Page 60 of Dead Fall

Nistal spoke perfect English and was up on everything American. From sports and politics to literature and pop culture, this guy was a Fourth of July baseball game, baked in an apple pie, wrapped in an American flag. There wasn’t a single cell in this guy’s body that suggested he worked for Moscow.

Topping it all off, he was smooth and exceedingly charming. There were moments when Wilson could absolutely forget who the man was and what his objectives were.

When Wilson arrived, Nistal was already at a small table, covered with a well-worn red-and-white-checked tablecloth, at the back of the restaurant. The Russian stood as his asset approached.

“It’s good to see you,” said Nistal, extending his hand. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Thanks for making the time,” Wilson replied, shaking the man’s hand and accepting the seat across from him.

The Russian studied him for a moment. “Something’s different about you.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Are you running? Lifting weights?”

“I am doing a little more walking,” Wilson admitted, somewhat flattered.

“How many pounds have you lost?”

“None yet.”

His handler kept looking at him. “New haircut?”

“Nope.”

Nistal dropped the volume of his voice and leaned in. “Botox?”

The ex-Senator laughed. “No. No Botox.”

“Please tell me your secret isn’t that you’ve quit drinking.”

“God, no,” said Wilson, as he laughed again. “You really can’t tell?”

The Russian shook his head.

“I had my teeth whitened,” he stated, flashing a broad smile.

“That’s it,” Nistal replied with a snap of his fingers. “They look great. Shaved at least ten years off.”

“Thank you,” said Wilson, who was suddenly smarting a little less from Kyle Paulsen’s barbs that morning.

“As long as neither of us has quit drinking, how about some Chianti?”

The former Senator pointed at his teeth and shook his head. “No red wine, no tea, and coffee only in moderation.”

“And only then through a straw, right?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Wilson, thinking it was a good idea.

The waitress had arrived at the table, and holding up two fingers, Nistal said, “Two Morettis, please.”

The young woman left to go get their beers as the Russian continued. “Everything okay with your flight in?”

Wilson nodded. “No problem. Half-empty. Even landed a few minutes ahead of schedule.”

“Good. By the way, don’t let the simple décor fool you. The food here is fantastic. I highly recommend the linguini alle vongole. It’s the best in all of Boston.”

“What are we going to do?” the ex-Senator asked, trying to steer the conversation toward why they were meeting.

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