As it turned out, those questions were just the warm-up act.

Marcus had completely underestimated what he was in for. Over the next three hours —without so much as a break to visit the restroom —Jenny Morris probed every part of his life, his career, his finances, his part-time work at Lincoln Park Baptist Church, the details of his compensation from Senator Dayton, his relationship with Pete Hwang, how he had chosen each of the men on the security detail, why he’d said yes to going on the trip at all, given that he’d initially said no, and rather definitively at that.

Then the questions turned to his relationship to the Raven.

“Do you know the source?” she asked.

“I can’t answer that.”

“That’s not an option,” said Morris.

“Actually, it is,” Marcus replied.

“At least answer this,” Morris pressed. “Do you know his name?”

“I can’t answer that either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I gave my word to the source that I’m not going to discuss any details regarding his identity. You know he’s a male. You know I trust him. You know he has access. That’s it. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Had you ever met him before?”

Marcus remained silent. He had nothing more to say if she was going to continue this line of questioning. He knew his credibility with his own government was on the line. A lie would not only go against his own code of ethics but could potentially cause President Clarke to disregard the urgent warning about imminent war in Europe. Better to just decline to answer.

“Do you believe he reached out to you, of all people, because he had met you previously?” Morris asked, trying from another angle.

Marcus felt deeply uncomfortable keeping information from his own government. He had, after all, spent most of his adult life protecting his country and his government. Now he was protecting a man deep inside an enemy’s inner circle. Yet having given Oleg Kraskin his word to protect his identity, he had no choice. So again, he kept quiet.

So Morris changed topics, to one that made Marcus even more uncomfortable.

“Your wife, Elena, and son, Lars —were they killed in a robbery attempt?”

Marcus gritted his teeth. “Yes,” he finally conceded.

“Shortly after their deaths, did you resign your position as special agent with the U.S. Secret Service?”

“Yes.”

“One of the killers died at the scene. Was the surviving perpetrator of these murders ever caught and brought to justice?”

“No.”

“Were any suspects ever arrested and charged in the case?”

“No.”

“So the case remains open today?”

Marcus took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Any current leads?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Does that make you angry?”

Again he had to pause to steady his nerves. “Yes.” There was no sense lying about that one.

“Do you want revenge against whoever was responsible?”

“No.”

The lines on the display went crazy. Morris looked at him. He looked back and saw pity in her eyes. That only made the lines gyrate all the more.

“Would you ever take revenge if you had the chance?”

She was giving him a mulligan, and he was grateful for the small act of kindness.

“No,” he said with every muscle in his body tensed.

The lines moved not at all.

The final area of questioning that created no small measure of discomfort pertained to his private life.

“Mr. Ryker, after the death of your wife, did you ever remarry?”

Marcus tensed again. “What does that have to do with anything?” he demanded.

“Just answer the question, please. We’re almost done. Did you ever remarry?”

Marcus shook his head slowly.

“You need to give a verbal answer, Mr. Ryker.”

“No,” he said softly.

“Have you dated anyone in the last several years?”

“No.” He suddenly felt very thirsty.

“Have any women expressed interest in dating you?”

Marcus couldn’t imagine how this was relevant, but he answered anyway. “Yes.”

“But you declined?”

“Yes.”

“During your travels with Senator Dayton, were you ever propositioned by a woman?”

“What?” Marcus snapped.

“Were you?” Morris asked calmly.

“Never,” he replied, then remembered to answer properly. “No.”

“Not in the Baltic states?”

“No.”

“Not in Moscow?”

“No.”

“Were you in any environment, any situation, that could have been construed by you or by others as a honey trap?”

It had taken several questions, but Marcus finally understood her purpose. He was a widower, potentially vulnerable to the efforts of a foreign intelligence agency to seduce him with romantic affections or sexual favors, compromising his credibility as a witness. Marcus was the only person who had met with the Raven. Everyone else in the U.S. national security apparatus was depending on his credibility. So Morris had to ask. Spy agencies had been setting honey traps for needy, vulnerable men from time immemorial, and the head of the CIA’s Moscow station would not have been doing her job if she hadn’t asked every relevant question, no matter how uncomfortable it made her subject.

“No,” he said at last.