The Kremlin's Candidate: A Novel полностью

“Well, play it smart,” said Burns. “Keep your eyes out for any swerves and watch your ass. If this clicks, she could be useful. My very first chief liked to say that every Station needs three kinds of support assets: someone who works in the best hotel in town who can sneak you room keys for agent meetings, and tell you when big shots are in town; a telephone lineman who can shinny up a pole and put a tap on a phone line; and a reliable recruited cabbie who can drive you around, do surveillance, deliver a package.”

“Chief, do they still have telephone linemen? I heard it was all digital these days,” said Nate, deadpan. He saw that Burns was suppressing a smile.

“I’ve got enough comedy talking to Headquarters,” he said. “Bring me the master key to the Peninsula Hotel.”

Nate was content to stay on in Hong Kong for a while to work the developmental of Grace Gao, especially if it meant avoiding the enveloping tar pit of Langley. He frequently wondered how Benford’s mole hunt in Washington was progressing, especially since DIVA’s life hung in the balance, and part of him wanted to return to Langley to help in that effort. He would know soon enough if Grace was recruitable; he would see the signs of that metaphysical harmony between two people who think alike, have the same needs, and trust each other. The classic recruitment is when the case officer knows ahead of time that the agent’s answer will be “What took you so long?” when the officer delivers the pitch. The case officer looks for the sweet spot when two people are in sync, when a look between them is all that’s required to communicate volumes.

Grace was a stunning woman, but Nate knew he had to focus on her mind and her needs, to become a friend and confidant, and to explore her eventual willingness to talk to American intelligence in a clandestine relationship about her hotel and its VIP guests. In an accelerated developmental he had to press without pressuring—Gable once explained it as “taking your time, in a hurry.” Benford had agreed to this extension of his TDY assignment, but it wouldn’t last forever, and the recall order would come the instant forward progress on the case stalled.

Grace met him at the front door of the hotel under the steel porte cochere emblazoned with THE PENINSULA in gold letters. A nervous knot of stewards in white coats and doormen in green livery stood at a respectful distance, wondering what the boss lady was doing outside standing beside one of two snarling stone imperial guardian lions on either side of the front doors. The juxtaposition of Ms. Gao and the mythic statues was upsetting to the staff. Nate’s taxi pulled up the circular drive lined with half a dozen forest-green Rolls-Royce Phantom limousines of the hotel’s luxury car fleet. Grace stepped forward to shake Nate’s hand, and he almost tripped over the curbstone looking at her, a vision out of Shanghai in 1920. She was dressed in a fitted black qípáo cheongsam that came to just above the knee, with a mandarin collar, capped sleeves, and scarlet Chinese knot buttons up the front. Only the traditional side slit was missing. Nate decided the dress had been sprayed on that morning because there was no way anyone could actually physically wriggle into it. She wore black pumps over sheer black nylons.

“Welcome back to the Peninsula, Nathaniel,” said Grace. Nathaniel? The thought flitted through his mind that she somehow had researched his name. He’d told her his name was Nate. The assistant general manager of a five-star hotel had to be resourceful. She followed his gaze as he looked at the line of gleaming motorcars.

“We’re very proud of our fleet of Rolls,” she said. “We have fourteen of them. Come over here, I want to show you something.” She walked to the first limousine in line, triggering a rush by no fewer than three doormen to pull open the rear door of the limousine for her. Grace bent down and pushed a button recessed in the end of the door above the locking mechanism, and the handle of a silk umbrella popped out. She pulled it all the way out and flourished it. “I’d open it to show you the Peninsula name, but that would be bad luck.” She replaced the umbrella in the limousine door.

“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious,” said Nate. Grace just smiled, turned, and walked into the entrance lobby patting one of the guardian lion statues on the head as she passed, looking over her shoulder at him. Maybe superstitious, but certainly playful. Nate followed the dress and the sheer stockings into the hotel lobby.