Page 68 of The Secret of Secrets

“Oh no!” Harris said, confused. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s my fault…” she said, her voice fragile. “I’m sorry…I’m just afraid if you get to know me…you’ll be so disappointed.”

“Why would you ever say that?”

She wiped her eyes and looked at him. “Michael, I’m not very good at…you know, relations. I spent most of my life alone and on strong medications. I have serious memory problems, a lot of ugly scars from seizu—”

“Stop right there,” Harris said. “I find you quite charming. And considering what you’ve been through, you’re remarkably easy to talk to.”

“Really?” She blushed. “Then it must be the company.”

They talked a bit more, and ultimately Sasha agreed to see him again.

Two weeks later, after a lunch, a dinner, and an evening walk in Wallenstein Garden, Harris sensed he knew all he would ever know about Sasha Vesna. She was a simple woman with no friends, who spent all her time either working at Gessner’s lab or at home watching old movies with her cats. Sasha is a loner…and lonely.

Unfortunately, Harris felt increasingly uncomfortable about their deepening relationship. If she ever discovers the real reason I’m seeing her, it will destroy her. Burdened by guilt, Harris chided himself for ever agreeing to do this. It’s time I end this charade.

Mustering his resolve, Harris had climbed the marble staircase to the ambassador’s office. He knocked on her open door, and she waved him in.

Ambassador Heide Nagel was a sixty-six-year-old graduate of Columbia Law. The child of German immigrants, she had come to America at the age of four and risen to the top of her field. Her German surname, it had been noted publicly, literally meant “nails”—as in “as tough as.”

With inscrutable eyes and a politely diplomatic manner, she often lulled adversaries into a false sense of security before she dispatched them. Even Nagel’s quotidian attire seemed calculated to downplay her influence—simple black pantsuits, comfortable shoes, and reading glasses on a chain that looked more befitting a librarian than a diplomat. She wore her black hair with laser-straight blunt bangs and very little makeup.

“Michael,” she said, closing her laptop. “What can I do for you?”

Harris entered and stood before her desk. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m no longer comfortable with the off-book project you assigned me.”

“Oh?” Nagel took off her glasses and motioned for him to sit. “What’s the problem?”

Harris cleared his throat and took a seat. “As I’ve reported, ma’am, Sasha Vesna is a naive young woman who was horribly mistreated as a child and is simply doing the best she can to live a normal life. There’s nothing more for me to learn. At this point, I just feel that continuing to lie to her is, well…morally wrong.” He had not allowed their relationship to become overly physical, but Harris still felt Sasha’s heart opening to him.

“I see,” Nagel said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to say dangerous. I hope you know if it were dangerous, I’d pull you out immediately.”

Harris believed her. Nagel ran this embassy with an iron hand, but she also cared loyally for her staff. “No, ma’am,” he assured her, “I don’t see any danger. The problem is that Sasha is becoming attached. Ethically, it feels…”

“Dishonest?” The ambassador looked almost amused. “I must say, Michael, I find it ironic that you would cite morality as the reason you want to quit seeing Sasha.”

“I’m sorry?”

The ambassador stood up and walked to the wet bar in the corner of her office. Without a word, she poured a tumbler of Vincentka mineral water and returned, handing it to him. Then she sat behind her desk, raising her eyes to his.

“My suspicion,” she said, “is that the real reason you want to stop seeing Sasha Vesna is because you’re afraid my PR liaison, Ms. Daněk, will catch you spending time with another woman.”

Harris tried to maintain a poker face, but he could feel himself crumbling. The ambassador knows I’m seeing Dana?! Any moral high ground Harris had hoped to occupy just evaporated.

“I hope you’re aware,” Nagel said, “that this embassy has a zero-tolerance policy on interemployee relationships.” She paused, as if suddenly recalling. “Oh, of course, you’re aware of the policy…You helped draft it.”

Shit.

“Relax,” Nagel said calmly, “I’m not looking to have you fired. I’m simply exploiting a weakness in service to my country.”

“That’s quite a euphemism for ‘coercion,’ ” he managed.

“You’re an attorney, Michael, so just think of it as effective negotiating. And believe me, I would not be applying this kind of pressure if my superiors weren’t applying that same pressure to me.”

“With respect, ma’am, I find it hard to believe our president cares about a Russian epileptic with two cats named Harry and Sally.”

“First off, the White House is not the only powerful entity to whom I answer. Secondly, my superiors have not told me precisely what their interest is in Sasha Vesna, only that they want to be apprised of what secrets she is telling those people she trusts.”