Page 47

CHAPTER 46

M C L EAN , V IRGINIA

As her workday had begun so early, Maggie had no problem leaving the office a little before five o’clock.

Per Holidae Hayes, Scot Harvath’s operation had been a success. Arkady Tsybulsky was dead.

There would be tons of Russian media reports to sift through and analyze—the most important of which would be clipped and waiting for her in the morning. Her overnight team was more than capable of handling the surge without her. If anything rose to the level of needing her personal attention, they knew where to find her.

Driving home, she parked the old Volvo in the garage, changed clothes, and hopped on her bicycle. She needed to pick up a few things for dinner and a brisk bike ride was the perfect way to clear out some of the cobwebs.

In order to avoid rush-hour traffic, she stuck to the side streets. It added a little time to her journey, but not much. She was happy for the additional physical activity.

As she pedaled, she allowed her mind to wander. There were so many things that she and Paul had been forced to put on hold or cancel since the Belarus situation had popped up—a literary festival on Nantucket, the opening of a favorite chef’s new restaurant in Nashville, use of a friend’s cottage in upstate New York…

None of them were devastating losses and they both understood the demands of her job. In times of crisis, she needed to be not just available, but also physically present. She was the leader of Russia House. That, as Paul liked to joke, was why she got paid the “big” bucks.

In all fairness, the bucks weren’t that big, which was what made Paul’s joke all the more amusing. Quite frankly, if not for her grandmother’s disciplined investing and subsequent largesse, Maggie and Paul would never have been able to afford the kind of lifestyle they enjoyed. Their house and the large parcel it sat on were easily worth several million dollars.

That wasn’t to say that having to cancel plans didn’t come with a sting. It did. And even though he would never admit it, Maggie was certain that the sting was felt even more acutely by Paul. Travel was in his blood. He absolutely loved it. The bigger the trips, the better.

But the little trips had their place as well. They were escapes. Worlds away from their lives as civil servants, the sojourns functioned as release valves, allowing them to blow off steam and just be themselves. That was particularly important for Paul, who worked “in” a department rather than over one, like Maggie.

She knew that being so incredibly bright made it difficult for him to take orders from people who were less intelligent. Not that Paul ever complained. He didn’t. Not once. He was an absolute stoic. But when she listened to stories about his day, she could read between the lines. It was as if she could almost hear him say it.

If she had to put a word on it, the trips were a reward. They were a reminder that they didn’t live to work. They worked to live. And considering how many people she knew in D.C. who came home and did a swan dive right into their liquor cabinet, there were much less healthy ways than travel to deal with a job that you might not be in love with.

So, if at the moment they couldn’t travel, she was determined to double down on the other things they loved and still could engage in. Chief among them was food. More to the point, it was cooking—either together, or for each other.

Paul had cooked her a fabulous breakfast this morning, only to have it be interrupted by Maggie’s office. She was determined to make it up to him. To that end, she planned to make one of Paul’s favorite dishes: Paella de Marisco.

The key to the perfect paella was the quality of the ingredients, especially the rice and saffron. There was a specialty butcher in McLean who not only could source excellent rabbit for when Maggie made the less well-known Paella Valencia, but also offered an outstanding selection of fresh seafood.

Knowing that she would need to keep the chicken, mussels, clams, shrimp, and any fish she purchased cold for the ride home, she had attached extra-large panniers to her bike, so that one of them could be filled with ice.

For dessert, Paul loved her crème br?lée. But instead of doing it in the traditional manner, this time she wanted to do it with a twist. Maybe cardamom and coconut or rosewater and pistachio. She’d have to see what ingredients the nearby grocery store had.

Then there was the wine. Maybe a rosé from Castilla La Mancha or a Cava from Catalonia. It would depend on what the wine store had in stock. She hoped they had something good. Paul would be happy with either of those. A nice Godello or a Verdejo would also be a terrific pick.

She was so busy contemplating her options, she failed to notice a silver minivan lurch out of its driveway, until it was too late.

Breaking hard, Maggie attempted to swerve, but slammed into the right rear quarter panel.

The impact echoed down the street as she tumbled to the pavement unconscious.