She delivered a cold smile. “How very kind of you, Papa.”

“Now, we need to discuss last night. You stole something, I am told, and a cohort of yours killed several men who worked for me.”

“In fairness, Papa, I killed one or two of them, too.”

“But of course you did. What were you doing in Terry Cassidy’s office?”

“I went there to find you. I didn’t find you, you found me.”

“Something was taken out of his vault.”

“I took nothing.”

Zakharov shot a hand out; it wrapped around his daughter’s neck, and then he pulled her closer. It was fast and threatening, but his touch was not violent. He reached out and unzipped his daughter’s jacket, no more than six inches, and then he moved the top of her shirt down a few inches more, until the start of her cleavage.

She said, “What the fuck are you doing?” in English, but she did not pull away or fight him off.

Zakharov looked at his daughter’s skin. “Ah, the stress hives.” He let go of her now, and she sat back up, putting hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. He said, “You know, nearly forty years in the intelligence field and I’d never been compromised by my skin condition by anyone but my own daughter.”

She said nothing.

“And now I see yours. You are lying. The CIA sent you in to retrieve a computer file from Cassidy’s safe. A file he was quite stupidly holding on to.” Zakharov smiled. “An indiscretion like that can get a man in Cassidy’s position, a man with Cassidy’s bedfellows, in a great deal of trouble.”

Zoya said, “You’re right. I have Terry Cassidy’s client list. Uncle Vladi is on it, as well as some very bad men. Offshore account information, a lot of money coming through.”

Feodor Zakharov stared his daughter down. “Things are not always as they appear.”

Zoya had strengthened in front of her father during the conversation. She sat up straighter. “Or maybe they are exactly as they appear. You came to London under cover to work against the British. Vladi was sent over, too, propped up with oil wealth from the state to fund your operations. You joined up with the goons in the Solntsevskaya Bratva to give you foot soldiers for your ops. Vladi used Terry Cassidy as his money launderer and you used Terry Cassidy as some sort of a middleman to help you acquire non-Russian goons to help you recover a man detained by the CIA.”

Zakharov’s face reddened. “This is all the theory of your friends in the CIA?”

“I’m here on my own, Papa. I told you. I heard about the attack at Ternhill, I know Cassidy was the man who helped set it up, and I know Belyakov works with him. That indicates to me that you were involved in the attack, and involved with the leak out of the CIA.”

“And you have come to plug the CIA’s leak. Is that it?”

“I came to find out about you, about Feodor, about Mother. That is all.”

Zakharov stood, looming over her. A door opened suddenly and four men entered. Among them was the man who called himself Fox that she’d run into in London the previous night. They’d obviously been just outside, and listening in on the conversation.

Fox said, “Sir . . . it’s time.”

The older Russian smiled at his daughter. “I am going to need to keep you close to me, Zoya. Just for the next few days. After that you are free to choose. You can stay with me here, or you can return to Russia.” He sighed. “You won’t be returning to America, not as long as I have blood pumping through my veins.”

The men moved closer around her. Unlike the day before in Terry Cassidy’s office, however, she made no move to resist.

“What happens in a few days?”

Zakharov only smiled and said, “You will be kept comfortable at all times.”

“You are kidnapping your own daughter?”

“I am kidnapping a CIA agent with malicious intent. If that person also happens to be my daughter, then yes, I am kidnapping my daughter. I was sent here to make the hard decisions. I pride myself on my utter mission focus at all times.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. It was a gentle touch, but his eyes and his words conveyed a different attitude.

“So, my darling, do not test me.”

Zoya felt like a child being admonished. Meekly she asked again, “What is this all about?”

“It’s about your mother, your brother, and you. It’s about the Five Eyes attacking me . . . personally. And now, my dear, it’s about my personal retribution.”

“So this operation has no sanction,” she said.

Zakharov pulled his shoulders back. “I have sanction!” he shouted. “That’s all that matters. Moscow will benefit, but I take orders from no one.”

Zoya couldn’t believe it. He was insane. “You’re off reservation. A rogue agent.”

Zakharov gave his daughter a look of disappointment. “You’ve met Mr. Fox here. He studied under your mother in Moscow. Very much a Russian, he has infiltrated the fabric of life here in the United Kingdom. He is one of a dozen sleepers still active, after all these years, many working within Scotland Yard, the intelligence services, even at Whitehall.”

Fox said, “Your mother was a remarkable woman. Of all my trainers, no one did more to give me the tools to remain alive and operational over here for all these years.”

Zakharov said, “He will oversee your care, because I have much to do, both back in London and at our destination. I will see you again very soon, Zoya. We will talk more then about what it is you want out of this life of yours.”

“Where is he taking me?”

“Not far, in the scheme of things. You’ll see.” And with that he turned and walked out of the room. Zoya wanted to call out to him, but she couldn’t make a sound.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but what she had just learned was almost too much to process. Whatever he was doing, whatever his plan, it was obviously more important to him than she was.

Fox led Zoya and the men holding on to her arms out the door and back towards the waiting helicopter. As she was getting strapped in, she saw her father’s big black helo lifting off from the perfect lawn a hundred meters away, turning on its axis, and then dipping its nose towards London. It disappeared over Vladimir Belyakov’s mansion moments later.

CHAPTER 43

   The benefit to Court Gentry of having Sir Donald Fitzroy working for him as a technical asset, even if it was just for a few hours, was that Fitzroy could produce virtually any piece of gear he wanted simply by pulling it out of a drawer somewhere in his home. The man had collected more than a half century’s worth of the tools of spycraft, and much of it was still modern enough to employ effectively. Fitz selected a pair of tiny listening devices, both with encrypted wireless connection and remote power switches, and while Court could tell they relied on fifteen-year-old technology, he could also see they’d been well kept and therefore remained good enough for his purposes.