“I actually worked here previously. I think we met, briefly.”
Theresa’s head tilts like a terrier’s as she puts the pieces together. “Oh yes, Lyndsey. Of course, I remember you.” She must be pretending: there is no reason for Theresa Warner to remember her. They were in different circles then. Lyndsey, fresh out of training and Theresa part of the elite. Worlds apart. “Welcome back.”
Lyndsey checks out the desk as she waits for the computer to boot up. A steno pad with half the pages ripped out. Two old pens, tooth marks in the plastic shells. A handful of paper clips. Does anyone even use paper clips anymore? “I won’t be staying long. I’m here for the investigation,” she says absently.
A thin, perfect eyebrow arches. “The incident from last night, you mean? The Russian on the plane? They haven’t told us anything about it yet. It’s all close hold.”
That’s right, the compartment. You don’t know who has been read in and who hasn’t. She shouldn’t have said anything. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Theresa Warner turns back to the monitor. Next to her computer is one and only one family photo, a picture of a young boy with dark hair and the biggest eyes Lyndsey has ever seen. No pictures of a husband anywhere.
That’s because Theresa’s husband had been killed in an Agency operation gone wrong. The pieces come back to Lyndsey now. Theresa Warner is The Widow. They had made a big deal when they put her husband’s star up on the Wall of Honor, splashed around a photo of Theresa from the ceremony. Skeptics snarked it was because she looked like Jackie Kennedy and would remind people of the tragic romance of dying for your country. Lyndsey heard about the incident shortly after she arrived in Lebanon and she never heard any details of what had happened. Close hold, no need-to-know. Like everyone else, she only heard that Richard Warner had died.
Richard Warner had been a branch chief in Russia Division when she first came on board. Not that she’d ever worked with him. She only knew him in passing. He and Eric had both been branch chiefs then—though he surpassed Eric at some point.
It is kind of strange to find Theresa still working at Langley. How awful it must be, to spend your days in a place where everything reminds you of your lost spouse. Most people would’ve quit. Of course, everyone’s circumstances are different. Perhaps Theresa can’t afford to leave, or doesn’t want to look for a new job. There is the son, obviously. Perhaps she stays out of loyalty, or the possibility of avenging her husband’s death.
Suddenly Eric is walking toward her. He looks like he’s on his way to something important, a stand-up over a late-breaking crisis, a meeting with the Director on the seventh floor. He is rushed but puts on a good face.
“Good, you two have met. I was coming to introduce you. Don’t you know each other already? Didn’t you work together in the early days?”
“No,” Lyndsey says.
“Well, if you need anything, I’m sure Theresa would be happy to help you get settled.” Then he heads off to fight his next battle.
Theresa narrows her eyes, studying Lyndsey. “Weren’t you at Moscow Station recently?”
Lyndsey thinks she knows where Theresa is going with this but she wasn’t there when Theresa’s husband died. Lyndsey opens her mouth to say how sorry she was to hear about Richard, but Theresa cuts her off. “I’d love to catch up, but I don’t have time to talk right now. I have a report to finish. Maybe later?” And with that, she turns her back on Lyndsey and goes back to her keyboard, keys clacking away.
Dismissed. Lyndsey pokes around the empty desk for a few minutes and then heads to Maggie’s station. The office manager looks up as she approaches.
“Is there another empty desk I could use? I feel like I’m—imposing on her space.”
“Oh, don’t mind her. She can be a little chilly.” Maggie drops her voice and leans forward, a curl dropping onto her forehead. “You know who she is, right?”
Lyndsey nods.
Maggie glances over her shoulder to see if someone might be listening but there’s no one around. “They call her the Red Widow around here. Because of, you know.” She gestures to her mouth. Theresa’s fire-engine-red lipstick. Not something a widow would wear, is the implication. “Then there’s the sports car. It’s a Jaguar, that really famous model. Bright red. It was Richard’s. She drives it once in a while, when the weather is really nice. Parks it in Richard’s old spot. So everyone will remember him, I guess.”
“That’s very—loyal of her.” Lyndsey struggles for words.
Maggie shrugs and turns back to the monitor, to whatever she was doing before Lyndsey came up. “I’m afraid we’re full up, no other desks at the moment. But don’t worry, it’ll just be a day or two. I’m working on getting you a private office. You won’t have to put up with her for very long.”
Lyndsey walks back to her desk, sobered. She would’ve liked to reconnect with Theresa, but this is not the woman she knew. She has been upended by loss and changed irrevocably. No longer a person harboring the usual hopes and beset by normal tribulations. She has been transformed by tragedy into The Widow.
FIVE
Lyndsey has just returned from the vending machine in the hall—vending machine coffee has to be better than the tree pitch in the office’s coffeemaker—when Maggie stops by her desk.
“There’s someone in the conference room to see you. From CI.”
Counterintelligence. It’s not the worst news: if it had to do with Lebanon, they’d have sent someone from the Office of Security. The men in Security are humorless, unsmiling and unblinking. After the events of the past month, the accusations and threats, she’s had enough of Security to last her a good
