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As usual, Stepanov was asleep within minutes after sex. Dinner had been uneventful. Stepanov had kept the conversation light. Nothing further had been said about Colonel Ivanov. He'd made no mention of the blockade or the preparations Anya was overseeing, except to compliment her on her work.
She got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. It was becoming a routine. Have sex, wait till Stepanov was passed out, take a shower to wash the stink of him away, dress, and go home. At least this time she knew there were no cameras watching.
Or were there? She'd looked for the signs. A small dot in the corner of the ceiling, a tiny hole in the wall, something hidden in an overhead light. She didn't see any. She probably wouldn't, even if they were there. She couldn't know if Stepanov had decided to place cameras of his own, in case Ivanov had been right about her.
She dried herself and dressed. Stepanov's snores vibrated through the room. She quietly closed the door to the bedroom and walked down the hall. She paused at the study. Light from a heavy brass lamp spilled over the desk. Stepanov's uniform jacket and holstered pistol hung on the back of the chair. His computer was on, ribbons of color making random patterns on the screen.
She looked back down the hall at the closed door to the bedroom, then went into the study. She tapped the space bar and the screen cleared.
A Level 7 security password was requested.
Anya had been granted Level 7 clearance when she was assigned the planning for Operation EAGLE. But if she used her password, it would be saved on the remote server in the Ministry. There would be a digital trail showing she had accessed Stepanov's computer.
Where she had no right to be.
But there was no reason for anyone to look.
She took a deep breath and entered her password. The screen cleared and showed several file folders on the desktop. She recognized all but one, ongoing operations like EAGLE. The exception was a file marked MEDUZA. She began reading. The first thing she saw was a list of submarine units, the same secret units she had discovered when she had looked at the document in Stepanov's briefcase.
She scrolled to the next page. With growing alarm, she realized she was looking at a plan to launch a nuclear strike against America.
"What are you doing, Anya?"
Stepanov's voice startled her. She turned away from the screen and looked at him. He wore a white robe of thick, Turkish cotton. Her mind froze. She couldn't think of what to say.
"Never mind," Stepanov said. "You are a great disappointment to me, my dear. I did not want to believe Colonel Ivanov's accusations. Now I see they are true. Tell me, who are you working for? Is it the Americans?"
"Yuri, I'm not working for anyone."
"Then why are you looking at my computer?"
"I was curious, that's all. I'm sorry. I was leaving and I saw the screensaver was on. I wondered what you did when you were home and not on duty. I thought perhaps I'd see pictures of friends, family. I wanted to know more about you, who you are when you're not being the Deputy Minister of Defense."
"You're not a very good liar, Anya."
Stepanov's face turned dark. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm, hard.
"Yuri, you're hurting me."
"This is not hurting you. This is nothing. Soon you will understand that."
"Let go!"
"You are a traitor. I would have raised you high, but you have betrayed me and the Motherland."
He released her arm and slapped her, hard. Anya stumbled backward into the chair and grabbed it as she went down, knocking over the lamp on the desk. She fell onto her back. The lamp landed on the floor next to her.
Stepanov towered over her.
"Bitch," he said.
He turned his back and picked up the phone on his desk.
Anya got to her knees. She had to stop him from making that call. She grasped the lamp in both hands, swung it in a high arc, and brought the heavy base down on Stepanov's head. It made a dull, thick sound.
The shock of the blow vibrated up her arms. He grunted and dropped the phone. She swung the lamp again. This time, the sharp edge of the base sunk into his skull. She heard the hard crunch of bone breaking.
Stepanov went down, falling sideways to the floor. His sphincter let go, filling the room with a foul stink. He lay on his side, eyes open.
Blood spread out around him, a red flower blooming against the white robe.
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
She looked down at the body, the blood. Suddenly, her stomach heaved. She bent over and vomited, retching until nothing came up but drool. For a moment, she was unable to think. Then her mind switched into gear.
Did anyone hear? No one else lived on this floor except Stepanov. He'd said the apartment below was empty. Besides, these expensive apartments were built to shield their important occupants from unwelcome noise. The walls were thick, the insulation designed to keep out winter's Arctic cold.
She listened for signs someone had heard. There was only silence. No voices. No shouts of alarm. No sirens in the distance.
Stepanov's blood spread out over the floor. She'd never seen so much blood.
Think!
It was almost midnight. Stepanov usually got to the ministry around 7:30 in the morning. It was a half-hour drive from here. That meant she still had time until someone began to wonder where he was.
It wouldn't take long for them to start looking for her when the body was discovered. The security guard in the lobby and Stepanov's driver both knew she was here. She'd be arrested.
Michael. He will know what to do.
She looked at the computer. She had to get the information to him. She remembered there was a box of USB drives in one of the desk drawers.
She stepped around Stepanov's body and opened the drawer. She took out a drive, inserted it into the computer, and entered the command to copy the file. Then she took out her phone and dialed Michael's number.