“As you know, I’ve been working counterintelligence, focusing on Iranian cyber intrusions, for quite some time. I am certain I will be an asset to your firm.”
Ennis did not respond to this. Instead he opened up his menu, and Stephanie followed his lead. As he perused it, he said, “We do have one slight concern, however, and we’d like to clear that up before we bring you on board.”
He didn’t seem terribly troubled, but still the brunette folded her menu closed. “Please. Tell me.”
Ric Ennis smiled at her an uncomfortably long time. Stephanie cocked her head, her eyes narrowed.
Finally, the American said, “You will come to learn something that will serve you well. We are very, very good at what we do. If you are going to work with Shrike Group, you would do well to respect our abilities and our reach.” He added, “Our access into other intelligence organizations around the world, for example.”
“I’m . . . not following, but this is beginning to sound a bit ominous.”
Ennis’s face and tone darkened, but only a little. “That all depends on you.”
“I’m listening,” Stephanie said, but her confident voice had vanished.
Ennis said, “We know who you are.”
The attractive woman crossed her arms in front of her, a subconscious display of defensiveness. “What do you mean by that?”
Ennis leaned forward, spoke softer now. “Your name is not Stephanie Arthur, and you are not, in fact, an electronic intelligence analyst at the National Security Agency. Your credentials check out, and you look a great deal like the real Mrs. Arthur, but I am assuming that’s just makeup and dyed hair. I say that, because you are very clearly not eight and a half months pregnant, and Stephanie Arthur left her position on maternity leave last month.” He paused for effect, then with a flourish he opened his napkin and put it in his lap before saying, “She’s due in September. A boy, our U.S. sources confirm.
“Anyway, you . . . simply put, are not her.”
The woman inhaled an almost imperceptible gasp.
When she offered no other immediate reply, Ennis said, “Denying this would seriously undermine my confidence in you.”
She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the table. After a moment she said, “I . . . do not deny it.”
“Good. We headhunted Mrs. Arthur, confidentially, and she showed no interest in our approach. And then you came along, and you managed to impersonate her. You responded to us as her, and you made it all the way until now before being called out. Impressive stuff, really.”
“I hope you will let me explain. I do have the skill set you need, and I would be a great asset to your team. I just have certain . . . motivations for concealing my true identity.”
Ennis leaned almost fully over the banquette table now, rested the arms of his suit on his flatware, unconcerned.
“We know your motivations, too.”
She gave a dubious side glance. “I would be amazed if you did.”
He reached out and put a hand on top of hers. His grip was firm; his skin, clammy. “Then, sweetheart, prepare to be dumbfounded.”
The woman said nothing.
“Your real name is Zoya Feodorovna Zakharova, and until very recently you were a star employee of Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki Rossiyskoy Federatsii. I don’t need to translate that for you, but it’s important you know that we at Shrike International Group have assets in the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service who were able to confirm your true identity. Now, how about we drop the Stephanie, and I start calling you Zoya?”
She answered slowly. “Yes, sir. Zoya is just fine.”
Ennis seemed to notice her discomfort, and he also seemed to take some pleasure from it. He let the moment hang, then said, “You left the SVR under . . . how shall I put it? Murky circumstances.”
The woman’s lips trembled as she responded. “There was nothing murky about it. They tried to kill me. And if they find out I am here, they will come here, and they will kill me.”
Ennis winked at her. “And now you know why I haven’t tasted the tea.”
Zoya Zakharova looked down at her teacup. She understood the man’s cruel joke. Russia had recently poisoned a prominent critic with tea laced with polonium, and not for the first time. The radioactive isotope killed the victim only after many agonizing weeks of suffering.
Now Ennis leaned back. He was comfortable, secure, reveling in the moment. “You have nothing to worry about, Zoya. If anything, this little lie of