Page 45 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
Michael Harris could still hear Sasha’s desperate phone call as he sped down the road away from Crucifix Bastion.
I’m with Robert Langdon! We need your help!
When he reached the main road, Harris turned right, racing north toward Sasha’s apartment. A place I know all too well, he lamented, having visited numerous times, always against his better judgment.
Harris had first met Sasha two months ago at David Rio Chai Latte, where Sasha stopped every morning on her way to work. Sasha was alone at a standing table, and Harris approached her with a smile.
“Privet, Sasha,” he said in Russian. Hello, Sasha.
The tall blonde glanced up, looking alarmed. “How do you know my name?”
Harris smiled and pointed to her paper cup, on which the barista had written: Sa?a .
“Oh,” Sasha said, looking sheepish but still uncertain. “But…you spoke Russian.”
“Lucky guess,” Harris said. “I heard your accent when you ordered.”
Now Sasha looked embarrassed. “Of course. Sorry to be jumpy. Russians aren’t exactly the most popular people in Prague.”
“Try being American !” he replied, showing her his Mickale cup. “The barista misspelled my name on purpose, I’m sure.” He smiled and put on his best Bogart impersonation. “Of all the coffee joints in all the towns in all the world, I walk into this one.”
“ Casablanca !” She brightened. “I love that movie!”
Over the next half hour, they swapped stories, and Sasha shared a heartbreaking tale of debilitating epilepsy and childhood abandonment in a Russian mental institution…until a neurosurgeon rescued her and brought her to Prague.
“And this Dr. Gessner cured you?” Harris asked.
“Perfectly,” Sasha said, gratitude in her eyes. “She invented a brain implant that I can activate by rubbing a magnetic wand over my skull whenever I feel the fog.”
“The fog?”
“Yes, sorry, before a seizure, epileptics get a hazy, tingling warning…kind of like that prickly sensation before you sneeze. When it happens, I rub the wand on top of my head, and the magnet triggers the chip inside my skull.” She hesitated, looking suddenly self-conscious.
“Sorry, it’s kind of unappealing to talk about. ”
“Not at all—I can’t see a thing,” Harris said honestly. “If there are scars, they’re totally hidden beneath all that beautiful blond hair!”
The compliment was earnest, but Sasha averted her gaze, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I can’t believe I told you all this. How embarrassing. I don’t talk to many people, so…anyway, I have to go to work.” She abruptly drained the rest of her chai and quickly started packing up.
“I have to go too,” Harris said, “but it was fun talking, and if you ever want to have lunch sometime, I’d love to talk more.”
Sasha looked startled by the request. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course, sorry,” Harris said, fumbling. “I didn’t mean a date date. I just…anyhow, you’re probably seeing someone, so—”
“Me? No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she blurted clumsily. “It’s just…” Her eyes suddenly welled with tears, as if she were about to break down.
“Oh no!” Harris said, confused. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s my fault…” she said, her voice fragile. “I’m sorry…I’m just afraid if you get to know me…you’ll be so disappointed.”
“Why would you ever say that?”
She wiped her eyes and looked at him. “Michael, I’m not very good at…you know, relations. I spent most of my life alone and on strong medications. I have serious memory problems, a lot of ugly scars from seizu—”
“Stop right there,” Harris said. “I find you quite charming. And considering what you’ve been through, you’re remarkably easy to talk to.”
“Really?” She blushed. “Then it must be the company.”
They talked a bit more, and ultimately Sasha agreed to see him again.
Two weeks later, after a lunch, a dinner, and an evening walk in Wallenstein Garden, Harris sensed he knew all he would ever know about Sasha Vesna.
She was a simple woman with no friends, who spent all her time either working at Gessner’s lab or at home watching old movies with her cats. Sasha is a loner…and lonely.
Unfortunately, Harris felt increasingly uncomfortable about their deepening relationship. If she ever discovers the real reason I’m seeing her, it will destroy her. Burdened by guilt, Harris chided himself for ever agreeing to do this. It’s time I end this charade.
Mustering his resolve, Harris had climbed the marble staircase to the ambassador’s office. He knocked on her open door, and she waved him in.
Ambassador Heide Nagel was a sixty-six-year-old graduate of Columbia Law. The child of German immigrants, she had come to America at the age of four and risen to the top of her field. Her German surname, it had been noted publicly, literally meant “nails”—as in “as tough as.”
With inscrutable eyes and a politely diplomatic manner, she often lulled adversaries into a false sense of security before she dispatched them.
Even Nagel’s quotidian attire seemed calculated to downplay her influence—simple black pantsuits, comfortable shoes, and reading glasses on a chain that looked more befitting a librarian than a diplomat.
She wore her black hair with laser-straight blunt bangs and very little makeup.
“Michael,” she said, closing her laptop. “What can I do for you?”
Harris entered and stood before her desk. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m no longer comfortable with the off-book project you assigned me.”
“Oh?” Nagel took off her glasses and motioned for him to sit. “What’s the problem?”
Harris cleared his throat and took a seat.
“As I’ve reported, ma’am, Sasha Vesna is a naive young woman who was horribly mistreated as a child and is simply doing the best she can to live a normal life.
There’s nothing more for me to learn. At this point, I just feel that continuing to lie to her is, well…
morally wrong.” He had not allowed their relationship to become overly physical, but Harris still felt Sasha’s heart opening to him.
“I see,” Nagel said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to say dangerous. I hope you know if it were dangerous, I’d pull you out immediately.”
Harris believed her. Nagel ran this embassy with an iron hand, but she also cared loyally for her staff. “No, ma’am,” he assured her, “I don’t see any danger. The problem is that Sasha is becoming attached. Ethically, it feels…”
“Dishonest?” The ambassador looked almost amused. “I must say, Michael, I find it ironic that you would cite morality as the reason you want to quit seeing Sasha.”
“I’m sorry?”
The ambassador stood up and walked to the wet bar in the corner of her office. Without a word, she poured a tumbler of Vincentka mineral water and returned, handing it to him. Then she sat behind her desk, raising her eyes to his.
“My suspicion,” she said, “is that the real reason you want to stop seeing Sasha Vesna is because you’re afraid my PR liaison, Ms. Daněk, will catch you spending time with another woman.”
Harris tried to maintain a poker face, but he could feel himself crumbling. The ambassador knows I’m seeing Dana?! Any moral high ground Harris had hoped to occupy just evaporated.
“I hope you’re aware,” Nagel said, “that this embassy has a zero-tolerance policy on interemployee relationships.” She paused, as if suddenly recalling. “Oh, of course, you’re aware of the policy…You helped draft it.”
Shit.
“Relax,” Nagel said calmly, “I’m not looking to have you fired. I’m simply exploiting a weakness in service to my country.”
“That’s quite a euphemism for ‘coercion,’?” he managed.
“You’re an attorney, Michael, so just think of it as effective negotiating. And believe me, I would not be applying this kind of pressure if my superiors weren’t applying that same pressure to me.”
“With respect, ma’am, I find it hard to believe our president cares about a Russian epileptic with two cats named Harry and Sally.”
“First off, the White House is not the only powerful entity to whom I answer. Secondly, my superiors have not told me precisely what their interest is in Sasha Vesna, only that they want to be apprised of what secrets she is telling those people she trusts.”
“Sasha has no secrets!” Harris insisted. “She’s an open book, and she’s just happy to have someone to talk to.”
“Exactly. And you have now established yourself in that position, which is very valuable. You need to keep her talking. In the meantime, I’ll ignore your situation with Dana, and I’ll tell my superiors to pay you twice what they’re already paying you for this special project.”
Harris was stunned. His additional financial compensation was already exceedingly generous. Who is so eager to keep tabs on Sasha Vesna? And why?
“And Michael,” she said, “if this project ever feels even slightly dangerous, you tell me, and I pull the plug.” She locked eyes with him. “Deal?”
Harris gazed down at her outstretched hand, stunned by how effortlessly she had reached checkmate. Despite his gut reservations, he suspected that if he himself didn’t do this, someone else might take more drastic measures. Sasha doesn’t deserve that. He shook the ambassador’s hand.
In the weeks that followed, Harris’s relationship with Sasha naturally progressed to an awkward physical romance.
Fortunately, Sasha was extremely inexperienced, and Harris insisted they take things incredibly slowly.
So far, the most intimacy they had shared was lying in each other’s arms in her bed, mostly clothed, watching old American romantic comedies until they both fell asleep.
Now, as Harris raced north to meet with Sasha and Langdon, he reflected on everything he had learned this morning from the ambassador. The scope of the operation going on in Prague was beyond his wildest imagination. Even without specifics, Harris knew he was in miles over his head.
It’s time to get out.
As he neared Old Town, Harris made himself a solemn vow.
No matter the repercussions, this will be my last visit with Sasha Vesna…ever.