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light fittings, polished marble flooring and a vaguely futuristic design.

Klitchkov took a seat behind the desk and leant on the arm of the chair. “Welcome home, Agent Allochka. You have done well. Would you not agree, Lieutenant Colonel?” he said jovially to Denisov.

“Adequate,” Denisov said shortly, ejecting the word with great reluctance.

Klitchkov laughed. “Come now, Maxim, enjoy the proof of your excellence at the academy.”

Denisov said nothing. “Ignore Maxim, Nikita. That is as close as he comes to praise, so take it as such,” said Klitchkov, almost gently.

“Thank you, Chairman, Lieutenant Colonel,” Nikita said, nodding to both. “But I have only done my job, nothing more.”

“Spoken like a true agent,” responded Klitchkov. “Now to business. What instruction have the CIA given you for your journey home?”

“I am to make myself visible to the KGB so as to encourage them to turn me into a double agent.”

Denisov let out a wheezy sound. Nikita realised it was his attempt at laughter. “The Yankee dogs!” he cried in his high-pitched, reedy voice. “They are so blind to what is right in front of them,” he said euphorically.

“This is a fortunate turn of events; we find ourselves in a rare position,” said Klitchkov, nodding, seemingly more to himself than either of his colleagues. “You have played the game exceedingly well,” he added to Nikita. “Despite being forced to carry out some of Yerin’s more questionable assignments out there. Tell me, what do they know of our nuclear disarmament?”

“I don’t have much to update beyond what I told you recently in Washington. My former section chief suspects things may differ from the version of events we are feeding them. However, of the three analysts assigned to investigate any links between the disarmament, the Afghan… victorious withdrawal, and the White Russian, only one remains in the department.”

“It was your lover that Brishnov killed, yes? The Chinese mongrel?” Klitchkov asked brightly.

“Korean,” Nikita corrected. “He saved me having to burn her,” Nikita said, with a shrug, though his fist clenched tightly in his lap.

Denisov was staring at him, his eyes giving nothing away but his wide, pursed mouth had the hint of a smirk at the edges.

“Brishnov’s last act was a kindness to us; with both you and her out of the team it will hamstring their investigations. Who is the remaining agent?” Denisov asked.

“Blaine Lahart, a very capable analyst. His key area of focus is our adherence to the INF Treaty, but he had been looped in on some of my KGB investigations and Sarah Chang’s interest in the White Russian.”

“Who they now believe to be dead,” Klitchkov commented.

“Who they now believe to be dead, as was your intention,” Nikita agreed. “Do we know if the vice president survived or not?” he added.

“We have been unable to glean that information yet; they are keeping their cards very close to their chest with that one. It is of no consequence either way, as long as they continue to believe Brishnov was acting alone and not under the orders of the Soviet government,” said Klitchkov.

“And was he?” Nikita asked.

“I’ve warned you before about insolence, agent,” Klitchkov said shortly, in the tone change typical of the man. “I will not warn you again,” he said and laid an unusual looking revolver on the desk.

“Of course, sir. Not my concern,” Nikita said, holding his gaze.

“Will this section chief revive the investigation?” asked Denisov calmly, bringing the discussion back to business.

“He is like a dog with a bone once he gets an idea and will chase it into the ground if he has to. However, the death of the man they believe to be the one who had been carrying out all of the assassinations may force him to wrap up the investigation; he has very limited resources. I suspect the investigation will end, but he will not forget it and it will only take the slightest hint of foul play for it to be reopened.” Nikita paused. “There is one more thing,” he added. “During the battle with Brishnov, there was smoke coming from the Capitol. Was this also the work of Brishnov?”

The air suddenly became heavy and tense as the muscles around Klitchkov’s mouth tightened. Denisov continued to look unconcerned.

“What do you know of it?” Klitchkov asked coldly.

“Nothing beyond what I just asked, sir,” Nikita replied. “But I asked a fellow CIA agent who I thought may have information on it and he told me to mind my own business,” Nikita said. Then he added, hoping it appeared as an afterthought, “His name was Zach Burn, by the way,” and closely watched the faces of his two superiors.

Both were highly trained KGB agents and to the casual eye gave no indication that name meant anything to them. Nikita’s eye was far from casual, however. Denisov either knew nothing or if he did, he hid it unbelievably well. Klitchkov, however, had never been a KGB field agent, and his fingers flexed involuntarily. A tiny tell, but significant to one such as Nikita.

“You know the name,” Nikita said. It was not a question.

Klitchkov stood, and turning his back, stared back across the river and was silent for several minutes. The muscles in Denisov’s jaw were rippling, showing his teeth were gritted.

“We know the name,” said Klitchkov slowly.

“He provided me with the evidence I needed to pursue Brishnov,” said Nikita. “He has embedded himself into the CIA well; he is clearly a significant player in the Soviet East Department, for him to be the one informing me of my mission. It was most irregular; I do not know how he managed it.”

Silence fell upon the room once more. This time Nikita decided to sit quietly with it.

Eventually Klitchkov shared a meaningful look with Denisov and sighed.

“You are an observant little shit,” said Klitchkov ruefully, turning back to face them.

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