Page 94 of Denied Access
But her team’s shortcomings were only part of the problem.
Despite Stansfield’s confidence in her, Irene was less than ten years out of the Farm herself. She had never held a senior leadership role at any of the CIA’s overseas bases or stations, and she was not a Russia hand. She was woefully unprepared for the position in which she found herself and perhaps one bad decision away from igniting a full-fledged mutiny among her staff. As each of her case officers had explained why their heat state with respect to the Russian counterintelligence officers charged with surveilling them would not allow them to conduct a linkup with the Russian volunteer, Irene felt her spirits free-fall. Stansfield had sent her here to provide direction and guidance to the single station that might just be able to unravel whatever Russia was planning in Latvia before the European continent plunged into war. Instead, she felt like she was standing on the bridge of theTitanicas the ship slid beneath the Atlantic’s icy waters.
“Irene? You have a call.”
Irene looked up to see Elysia standing in the doorway.
The woman had become her de facto aide and though her help was invaluable, Irene was now worried that such proximity to a failing leader might tarnish the young case by association. Pushing the dispiriting thought aside, Irene forced her lips into a smile.
She could almost hear Stansfield’s fatherly tone.
One problem at a time, Irene.
One problem at a time.
“Thank you, Elysia. Who’s on the line?”
“Not sure. It’s a secure call from the embassy in Vienna, so the initial handoff was just from their communications team to ours. I can route the call here if you’d like.”
“That would be great.”
Elysia nodded and left, shutting the door behind her.
After Moscow, Vienna Station was probably the second-most-important posting in Europe. Vienna had long been a crossroads for espionage, as reflected by its nickname “City of Spies.” In her admittedly limited experience, secure calls from one CIA station to another rarelyheralded good news. After clearing her throat and mind, Irene activated the secure speakerphone.
“This is Irene.”
“Irene, it’s Stan.”
She had never been happier to hear the familiar, gravelly basso.
Hurley’s voice felt like home.
“Stan—it’s good to hear from you.”
“Likewise. Sorry that it’s taken so long to return your call to the message service. In answer to your question, I am one hundred percent certain Rapp had nothing to do with the London shooting.”
The euphoria that had accompanied hearing a friend’s voice faded as the reality of the situation began to register. Stan Hurley was calling her from the CIA station in Vienna. Chances were, he wasn’t phoning to discuss the schnitzel. “How do you know?”
“Because he was with me.”
“In Vienna?”
“It’s a long story.”
It was.
For the next ten minutes, Irene listened with minimal interruptions as an operative who was at least nominally supposed to be under her supervision regaled her with tales of the unsanctioned operations he and another member of her Orion team had undertaken. She almost stopped Stan to clarify that she’d heard correctly when he mentioned in passing that Rapp had eliminated an entire Russian direct-action team in Bizerte.
Almost.
As Hurley himself had taught her long ago, don’t ask the question if you don’t want to know the answer. Be that as it may, there were still some questions she had to ask whether she wanted to know the answers or not.
“I think I understand where you’ve been, but I’m still not clear as to why you’re in Vienna with a former KGB officer turned defector.”
“Shit, sorry. That’s the best part. Volkov’s come out of retirement to help us crawl into Petrov’s head.”
Irene frowned. “I get that Volkov was once Petrov’s deputy and that the men continued to work closely until Volkov defected, but that was, what, twenty years ago? I’m not certain how much insight your former asset can provide into Petrov’s thinking today.”
