“I advised you to keep Marty’s death from her, given her attachment to him. I have consulted the Gregorian, Julian, and Coptic calendars and conclude there is not enough time before the next solstice for me to enumerate the ways you have been stupid,” said Benford, baring his teeth and wearing his Fall of Ancient Rome Face, the one the emperor used while watching Christians in the Coliseum being fed to lions. His unblinking eyes held Nate’s, something rarely seen with Benford, and it signaled real danger. “That I acquiesced in letting you develop a romantic attachment to a sensitive asset was an abrogation of my personal and professional standards and a failure on my part as an operational manager.”
This was bad. He had not only fucked up personally, but also, Nate now realized, caused Benford professional vexation. He wondered if the day would end with his being walked out of the Headquarters building, escorted by two crew cut linebackers from the Office of Security in blue blazers who would yank his ID badge off his lapel as the automatic doors slid open to welcome him to a sunny civilian world without spies, and secrets, and without Dominika.
“So now we must contemplate the scale of your fuckup,” continued Benford. “Not only have you resolutely shagged this Agency’s premier penetration of the Kremlin, with all that portends, but you could not, or would not, keep devastating news from her, with the result you now hold in your hands: a cessation of timely reporting from her while a Russian mole is possibly to be named Director of this Agency.” Nate held his breath; he didn’t dare offer an explanation.
“It is an axiom of our profession that this work is experiential; one is not born to it, one only becomes more skillful with time. In the arc of your semen-roiled career, you can boast of notable accomplishments and now, of an elephantine failure. The question I am asking myself is whether redemption is possible.
“Redemption is not automatic; a second chance is given only if merited. God knows we have suffered abject, irredeemable fellows in our service: Gondorf, Angevine, the self-congratulatory directors who only read of operations but never manage them.” Benford scowled in thought. Behind him was a photograph of a snow-blasted wall with an inverted
“Are you redeemable, Nash?” said Benford. “Or more to the point, are you
“Simon, Marty Gable once told me an officer in the Service can never achieve greatness unless he or she failed big, at least once. I’m not going to explain my mistakes to you, because you know what the situation is between me and DIVA. I’m committed to her and to this job. You know what I’ve done, and what I can still do, if you give me a chance. You asked whether I’m worth redeeming. Well, Simon, you fucking tell me. But with all respect, if you give up on me, you’re a bigger asshole than everyone thinks you are. I’m ready to go to work and do any job, so you decide. Do I stay or are you kicking me out?” Nate meant what he said, but would the ever-profane Simon swallow the insubordination? Nate thought it probably would come down to what Benford had for lunch that day. Nate waited for the hammer to drop.
Benford ran fingers through already-tousled hair. “You have balls talking to me like that. Jesus, you sound like Al Gore,” he said. “All right, now get out of here and get to work.”
CARROT FRITTER WITH YOGURT SAUCE
Squeeze all the water out of grated zucchini and carrots, and mix them with chopped scallions, parsley, dill, and garlic. Add flour and egg to make a wet paste, and season. Form a large spoonful of the mixture into a ball and press a pitted brine-soaked olive (Kalamata, Picholine, or Niçoise) into the center. Slightly flatten the fritter in a pan and fry in olive oil until golden brown. Serve hot with yogurt sauce (stir pureed garlic, red wine vinegar, and olive oil into yogurt).
23
A Bit of Groan and Grunt
That is how Simon Benford sent Nathaniel Nash to the Orient. At first, Nate thought the temporary assignment was, besides a blessed reprieve, a form of geographical exile to keep him separated from Dominika. But the next day, when he went with analyst Lucius Westfall to meet Elwood Holder, the Chief of China Operations, and they were briefed on what had happened in Hong Kong, he knew there was a real clambake on, an opportunity so astronomically lucrative that even Benford later agreed that the counterintelligence risks of operating inside Chinese territory were outweighed by the potential gains.
