FOUR

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

The brunette seemed wholly unaware of the fact that dozens of heads turned in her direction as she entered Restaurant Quarré at the Hotel Adlon Kempinski Berlin. She passed the businesspeople, the diplomats, and the well-heeled tourists, ignoring their stares as she moved in a straight line through the waiters and guests, making her way towards a cluster of tables in the back.

She was stylish yet understated, appropriate for a business meeting at a five-star hotel in a major European capital city. She wore a Ralph Lauren blue silk-blend dress, slingback Chanels with a nude toe, and oversized Gucci sunglasses that she removed only when she was almost to her table, placing them in a case and then into her red clutch.

She was in her early thirties but could have passed for younger, her brown hair slicked back in a bun and her makeup minimalist. The expression on her face as she walked conveyed the same quiet confidence as her classic styling.

The Kempinski is on Unter den Linden, a two-minute walk to the Brandenburg Gate, and next door to the U.S. embassy. There was no more luxurious hotel in this giant city, and though the woman was actually staying in a three-star hotel on Alexanderplatz, she, at least, was getting the opportunity to visit the Kempinski for her lunch meeting at Quarré.

The brunette recognized the man she’d come to meet from a brief videoconference they’d had the week prior to discuss a job opportunity for her with the man’s firm, and she steered towards his white tablecloth–covered banquette.

He stood when she arrived. He was tall, attractive, well into his forties, with a full head of hair that was considerably more salt than pepper.

“Mr. Ennis,” she said, extending her hand.

Ennis had a strong handshake, bordering on rude, but he smiled charmingly as he clenched down. “Miss Arthur? Please, call me Ric.”

The brunette squeezed back just as hard. “Fine, Ric, then call me Stephanie.”

“Stephanie.”

The brunette noticed a little smile on his face as he repeated her name back to her.

They sat and the waiter poured from a teapot that had been steeping on the table. The waiter then correctly sensed that the pair needed a moment before ordering.

When he was gone, the brunette said, “Thank you so much for meeting with me today.”

Ennis replied, “Honestly, you are exactly the type of person we’ve been trying to recruit to take our company to the next level, to make it the preeminent corporate intelligence firm in Europe.”

“I would love the opportunity to put the analytical skills I learned in my ten years with the National Security Agency to good use.”

Ennis smiled again. “I have no doubts that your skills will come in useful.” He poured sugar into his tea as he continued. “I’ve read your CV, but you haven’t read mine. So . . . I’ll fill you in. Born in San Diego, I was in the Air Force—intelligence, of course—four years, made captain but picked up a noncombat injury that forced me out. Went back to college, got a master’s in applied intelligence at Georgetown, was recruited by the CIA. Spent a decade in different operational postings, then made the leap into corporate intelligence. I’ve been over here with Shrike International Group for three years now. I’m proud of the work we do, and let’s just say my bank account isn’t complaining.” He winked. “We pay a hell of a lot better than the U.S. government, not that that will come as any big surprise.”

Stephanie nodded at this as she sipped her tea, then asked, “What can you tell me about the work itself?” She had a distinctive Minnesota accent; her CV stated she was born and raised in Minneapolis.

Ennis, in contrast, was one hundred percent Southern California. “You will remain here in Berlin. Our office space is down in Potsdam, but you’ll never see it. Your work will be done remotely.”

“Remotely?”

“Yes. If we bring you on board, you would be working out of a suite here on the fourth floor.”

Stephanie was surprised. The Adlon Kempinski was a five-star hotel. Were they really going to make it her office?

“But . . . why not put me at headquarters?”

“We try to keep our operation more horizontal than vertical. You’ll work for me. Other than technical support personnel, it’s doubtful you’ll meet anyone else at Shrike Group.” He added, “It keeps threats to a minimum.”

“Threats?”

Ennis regarded the younger woman a moment. “The work we do is sanctioned by the nations in which we work. But this work does pit us against certain bad actors. Criminal organizations. States whose actions our clients are attempting to understand. That sort of thing. We face cyber threats, electronic surveillance threats, we even have some human intelligence threats our countersurveillance desk has to keep an eye out for.”

Stephanie placed a hand over her chest, a look of mild surprise. “You make it all sound very cloak-and-dagger.”

Ennis laughed at this. “I’m sure you can handle it.” He paused, then said, “NSA at Fort Meade? That’s like working at corporate headquarters. With Shrike Group, it will feel to you like operating in the field. It’s faster-paced, and yes, there is some intrigue involved. Goes with the territory.”

“And what about Shrike Group’s clients? Who are they?”

Ennis held a finger up. “You will never know who our clients are, but you will also never have a doubt about your mission and its morality. Our clients are most interested in the things many Fortune 50 companies are concerned about. Terrorism, crime, and the like. Your targets will be the same targets the United States has around the world. Despots, criminal organizations, enemy states.”

Stephanie said, “Okay, the client list is protected, I can respect that. But what about the targets? Specifically, Ric, who will I be targeting?” With a smile she added, “If I get the job, I mean.”

“If you get the job, your target could be anyone or anything related to private sector security. We hope to expand our client base very soon, so we need people with a wide range of talents. At the outset, however, your target will be the Islamic Republic of Iran. Our clients are energetic in protecting themselves from that rogue state.”

Stephanie’s confident smile only grew. “As you know, I’ve been working counterintelligence, focusing on Iranian cyber intrusions, for quite some time. I am certain I will be an asset to your firm.”

Ennis did not respond to this. Instead he opened up his menu, and Stephanie followed his lead. As he perused it, he said, “We do have one slight concern, however, and we’d like to clear that up before we bring you on board.”

He didn’t seem terribly troubled, but still the brunette folded her menu closed. “Please. Tell me.”

Ric Ennis smiled at her an uncomfortably long time. Stephanie cocked her head, her eyes narrowed.

Finally, the American said, “You will come to learn something that will serve you well. We are very, very good at what we do. If you are going to work with Shrike Group, you would do well to respect our abilities and our reach.” He added, “Our access into other intelligence organizations around the world, for example.”

“I’m . . . not following, but this is beginning to sound a bit ominous.”

Ennis’s face and tone darkened, but only a little. “That all depends on you.”

“I’m listening,” Stephanie said, but her confident voice had vanished.

Ennis said, “We know who you are.”

The attractive woman crossed her arms in front of her, a subconscious display of defensiveness. “What do you mean by that?”

Ennis leaned forward, spoke softer now. “Your name is not Stephanie Arthur, and you are not, in fact, an electronic intelligence analyst at the National Security Agency. Your credentials check out, and you look a great deal like the real Mrs. Arthur, but I am assuming that’s just makeup and dyed hair. I say that, because you are very clearly not eight and a half months pregnant, and Stephanie Arthur left her position on maternity leave last month.” He paused for effect, then with a flourish he opened his napkin and put it in his lap before saying, “She’s due in September. A boy, our U.S. sources confirm.

“Anyway, you . . . simply put, are not her.”

The woman inhaled an almost imperceptible gasp.

When she offered no other immediate reply, Ennis said, “Denying this would seriously undermine my confidence in you.”

She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the table. After a moment she said, “I . . . do not deny it.”

“Good. We headhunted Mrs. Arthur, confidentially, and she showed no interest in our approach. And then you came along, and you managed to impersonate her. You responded to us as her, and you made it all the way until now before being called out. Impressive stuff, really.”

“I hope you will let me explain. I do have the skill set you need, and I would be a great asset to your team. I just have certain . . . motivations for concealing my true identity.”

Ennis leaned almost fully over the banquette table now, rested the arms of his suit on his flatware, unconcerned.

“We know your motivations, too.”

She gave a dubious side glance. “I would be amazed if you did.”

He reached out and put a hand on top of hers. His grip was firm; his skin, clammy. “Then, sweetheart, prepare to be dumbfounded.”

The woman said nothing.

“Your real name is Zoya Feodorovna Zakharova, and until very recently you were a star employee of Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki Rossiyskoy Federatsii. I don’t need to translate that for you, but it’s important you know that we at Shrike International Group have assets in the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service who were able to confirm your true identity. Now, how about we drop the Stephanie, and I start calling you Zoya?”

She answered slowly. “Yes, sir. Zoya is just fine.”

Ennis seemed to notice her discomfort, and he also seemed to take some pleasure from it. He let the moment hang, then said, “You left the SVR under . . . how shall I put it? Murky circumstances.”

The woman’s lips trembled as she responded. “There was nothing murky about it. They tried to kill me. And if they find out I am here, they will come here, and they will kill me.”

Ennis winked at her. “And now you know why I haven’t tasted the tea.”

Zoya Zakharova looked down at her teacup. She understood the man’s cruel joke. Russia had recently poisoned a prominent critic with tea laced with polonium, and not for the first time. The radioactive isotope killed the victim only after many agonizing weeks of suffering.

Now Ennis leaned back. He was comfortable, secure, reveling in the moment. “You have nothing to worry about, Zoya. If anything, this little lie of yours has only established your bona fides even more. We didn’t understand why Stephanie Arthur would leave NSA to come to us. Yes, we pay more, but if money was her main enticement, she wouldn’t be working for a GS salary in the first place, would she? Usually there is some other reason when someone on a strong upwards trajectory jumps ship. But you? With you, now we understand completely why you are here and using a legend. I don’t blame you. If the Russkies had a kill order on me, you can be damned sure I’d conceal my true identity.”

“Yes,” Zoya said, but she looked no less concerned. Her eyes darted around the room, as if assassins would rain down on her any second.

“Relax,” Ennis said. “Our relationship with the SVR is not a two-way street. We received information about you, but we provided absolutely no information about you to them. They don’t know you are in Berlin, and they don’t know you are with us. If we hire you, they will never know.”

Zoya nodded, sipped her tea again. Her hand trembled slightly as she did so, rattling the cup against the saucer as she placed it back down. “So . . . despite the fact I used a false identity to secure a position in your firm, you are still considering hiring me. Why?”

“We like to have the confidence that our employees will uphold our company’s mission statement to hold our work in the strictest confidence. We value discretion above all, and that means we value people we trust to be discreet. You can earn trust over time, or you can come to us with some sort of . . . compromise, something that instills in us the immediate faith that you will not leave, you will not tell a tale about us and what we’ve been doing together, that you will remain loyal and reliable.”

“You like to control your employees by having something on them.” The comment was delivered by Zoya without anger or contempt.

Ennis shrugged. “Something like that. You came to us via our white side operation.” He smiled now. “A woman with your skill set, we see you as being more suitable to our black side.”

Zoya raised her eyebrows. “There is a black side to Shrike Group?”

“There is. You aren’t an analyst, Zoya. You are a field operative. As am I. Soon we will have a need for another field operative, and I’d like to have you trained up in advance of this need.”

“I am very interested.”

“Excellent.” He paused several seconds, forcing Zoya to wait on his next statement. She got the impression he enjoyed making her squirm. Finally he said, “I’d like to offer you a contract position in our clandestine division.”

Zoya’s smile had returned. “Then I accept.”

“You will be run outside of Shrike International, a hidden asset. Paid via offshore accounts, given targeting assignments by me and me alone. At the moment we are finishing up the contract of our principal client. There are a couple more weeks of work involving Iranian activities in the EU, and then we will be done with that. We will fold you in immediately, give you an easy surveillance assignment or two, and then, in a few weeks, once we move away from Iran and focus on other intelligence matters, you will be ready to jump in feetfirst.”

“Excellent.”

She did not say what she was thinking, what Ennis must have known she was thinking—that she was being hired into a company for the simple reason that the company could make a single phone call and reveal her identity and her location to men and women intent on killing her unless she did exactly what they told her to do.

Ennis said, “We look forward to a long and fruitful relationship. You’ll start tomorrow.”

With this, Ennis reopened his menu, and Zoya followed suit.

As the two of them perused the lunch offerings, she did not hide her apprehension. She thought of everything that could go wrong, and she felt Ennis’s eyes on her, certain he was picking up little cues about her fear. A quickened pulse throbbing in a vein on her forehead, a slight reddening of her cheeks, the faintest tremor in her hands.

Only when she was certain Ennis’s attention was fully on his menu did she relax a little, tell herself it was going to be all right, and then get her mind back on her mission.

And she did have some reason for her comfort.

So far, at least, everything had gone exactly according to plan.