“Mine, too,” said the woman.
The remainder of the dinner service passed without incident. The last customers departed at ten thirty, and Eva locked the doors a few minutes after eleven. A car followed her as she drove home along MacArthur Boulevard, but by the time she reached the reservoir the car was gone. She parked about a hundred yards from her small redbrick apartment building and checked license plates as she walked to her door. As she reached for the keypad, she realized there was someone standing behind her. Turning, she saw the man who had been on her flight. The tall one with eyes like a wolf. His pale skin was luminous in the darkness. Eva took a step back in fear.
“Don’t be afraid, Eva,” he said quietly in Russian. “I’m not going to harm you.”
Suspicious of a trap, she responded in English. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak—”
“Please,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s not safe for us to be talking on the street.”
“Who sent you? And speak English, you idiot.”
“I was sent by Sasha.” His English was better than hers, with only a slight accent.
“Sasha? Why would Sasha send you?”
“Because you are in grave danger.”
Eva hesitated a moment before punching the correct code into the keypad. The man with the eyes of a wolf opened the door and followed her inside.
While climbing the stairs, Eva reached into her handbag for the keys to her apartment and instantly felt the man’s powerful hand seize her wrist. “Are you carrying your gun?” he asked quietly, again in Russian.
Pausing, she gave the man a withering look before reminding him that, earlier that day, they had both flown commercially between Canada and the United States.
“Maybe you had it in the car,” he suggested.
“It’s upstairs.”
He released her wrist. She drew the keys from her bag and a moment later used them to open the door to her apartment. The man closed it quickly and engaged the deadbolt and the chain. When Eva reached for the light switch, he stilled her hand. Then he went to the window and peered around the edge of the blind, into MacArthur Boulevard.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Alex.”
“Alex? How deceptive! It’s a miracle none of our adversaries has ever managed to penetrate your cover with a name like that.”
He released the blind and turned to face her.
“You said you had a message from Sasha.”
“I do have a message,” he replied, “but it’s not from Sasha.”
It was then Eva noticed the gun in his right hand. The end of the barrel was fitted with a sound suppressor. It was not the sort of weapon an operative carried for the purposes of protection. It was a weapon of assassination—ofvysshaya mera, the highest measure of punishment. But why had Moscow Center decided to kill her? She had done nothing wrong.
She backed slowly away from him, her legs gelatinous beneath her. “Please,” she pleaded. “There must be some mistake. I’ve done everything Sasha asked of me.”
“And that,” said the man called Alex, “is why I’m here.”
Perhaps it was some vendetta inside Moscow Center, she thought. Perhaps Sasha had finally fallen out of favor. “Not in the face,” she begged. “I don’t want my mother to—”
“I’m not here to harm you, Eva. I’ve come to make you a generous offer.”
She stopped backpedaling. “Offer? What sort of offer?”
“One that will prevent you from spending the next several years in an American prison.”
“Are you from the FBI?”
“Lucky for you,” he said, “I’m not.”
