Read Online The Fall of Moscow Station by Mark Henshaw - Free Book Online Page B

boys in to talk,” Kyra suggested.
    â€œI thought about that,” Barron told her. “But they don’t know the right questions to ask, and Maines is our problem anyway. Plan approved. When are you going?”
    â€œFirst thing in the morning, as soon as we can get a disguise in place,” she replied. “Maines will know who I am, but there’s no sense in giving the Russians an easy picture of my real face.”
    â€œAgreed,” Barron replied. “How’s Jon doing?” The tone of his voice suggested he wasn’t asking about her partner’s professional performance.
    â€œThe same,” she admitted. “He’s been this way ever since Marissa was killed last year. He’s never been the happiest man I ever met, but I’m pretty sure he’s clinically depressed. I tried to get him to see one of the Agency psychologists, get him on something that’ll help him climb out of the dark, but he won’t go.”
    â€œI guess I’d be feeling down if one of my old flames died in front of me like that,” Barron said. “Doesn’t help that Kathy left either. She’s the one person who could really help him, but the DNI is keeping her busy. Do you know if they’ve talked?”
    â€œI don’t think so, not for a few months anyway,” Kyra said.
    â€œDo you think he’s a danger—”
    â€œNo,” Kyra answered, too readily. “He’s usually pretty morose anyway. I’m sure he’ll come through it eventually.”
    â€œKeep an eye on him,” Barron ordered. “If it looks like he’s becoming nonfunctional, let me know and we’ll bring him home. The Russians are too good at the game for us to keep anyone in the field who can’t keep themselves together.”
    â€œI will, sir.”
    â€œGood hunting.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Kyra said. She sat back, closed her eyes, and wondered whether Barron should ever have let her friend come to Berlin.

CHAPTER THREE
    The Embassy of the Russian Federation
    Berlin, Germany
    The etched metal plate by the gated entrance displayed an imperial eagle with two heads, both crowned, holding a scepter and orb, under the words Botschaft der Russischen Föderation. Kyra spoke no German, but the words were plain enough.
    The devil’s den , she thought. Are you in there, Maines?
    She had waited in the rain two hours to get this far in the queue. Every few minutes the line shuffled forward a few feet, and most of the supplicants kept silent. The couple in front of her had said enough to identify themselves as Russians, the family behind her, German. She heard no English. The natives walked past the granite complex without a glance, leaving only the tourists to stare at the building, a mix of trepidation and amazement on their faces. Probably the way the Russians like it , Kyra thought.
    Her disguise was more superficial than she would have liked, but time hadn’t allowed for better. Given a few days’ notice, the Agency’s Directorate of Science and Technology could have turned her into an overweight old man missing a limb. As it was, she was still a woman, though her hair was now raven black and longer, her chest larger, and her face rounder courtesy of glasses and small wads inside her cheeks. The acne was her true masterpiece given the lack of time and supplies, and the ill-fitting jacket and skirt were an insult to fashion. Her false ID was a larger worry. It was good enough to pass cursory inspection, but nothing more. There had been no time to manufacture anything better. If the Russian desk officers manning the visa line were as bored as the U.S. State Department officers at their own embassy seemed to be with the same job, the plastic card might pass muster.
    The true challenge would lie in convincing the Russians to let her into the same room with Maines. Strelnikov’s file had given her a possible way around that problem,