“Where are you supposed to wait?”
“In the seating area upstairs.”
She followed MacArthur Boulevard along the edge of the reservoir, which was lit by a low-hanging moon. There was a space available outside her apartment building. The man she knew as Alex instructed her to park there.
“I usually park farther away so I can check to see whether the building is under surveillance.”
“Itisunder surveillance.” He reached across the console and killed the engine. “Get out.”
He walked her to the door, the backpack over one shoulder, her phone in his pocket, and kissed the back of her neck while she punched the code into the keypad. “If you don’t stop that,” she whispered, “I’m going to break your instep. And then I’m going to break your nose.”
“Trust me, Eva, it’s only for the benefit of your neighbors.”
“My neighbors think I’m a nice girl who would never bring home someone like you.”
The deadbolt opened with a snap. Eva led him upstairs to her apartment. She went straight for the freezer and the bottle of vodka. The man she knew as Alex removed the SVR secure-communications device from his backpack and laid it on the kitchen table. Next to it he placed Eva’s phone.
“Were your friends able to break through the firewall?” she asked.
“Rather quickly.” He handed her the phone. “Are any of these from Moscow Center?”
Eva scrolled through the long chain of notifications with one hand and with the other held her drink. “This one,” she said. “From Eduardo Santos. En clair. Very bland.”
“Are you supposed to reply?”
“They’re probably wondering why they haven’t heard from me.”
“Then perhaps you should send it.”
She typed it out, dexterously, with her thumb.
“Let me see it.”
“It’s in Portuguese.”
“Do I need to remind you—”
“No, you don’t.”
She tapped thesendicon and sat down at the table. “What now?”
“You’re going to finish your drink and get a few hours of sleep. And I’m going to sit here and stare into the street.”
“Again? You did that last night.”
“Finish your drink, Eva.”
She did. And then she poured another. “It helps me sleep,” she explained.
“Try a cup of chamomile tea.”
“Vodka is better.” As if to prove her point, she drank half the glass. “Your Russian is very good. I assume you didn’t learn it at a language institute.”
“I learned it in Moscow.”
“Were your parents Party members?”
“Quite the other thing, actually. And when the door finally opened, they went to Israel as fast as they could.”
