Identity Page 3

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said. He pressed a button and pointed to a screen on the wall. “Get comfortable.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  WASHINGTON DC

  Alex listened to Joshua Tate attentively. She looked at the visuals on the screens at the front of the room and sighed inwardly. People constantly talked about change. Alex thought that things changed very little. She shook her head at the lines drawn on the map. The former Soviet Union was traced in red. The Russian Federation was outlined in blue, and the individual countries that were once part of the USSR were each outlined in green. She pinched the bridge of her nose forcefully.

  “What is Kapralov’s aim?” Claire asked. “What does he think he can gain by starving anyone?”

  “It’s an old play,” Alex commented. “Old as civilization. Withholding resources isn’t anything new. Pretty hard to fight back when you’re dying of starvation. Give a crumb and you become a hero. Send a message. Passive genocide,” Alex muttered. “As if it’s passive.”

  “Yeah, I get all of that,” Claire replied. “But what is his point? Kapralov isn’t an idealist. Twisted or not, he’s not someone who has any feeling about people—at all.”

  “Not an idealist,” Alex agreed. “An opportunist.”

  “Okay? What’s the opportunity here?” Claire inquired.

  “That’s the question,” Tate said.

  Alex shook her head.

  “What are you thinking, Toles?” Tate wondered.

  “I’m not sure what to think. Anyone who has studied Kapralov knows his mentality is decidedly Soviet. He learned that at the KGB. He didn’t get where he is without carefully laid plans.”

  “What’s your gut say?” Tate asked.

  “Deflection. While we’re paying attention to a few border villages, he’s investing in something bigger elsewhere. He’s playing to Candace’s emotions.”

  “Yeah, but this started before Candace took office,” Claire reminded her partner.

  “True. It’s a gamble with no stakes.”

  “Come again?” Claire asked.

  “They gambled on Candace getting elected—started this so she would face it almost immediately after she took office. They made certain it landed in her lap. If she’d lost? What’s the price?” Alex asked rhetorically. “Several thousand dead villagers? That’s more than acceptable to Kapralov and his people.”

  “Obviously.”

  Alex got up and walked to the front of the room, casting a long shadow over the map. Her eyes traveled from one corner to the other; inch by inch, she studied the lines that had been drawn. She reached out and traced her finger along the edges of Poland until she reached Ukraine. “History repeats itself.”

  “What?” Claire asked.

  Alex stared at the map. A sick feeling rose in her stomach. “History,” she said.

  “What about history?” Claire asked.

  “It’s never really in the past, Claire,” Alex said. “If anybody knows that it’s me and you.”

  Claire immediately caught Alex’s meaning. Once seeds were sown, it was difficult to keep them from taking root. There was more than one type of consumable crop. Political, religious, and military leaders had been cultivating “fields” for decades. Both Claire’s and Alex’s fathers had been part of the international espionage game. To many in the arena, it was just that—a game. People were nothing more than pawns to be moved across a chessboard. Money was always the objective. Money brought power. Power ensured a flow of money. It was a vicious circle. Ideas espoused in the early twentieth century continued to enjoy passionate support. Most people chose to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to that reality. Claire and Alex would never be afforded that luxury. “You don’t think this leads back to the Collaborative, do you?” Claire asked.

  Alex glanced at Tate. His somber smile made the roiling of her stomach churn more violently. Old wounds were about to be opened. A strained smile accompanied her simple reply. “Maybe not directly. Everything leads back there. We both know that.”

  Tate looked between the partners. For most of their careers, people regarded Claire and Alex as opposites. Tate saw it differently. More things bonded them than any that could work to separate them. “Are you sure you two want in on this?”

  Claire and Alex immediately turned to him.

  Tate held up his hand to signal his surrender. “I was only asking to be polite.”

  “We’re in,” Alex said.

  “You should talk to Krause,” Claire commented.

  “I was thinking the same thing. While I do, you should talk to El,” Alex suggested.

  “Me?”

  “Why not you?”

  “Um, Alex? Krause is your brother. If you are going there, why don’t you talk to Eleana? She is his wife.”

  “Because you need to stop avoiding her.”

  “I’m not avoiding her.”

  Alex folded her arms across her chest.

  Tate was sure that no matter how many times he witnessed Claire and Alex’s obvious friendship, he would never get used to it. And, they say things never change.

  “What are you giggling about?” Claire asked him.

  “I don’t giggle.”

  “Right.”

  “Claire!” Alex snapped.

  “Oh, all right,” Claire said. “You don’t have to yell.”

  Alex shook her head. “Anything else you have for us?” she asked Tate.

  “More than we could cover in a year,” he said.

  “Terrific,” Claire muttered. “I just hope we don’t end up on another ghost chase.”

  Alex pressed down another wave of nausea. In their world, skeletons in the closet sometimes had flesh attached. “Me too.”

  WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT

  “Feel like talking about it?” Rose asked Cassidy.

  “I don’t know what it is, Mom. I’ve tried to figure that out for years. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have an end.”

  “Is this about Alex or Candace?”

  “Both,” Cassidy replied. She sipped from her wineglass slowly. “Sometimes, I wonder if there are any good guys left.”

  “You know that answer,” Helen interjected.

  “I guess I do,” Cassidy admitted. “I know that there are people who want to help. I do know that. I never imagined what trying to help might entail.”

  “Cassie—”

  “I heard it in Candace’s voice,” Cassidy began. “She’s facing what we already know; that reality is stranger than a spy novel.”

  “I don’t envy her,” Rose admitted. “At all.”

  “Neither do I,” Cassidy said.

  “Cassidy, if anyone can help Candace craft the narrative she needs, it’s you.”

  Cassidy took another sip from her glass.

  “Isn’t that why you are heading down there?” Rose asked.

  “I don’t think that’s the reason she asked me to visit, no.”

  “Maybe she needs her friend,” Helen offered.

  “She does. She also needs a friend who understands more than her staff does,” Cassidy replied. “And, I suspect she needs Alex—and Claire.”

  Helen and Rose exchanged a knowing glance.

  “I wish I had something to offer her that could help,” Cassidy commented absently.

  Rose smiled. “You do.”

  “What might that be?” Cassidy asked.

  “The truth that only a best friend can give.”

  Cassidy shook her head. “I hope you’re right, Mom.”

  ***

  Alex and Claire spent an hour in the car reviewing notes about Candace’s staff, including each of her cabinet members. Alex was positive that at least one person in the president’s sphere of influence had an agenda that departed from Candace’s. The first task she would need to undertake would be testing the loyalty waters. “I don’t like it,” she said.

  “Since when does anyone care what we like?” Claire replied.

  “That’s fair.”


  “Too bad Dimitri isn’t still around.”

  “Kargen? Claire, Dimitri Kargen was—”

  “Connected—he was connected.”

  “And you had a connection to him.”

  “I’m not sure I’d say that,” Claire responded. “I hated the son of a bitch. He was easy to manipulate.”

  Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d like to say that she was surprised to find herself immersed in the spy game again; she wasn’t. Alex expected the day would come when she would need to confront the sins of her father, and the manner in which his deceptions continued to dictate the present. As far as Alex was concerned, hunting serial killers was child’s play compared to searching for assassins. Only one thing was more dangerous than a person who killed for sport—a person who murdered for money. She’d spent years traversing the dark corners of international politics. The public witnessed a façade. Many people worked on the bumpy, albeit alluring surface or international politics. Most politicians, journalists, and even field agents caught the faintest glimpse of what existed below. Both Alex and Claire had experienced the ugliness that could exist when avarice seized control of people’s actions. Hearing the name Dimitri Kargen conjured painful memories for Alex—memories of the lies and betrayals of their fathers—hers, Claire’s, and Cassidy’s. She privately wondered what her children might think in twenty years when they learned all that she’d done—all that she had discovered.

  “What’s their endgame?” Alex wondered aloud.

  “There isn’t an end, Alex. There’s just a game.”

  “They have to have an objective.”

  “Jesus,” Claire said. “Haven’t you learned by now that you’re shooting at a moving target?”

  “I know that. Don’t you think I know that, Brackett?”

  “We’re back to Brackett, I see.”

  Alex sighed. “No. No. I’m sorry, Claire. I can think of at least a hundred reasons Kapralov would look to weaken the population at strategic points. What I can’t figure out is why he wants Candace to know that.”

  Claire scratched her brow. “Well, maybe it isn’t the Russians who want her to know.”

  “Possible. But whom?”

  “Could be anyone. You know that. Someone wants to provoke her,” Claire observed. “Either they want to gauge what she’s willing to do, or they want to make her look foolish—probably both. That’s why you need to talk to Krause.”

  Alex groaned. Her half-brother had taken over control of their father’s company, Carecom. Carecom was established after World War II as a medical supply company to work directly with the military. Its government contracts, along with the services and products it offered, made it the perfect cover for CIA operations. Carecom had access to regions that many companies did not. Medical shipments provided ideal concealment for all types of contraband. Beyond Carecom’s success at money laundering, the company had managed to equip special forces and rogue factions in numerous countries for decades. Alex had taken the helm of the company after her father’s death in search of answers. She hoped to discover who her father was, and what role he played in a group called the Collaborative. One of the many conspiracies Nicolaus Toles had been complicit in carrying out led to the assassination of President John Merrow. Merrow broke ranks with those who had empowered him. It got him killed. She worried about a target being placed on Candace’s back.

  Merrow and Candace shared a commitment to higher ideals. Both believed in preserving democracy. Neither shared the belief that, at any cost, served as sound policy. Alex wished she didn’t have the benefit of the knowledge she’d gained while overseeing Carecom. Most days, it didn’t feel beneficial. She did know that numerous people operated under the belief that achieving their goals at any cost was the best policy and procedure to live by. Most people were not interested in safeguarding democracy or people. People were deemed assets or liabilities. They were property. That made the ability to discard people easier—dehumanize them, weaponize them—remove them. It was a cold and calculating way to maneuver the world. That didn’t change the fact that it was true.

  Alex imagined that the power structure of the international intelligence community was immersed in a debate. Was Candace Reid a potential ally or an issue that would need to be removed accordingly? It made sense that obstacles and upheavals would be placed in the new president’s path. Would she react, or would she take the time to act deliberately? Would she gravitate toward diplomacy or intervention? Alex groaned. Testing Candace’s resolve was dangerous on multiple levels.

  “What are you thinking?” Claire inquired.

  “You’re right about seeing Jonathan.”

  “I’m right?”

  “Don’t gloat.”

  Claire grinned. “Me?”

  Alex massaged her temples with her thumbs.

  “Toles?”

  “She’s at risk, Claire.”

  “Candace?”

  Alex nodded.

  “We all are,” Claire said. “Anyone who steps into this game risks being removed from it against their will.”

  “That makes me feel better.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better. Look, I can get closer than you—”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Because I know what you are going to suggest.”

  “Then you should also know it’s the best way to figure out who is pulling whose strings right now.”

  Claire had played all sides of every issue and every organization for years. Her father had ensured Claire’s introduction to the most powerful men and women around the world. She’d formed alliances with the SVR, MI6, and more than a few off-the-grid agencies. She had cultivated a close relationship with Russian operative Dimitri Kargen. Kargen had been part of the innermost circle of the Russian leadership, oligarchs, and intelligence operatives. His uncle, Viktor Ivanov, had guaranteed Kargen’s ascension. By all accounts, Ivanov was the wealthiest and most influential oligarch in Russia. He owned and chaired Advanced Strategic Applications; a global technology giant that developed everything from missile launch systems to nuclear power plants.

  American intelligence had mistakenly dubbed Kargen a simple henchman. He had been much more; moving money through back channels to assets in multiple western countries—money that would help undermine free elections, foster instability, distrust through media, and shake the foundations of confidence by staging threats and untimely disaster in various regions. He was not the architect of any plan. He had orchestrated the chain of events that brought some insidious plots in Alex’s lifetime to fruition. Alex hated to admit it, but Claire Brackett had the connections they needed. Claire was cunning. She could walk between worlds, claiming to seek work outside the mainframe while feeding information to Alex. It was risky. Someone had to take that risk. Once again, that someone would be Alex and Claire.

  “Not yet,” Alex said.

  “Worried about me?” Claire asked playfully.

  Alex looked at her partner. She had no intention of sending Claire back into the fires of hell if she could avoid it.

  “You know I’m right,” Claire said.

  Alex remained uncharacteristically silent.

  “Toles?”

  “Let’s talk to Jonathan.”

  Claire sighed heavily. It remained nearly impossible for Claire to believe, but Alex cared about her. She cared about Alex. Alex would be more than a little reluctant to place Claire in the double-agent role. At some point, Alex, talk is cheap.

  NATICK, MASSACHUSETTS

  “Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Jonathan Krause said. “Are you sure you want to dive back into this?”

  “This? I don’t even know what this is yet?” Alex replied. “I hoped you might shed a little light on things.”

  “On Kapralov? Who knows, Alex? It’s like fishing out a needle in a haystack. The Russians are masters of distraction. The only government that rivals them is ours.”

  The most fru
strating part of intelligence work was determining whether a clue was leading you toward an answer, or whether it had been placed as a diversion to lead you away from the truth. Distraction, disinformation, and deceit littered everything from formal government policy to popular media. Russian President Kapralov remained a mystery to Alex. As a former KGB agent, he knew the inner-workings of the intelligence complex; The Great Lie. That’s what Alex had deemed the world of espionage—The Great Lie. The most vigorous flag wavers were often the least loyal to their country. Presidents, prime ministers, oligarchs, billionaires, military leaders, diplomats, and journalists were complicit in creating spectacular illusions for the public. Behind the sparkly facade of State Dinners and elegant awards galas, devious plots were hatched, and alliances changed.

  “What do you know?” Alex asked.

  “I know that he worships the old order. That seems to be about the only thing that enjoys consensus in the community when it comes to Nika Kapralov. Out of curiosity, why not ask Jim?”

  Approaching Cassidy’s father for information seemed logical. It was logical. Jim McCollum had lived underground—literally—in Russia. He had formed unlikely alliances; alliances who had protected his identity and his whereabouts for over two decades. Logic did not always equate to prudence. She’d learned to trust the man over the last few years—to a point—a fine point. When it came to the safety and security of her family, Alex accepted that Jim McCollum would die rather than see any of them harmed. Candace Reid was not family—not to Jim McCollum. And, Alex wasn’t sure she would deem her father-in-law a patriot. Men like McCollum often served many masters, and those masters changed like the wind.

  “You still don’t trust him,” Jonathan surmised.

  “I trust him.”

  “Right.”

  “With Cass and the kids—I trust him. When it comes to this? Digging into Kapralov and the SVR? Let’s just say that there are still a lot of things none of us know about James McCollum.”

  “True,” Krause agreed. “Also, true that he is the closest informant to the SVR.”

  “Do you know what’s always bothered me, Pip?’