want me to progress, right?

“So,” said Adam. “Luka Malakov.”

Oh shit.

M
Y FACE must have betrayed
something because Adam frowned. “You look like you know him.”

I shook my head, then nodded. “I just remember the name from transcribing his calls,” I said weakly.
You know, like that one I listened to fifty-seven times.

Adam nodded sagely. “Do you know anything about him?”

I shook my head and braced myself. I’d been curious all this time but, suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I expected it to be bad.

It was worse.

“He’s an arms dealer,” said Adam. “Started out in the Russian mob, just like his dad, Vasiliy. Together, they’ve made millions—maybe billions—selling guns. Vasiliy’s getting old, so he mostly stays cooped up in a fortified mansion while Luka handles all the day-to-day running of things.” Adam looked right at me. “Luka keeps everyone in line. And very, very afraid.”

My stomach flipped over. I’d been fantasizing about this guy.

“We believe Luka is setting up a big deal to bring guns into the US. We need to find out who the buyer is.”

I frowned. “I didn’t realize arms was our thing. Isn’t that more FBI or ATF?” Then I flushed. Who was I to question the head of Special Activities?

“We have our reasons,” he said stiffly. “Luka will be at his place in New York on Saturday, the first time he’s been over here for months.”

“Can’t you just arrest him? I mean, once he’s on US soil?”

Adam shook his head. “We don’t have nearly enough evidence. That’s why we need to bug his laptop.”

I swallowed. “So how do I fit in?”

Adam smiled, relaxing a little. “He’s throwing a party. He’s hired a string quartet and we can get you in as one of them. You play some music, slip into his office and plant the bug and then walk out. Simple.”

I’d see him. Actually be in a room with the man I’d been fantasizing about. I was still reeling from the idea of Luka suddenly being...
evil.

You moron. You knew he was a bad guy. Why did you
think
the CIA were tapping his phone?

“What’s he...like?” I wondered. And then realized I’d said it out loud.

“Brutal,” said Adam. “Unyielding. He did some jail time, a few years back, and that hardened him even more. Luka’s the new prince. He’s inherited the kingdom from his dad and he’s not going to let anything get in his way. He’s killed several times—that we know about—rivals, mostly, who’ve tried to encroach on his family’s territory. He’s not afraid to use his fists, when someone needs to be taught a lesson. People are terrified of him, right across Moscow.”

And he twisted his computer screen around to show me some photos. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with Luka.

I’d thought he’d be old, but the face looking back at me couldn’t have been thirty, yet. His hair was cut short—longer than I’d imagined, but still short—and it was so dark I could only just see the soft texture of it.

He had high, prominent cheekbones and a wide, sensuous mouth, one corner curling up in a smile that was all dark malevolence and sex.

He wasn’t handsome. Handsome is too bland. Hollywood celebrities are
handsome.

This guy was beautiful. Savagely, brutally beautiful, like mountain peaks that have been shaped by wind and rain.

I’d realized I was staring. It had only been a few seconds but, for someone who can memorize a face in an instant, that was a lifetime. I couldn’t remember ever staring at a photo like that. I dragged my eyes away.

There were more photos below, some of them half off the screen. I got a few glimpses of his naked back, twisting black tattoos over heavy slabs of muscle. Very different from the slender, gym-toned bodies that my boyfriends had had. He looked hard...
solid
in a way they never were.

I quickly looked away.

“The party’s on Saturday,” said Adam. He must have read the worry on my face because he gave me a reassuring smile. “You can do this, Arianna. A few hours of violin and a few seconds of action. In and out. Easy.”

Easy.

Until it all went wrong.

I
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