Page 38 of Spymaster

“We didn’t find one.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”

The Chief Inspector shrugged. “He may have been in such a hurry that he left without it. Or it might have been ejected from the vehicle. I’ll have a team search the area again in the morning.”

“Was there a briefcase or a laptop in the vehicle?”

“No.”

“Were you able to open the trunk, or was the vehicle too badly damaged?”

“We checked the trunk,” said Nyström. “What you see in front of you is everything he was carrying.”

“I’d like to see his car now, please.”

The Chief Inspector looked at his watch and then back at Harvath. “Let me make a call.”

CHAPTER 23

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Lydia Ryan was in the middle of preparing an updated briefing for U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. Rebecca Strum, as well as running down all of Scot Harvath’s requests, when a call came in from Artur Kopec. He had an update for her. He claimed it was urgent and he needed to see her right away.

It was two o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Whether his update was truly urgent or not, she figured it was probably no coincidence that it would take him out of the office for the rest of the day. Her suspicions were all but confirmed when he suggested that they meet at a particular D.C. watering hole. Though the traffic would be a pain in the ass, she told him she was leaving right then and would get there as soon as she could.

Kopec wasn’t exactly subtle with his choice, but considering the cuisine and ambiance dovetailed with Poland’s, she supposed he could be forgiven. Even so, the Russia House Restaurant and Lounge near DuPont Circle at Connecticut and Florida avenues was a bit over the top.

She parked at the Washington Hilton and went the rest of the way on foot—careful to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The Russia House Restaurant and Lounge was like escaping back in time to czarist Russia. It was decorated in rich mahoganies, ornate carpets, red silk draperies, and ornate gold brocade.

The only thing that outdid the décor was the menu. It included every Russian staple imaginable—from borscht and wild boar to kulebiaka and shashlik.

Not to be outdone in the food department, the Russia House boasted an astounding collection of vodka. It was not only one of the best in D.C., but it was one of the best in the United States.

The vodka menu listed more than forty different kinds from Russia and twenty from Poland, and included vodkas from Moldova, Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, England, Sweden, Holland, and even Israel.

On top of everything else, the Russia House was less than a mile and a half from the Polish Embassy.

She found Kopec at a small table on the second floor, in the cozy, seductively lit “Czar’s Bar.”

In his typical fashion, he had started without her. A bottle of Chopin potato vodka sat next to a silver serving dish filled with crushed ice and chilled caviar. It was encircled on a plate by small Russian pancakes known as blini. A colorful trio of minced red onion, chopped egg, and sour cream sat on a plate to the side.

When Ryan entered, Kopec stood and watched her as she walked over. She looked stunning.

Though he wasn’t an expert on designer labels, he assumed the suit she was wearing was Italian. If he had to guess, Armani. It was sleek and black and complemented her long, thin frame.

Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her full lips accentuated by the peach lipstick she had chosen. He never got tired of looking at her. She was a vision.

After giving her a quick kiss on each cheek, he pulled out her chair and assisted her in sitting down.

“I hope the traffic wasn’t too awful,” he said as he retook his seat.

“Friday in D.C.,” she replied, putting her napkin in her lap. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner.”

“That’s quite all right. I hope you don’t mind. I started without you.”

“It depends. What kind of caviar did you order?”

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