had gone exactly according to plan.
FIVE
Zoya Zakharova left Quarré after lunch and passed under the Brandenburg Gate, west on Strasse des 17. Juni, slipping her Gucci shades over her eyes as she strolled through a warm sunny afternoon along the wide sidewalk next to the trees of the Tiergarten. This was the opposite direction from her hotel in Alexanderplatz, but it was a nice day, she had the time, and she needed to make a very private phone call.
Zoya was thirty-three years old, and, though Russian by birth, she now worked for Matthew Hanley, deputy director for operations of the CIA. But it would not be accurate to say Zoya worked for the Agency herself. No, she did contract work for Hanley’s completely off-book program, code named Poison Apple.
Ric Ennis had been correct that she was not who she said she was, and though she had acted astonished and distressed when he told her that he knew her true identity, the plan had revolved around him finding this information out.
But this plan was not Zoya’s plan, and right now, despite willing her stress away more or less successfully over lunch, she again harbored serious misgivings about this entire damn op.
She strolled down to the Soviet War Memorial, then stepped away from several tourists milling about, pulling her phone out of her Dior purse along with an earpiece as she walked. Standing in the shade, she placed a call and slipped the earpiece in under her dark hair.
The international ring tone chirped a moment, and then the call was answered on the other end.
“Brewer.”
Suzanne Brewer was CIA, Programs and Plans department. She was also Zoya Zakharova’s handler, though neither of them liked or trusted the other.
Zoya responded to Suzanne in the exact same manner she always did these days. Coolly, and with only the necessary communications.
“Anthem,” she said, giving her Poison Apple code name.
Brewer’s voice betrayed a strong dislike for her asset, as well. “Iden check.”
Zoya kept her eyes open, scanning the faces and actions of everyone in sight, unsure whether any threats were close or not. She replied with, “Identity Alpha, Alpha, X-ray, Uniform, seven, three, Yankee.”
“Confirmed.” Brewer immediately asked, “How did the meeting go with Ennis?”
Again, Zoya had absolutely no interest in verbosity. “I’m on the team.”
“You’ve been hired at Shrike International Group?”
“Yes.”
“As Stephanie Arthur?”
“No. As you expected, they ID’d me. They have contacts in the SVR, I guess.”
“So, my plan worked,” Brewer said, satisfaction in her voice.
But Zoya displayed little of Brewer’s enthusiasm. “Your plan to get me killed.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Brewer was referring to an incident between the two of them several months earlier in Scotland. Brewer had been badly injured in the altercation, and she blamed Zoya for it.
The residual mistrust between the two women crept into every single communication between them.
Suzanne Brewer said, “This is the best possible outcome. They think that they have their hooks in you. That they own you. Believe me, Anthem, they will fold you into the darkest corners of that organization.”
“I believe that has already happened.”
“What does that mean?”
“I am going to the black side, denied personnel, contract stuff. Offshore accounts and encrypted coms. If the missing intelligence officers from around the world are, in fact, here in Europe and working for Shrike, then this is probably where we will find them.
“Ennis described a horizontal structure to the firm, not a vertical one. He is my contact; he said I’d be interfacing with technical specialists here and there but I won’t be setting foot in corporate HQ, and I won’t be meeting anyone above him.”
“We need answers. Whatever it takes, Anthem.”
Zoya repeated her handler’s words. “Whatever it takes? What does that mean, exactly?”
“If Ennis is your only access route up the chain at Shrike Group, then I suggest you concentrate on him. What I don’t want is for you to be waltzing around Berlin for the next month doing irrelevant corporate intelligence ops for a private company. There is a ticking clock involved.”
“Meaning?”
“It means our intelligence capabilities on Iran need to get a hell of a lot more robust, and quickly. If the Israelis are trying to fan the flames with Iran, we need the answers, and soon.”
“I know how to do my job,” Zoya replied flatly.
“I used to believe that. Then you made a critical and nearly deadly error. I’m watching you, and I’m directing you. I don’t like it and you don’t like it, but Hanley, for some reason, does like it, so let’s just both do our