Conspiracy in Kiev

game.

Recently, two new guys had worked into the rotation. She didn’t know much about them. A wiry guy named Fred, who looked like a banker: all arms and elbows and jerky movements. The other players called him, “Head and Shoulders.” Another new guy was Juan, a muscular Latino who was a law student at GW. At five foot six, he was a tall dwarf in basketball terms-shorter than both female players. But he made it up in speed and court savvy. The star of the game this night, however, was another regular gym rat, a strapping big guy from North Carolina named Benjamin.

Alex liked Ben, though she knew him only from the gym. He’d been a marine gunnery sergeant in Iraq where a remote control roadside bomb in Anwar Province had taken off his leg below the knee.

Now he had a prosthesis for a right leg. He was in the process of getting his life back together.

Ben was the slowest guy on the court, but at six four was also the tallest in more ways than one. He played center for Alex’s team and played it with a huge heart. From her guard position, Alex loved to feed him quick high passes that he’d pick off with his huge hands and slam into the hoop. The half-court helped him.

On this night, Alex’s team won 29-25. Ben had a dozen. Alex had five, including a swished trey from the corner.

After the game, she toweled off, went to the weight room, worked out, ran laps, and was finished. She grabbed her stuff, headed back to the lockers and showered quickly. She changed into casual clothes and joined Robert for dinner, arriving a few minutes after ten at the Athenian in Georgetown.

The Athenian was a small, dimly lit Greek seafood place, red and white checkered tablecloths with a small candle on each table. The place was owned by a hulking mustached guy named Gus.

Gus was an emigre from Cyprus, a moody quick-tempered sort but an admirable host. Gus liked to pour free glasses of ouzo for his favored guests, which included anyone who displayed a reverence for Maria Callas, the Aegean, or a knowledge of soccer.

Gus was a fervent DC United man, but also followed, for reasons known only to himself, Barcelona FC and Chelsea via Gol TV. There were team photos and other colorful regalia around the place to bear witness.

Gus liked straight-arrow law-enforcement people. When Robert or Alex called ahead for a reservation, Gus always had a quiet table waiting and made sure the wine was chilled and the fish was cooked perfectly with the right herbs and a generous plate of rice and vegetables on the side. And so it went on this particular evening.

Robert had remembered the flowers, which Alex received with a kiss and a smile. Still, however, the idea of another high-anxiety trip abroad was something about which she was less than enthusiastic. The discussion went there quickly.

“And more language lessons?” she asked. “What’s this? My penalty for already speaking five fluently?”

“I hear Ukrainian is similar to Russian.”

“Similar but different. Like a tiger to a mountain lion.”

“Look, tomorrow morning you’ll get a briefing. If you want to say no, you’ll get the chance.”

Alex and Robert split a sea bass that Gus had grilled to perfection. Midway through the meal, Alexandra looked up and saw a man at the end of the bar whom she thought she recognized.

She caught him watching her. Rather than smile or acknowledge her, he looked away.

She was always noticing details: where someone stood, what they wore, who was present, who wasn’t. She knew the man at the bar hadn’t been there when she came in. She remembered that the far end of the bar had been empty.

So he had come in after her. Or had followed her.

Her hand went to Robert’s. She was about to give him a signal, to ask him to check the guy out. But Gus wandered to their table to chat.

Gus embarked on one of his tamer political rants, something to do with a Michael Moore film. Alex nodded and refrained from joining in. Robert listened patiently. Alex watched the man at the bar while Gus was speaking, using the mirror above the bottles. The man kept watching her.

It wasn’t her imagination, she decided. He was watching her and she had seen him before. But where? When their eyes hit head-on a third time, he finished his drink and hurried out.

Gus talked them into the baklava for dessert. Alex was glad she had spent the time in the gym. Gus’s baklava was delicious but portions were huge. Gus left their table. Alex turned to her fiance. “There was a man at the bar watching me,” she said.

“Can’t say I blame him.”

“This isn’t funny, Black Dog.”

Robert looked to the bar. “Where is he?”

“He just left.”

“Okay, if he comes back in, I’ll pull the jealous boyfriend thing and shoot him. We might have to delay the wedding for twelve years while I serve the manslaughter charge.”

“That’s not where I’m going with this.”

“Okay, you shoot him.”

“Not funny,” she said. “He was watching me as if he had a reason. He just left. Fifteen seconds ago.”

His eyes slid to the doorway. “Okay,” he said. He got to his feet, went quickly to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the cold.

He was back in a minute. He sat down.

“Sorry. No one,” he said. “Just the usual muggers, junkies, and car thieves.”

“Not in this neighborhood,” she said.

“Okay. I didn’t see anyone.”

She settled slightly. “Thanks for looking.”

Being with Robert relaxed Alex, but through the whole evening there was only one thing she could think about.

Ukraine. She began to ask more questions.

“Look, normally they’d leave you alone after the Lagos trip,” he said. “But you know how the government works. Turn down the mission they want you to do and you don’t get the next one that you want to do.”

There was another quiet moment as she simmered. “Next you’ll tell me it’s not dangerous.”

“It’s very dangerous.”

“So why don’t they get one of those big six-foot-six guys in your department, the ones who block the view of the president when the prez is dumb enough to go shaking hands in hostile-action places like New York and Philadelphia?”

“They need a woman for this and all of the six-six ones are currently playing pro basketball.”

“Very funny,” she said. “Look, what do they want me to do? Go undercover at a night club in Odessa, swing around a pole, and listen in on gangsters?”

“I’d love to see that,” he said.

“Well, you won’t. And neither will anyone else.”

“Presidential visit,” he said. “That makes it top priority. The personnel computer spit out your name as someone who spoke Russian as well as the other major European languages. I saw your name because the list went by the Secret Service. They’re probably going to want you to learn some Ukrainian too.”

She groaned. “I was planning to spend the next few weeks planning a wedding, sitting around with my husband-to-be, going to movies, and maybe reading a trashy novel or two.”

He shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.

The more she thought about it this evening, the more the concept bothered her. She made a mini-decision. She would listen politely at State the next morning and then give them a firm but polite, “No way!”

There. That settled that.

Who was in charge of her life, anyway?

Her or them?

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