Even from the grave, his father’s words haunted him.
You were right, Papà. My failure got him killed.
1
THE ASSIGNMENT
HALSTON
Halston Devereux led a complicated life. It had been that way for so long, she wouldn’t know “simple” if she bumped into it.
As she walked toward her boss’s office in Central Office—located in the hub of the Russian government in Moscow—she passed a coworker. She offered a tight nod, but no smile, before casting her eyes downward.
Week in and week out, she dressed in muted colors and conservative suits, kept her long dark hair secured in a tight bun, her thick bangs tickling her eyelashes. Light on the makeup, no jewelry, and brown contact lenses concealing her light eyes.
Every day was the same.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
But this was by design. Minka Kotov was dependable, reliable, and hard-working. A loyal Russian employee and citizen.
She knocked on her boss’s open office door. “Vy khoteli menya videt', ser.”You wanted to see me, sir.
“Minka, come in,” said Yuri Bulgrov, Director, Russian Foreign Ministry’s North American Department.
For nine long months, Halston had been employed as Bulgrov’s top aide. Cut off from family and friends, her only regular connection was with her Staff Operations Officer at Langley. CIA headquarters in McLean, Virginia.
She stood behind a guest chair, waiting for him to invite her to sit.
“English going forward, yes?” Bulgrov said.
“Yes, sir.” Her faux Russian accent cut through the air.
An accent that sounded so authentic, she was starting to believe the web of lies she’d spun.
She wanted to ask him why English, but she did not. Her goal? Be the ideal employee. Respectful, hard-working, and subservient. She never pushed back, hadn’t gotten called out on anything. Daily, she arrived early, stayed past quitting time. Though the past nine months felt like a prison sentence, she was filled with an abundance of patience.
Like a cat, she would wait until the exact right moment to pounce.
“I have news,” he continued. To her surprise, he smiled.
Average height with a trim physique, white-haired Yuri Bulgrov was fifty-nine years old. He was well educated and a loyal servant to the Russian government. As far as bosses went, he treated her with respect and professionalism. He went by-the-book, and she was grateful for that.
“I’ve been promoted. Russian Ambassador to America.” His smile morphed into a full-blown grin.
“Congratulations, Mr. Bulgrov. What an honor.”
He gestured for her to sit. She did.
“I’m promoting you to lead translator in charge of the translator team,” he proclaimed. “You’re coming with me.”
She stared at him.
Ohmygod, I’m going home.
Though she wanted to jump up and down like a four-year old, she extended her hand. As he shook it, she said, “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to continue working for you.”
“You might not want to thank me,” he continued. “You will still be my assistant, so the workload will be demanding.”
