Page 203 of The Secret of Secrets

Kerble sighed. “I’m sorry, Dana, I admit today has been…”

“Politically nuanced?”

“I was going to say ‘fucked.’ ”

Dana managed a smile. “So what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t have all the facts. You should ask the ambassador tomorrow when you return to work.”

“That’s your pitch?”

“I’ve never been a good salesman. Would you please just think about it?”

“I will. Have a good night.”

Dana began to close the door, but Kerble stepped closer. “Actually, I was wondering if I might have a look in that cardboard box.” He pointed past her into the living room at her box of personal items from her office. “I think there may be a diplomatic pouch in there that belongs to the ambassador. I’m afraid I may have dropped it in your box by mistake. May I come in?”

Dana had endured more than her fair share of lousy pickup schemes, and had she not held Sergeant Kerble in such high regard, she would have guessed this was another. Still, she motioned for him to wait in the doorway. “I’ll look for you.”

Dana walked over and dug through the box, astonished to encounter a sealed diplomatic pouch addressed to Ambassador Heide Nagel. The pouch had a sticky note affixed:

D— Tell no one about this. Someone will contact you.

Dana spun to him in shock. “What the hell is this?! And what’s it doing in my box?!”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I put it there. And now I need it back.”

At the U.S. embassy, Heide Nagel sat alone in her office and stared into her now-empty tumbler of Becherovka. She seldom drank hard liquor, and never two cocktails in one day.

If not today, when?

She and the director had arrived at an agreement—a détente of sorts—but even so, Nagel was not about to relinquish her leverage and trust him blindly. I still have the USB of the video.

Kerble had gone to recover it from Dana, and from the sound of footsteps now climbing her marble stairs, Kerble had returned…except the face that appeared in the doorway was not his. It belonged to one of the embassy’s newer Marine guards.

“Ma’am?” the young man said, looking uneasy. “I’m sorry, but we have a situation at the front door that requires your attention.”

“No more situations today,” she said. “Please just have your team handle it.”

“We’re not officially qualified, ma’am. It’s a diplomatic matter.”

Nagel’s head felt foggy. A diplomatic matter…at the front door?

The young man entered, holding out a slip of paper. “This is for you.”

Nagel took the paper and eyed the two handwritten words.

Саша Весна

“I don’t know what this is,” she said, annoyed. “I don’t speak Russian.”

The Marine looked puzzled. “She assured me you would know who she is.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“The Russian at the front door. She asked to speak to Michael Harris.”

A Russian looking for Michael? Here? Now?