Red Widow

Description

“A wicked sharp spy novel…Equal parts Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and Killing Eve.” –S. A. Cosby, author of Blacktop Wasteland and Razorblade Tears

An exhilarating spy thriller written by an intelligence veteran about two women CIA agents whose paths become intertwined around a threat to the Russia Division–one that’s coming from inside the agency.

Lyndsey Duncan worries her career with the CIA might be over. After lines are crossed with another intelligence agent during an assignment, she is sent home to Washington on administrative leave. So when a former colleague–now Chief of the Russia Division–recruits her for an internal investigation, she jumps at the chance to prove herself. Lyndsey was once a top handler in the Moscow Field Station, where she was known as the “human lie detector” and praised for recruiting some of the most senior Russian officials. But now, three Russian assets have been exposed–including one of her own–and the CIA is convinced there’s a mole in the department. With years of work in question and lives on the line, Lyndsey is thrown back into life at the agency, this time tracing the steps of those closest to her.

Meanwhile, fellow agent Theresa Warner can’t avoid the spotlight. She is the infamous “Red Widow,” the wife of a former director killed in the field under mysterious circumstances. With her husband’s legacy shadowing her every move, Theresa is a fixture of the Russia Division, and as she and Lyndsey strike up an unusual friendship, her knowledge proves invaluable. But as Lyndsey uncovers a surprising connection to Theresa that could answer all of her questions, she unearths a terrifying web of secrets within the department, if only she is willing to unravel it….Finalist for the International Thriller Writers Award
A New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice 

One of:
Northern Virginia Magazine‘s Best Beach Reads
BookPage‘s Most Anticipated Mysteries and Thrillers of 2021
Writer’s Digest‘s 71 Books and Authors to Check Out in 2021

“Katsu, a longtime intelligence analyst for the C.I.A. and N.S.A, writes what she’s most professionally familiar with after years in the paranormal and horror novel trenches. The plotting is sophisticated and laced with surprises, but what stands out most is the emotional core of Lyndsey and Theresa’s alliance, and whether there is room, in a nest of vipers, for true sisterhood.” –The New York Times Book Review

“Terrific…Fans of FX’s ‘The Americans’ will recognize a world where professionalism can fall prey to sexism, careerism, and garden-variety klutziness. Duncan’s job is a lot ‘like juggling knives,’ and Katsu makes us care that she doesn’t bobble.” –The Washington Post

“Red Widow is layered with inside knowledge of how CIA bureaucracy works; it is often a bleak workplace, it seems, where loyalty is in short supply and careers can be ended on a whim.” –Financial Times

“This political thriller is years in the making because it’s based on the author’s own past as a woman working in the intelligence field. DC-area readers familiar with that world will appreciate the attention to detail and the way Katsu’s experience shines through.” –Northern Virginia Magazine

“Lyndsey is a likeable, slightly mysterious heroine readers will want to see again. And her creator, having traded ghosts and gore for more subdued thrills, still manages plenty of jaw-dropping revelations.” –Charleston Post & Courier

“Alma Katsu’s main characters in Red Widow are written with a depth and nuance that I found profoundly refreshing.” –Diplomatic Courier

“In contrast to many other spy thrillers, Red Widow does not rely on titillating and damaging stereotypes of women and tales of ‘sexpionage’ to advance the story line. Rather, the book realistically and refreshingly portrays female intelligence officers as highly professional, capable and ethical.” –Cipher Brief

“The authenticity of [Katsu’s] experiences deepens every bit of this story….I raced to the end, and you will too.” –Suspense Magazine

“[Katsu] uses her 30-plus years of intelligence to create a suspenseful, entertaining spy tale laced with authenticity.” –Washington Post

“An exhilarating spy thriller.” –The Nerd Daily
 
“Katsu succeeds brilliantly here in capturing the ambience of espionage in action. Red Widow is a driving, step-by-step procedural bristling with suspenseful authenticity.” –Washington Independent Review of Books

“[Alma Katsu] knows her stuff and already has proven that she can write an engaging thriller….The plot never allows you to catch your breath as the wheels keep turning with every new piece of information uncovered, and nothing is as it appears to be.” –­BookReporter

“Katsu’s real-life experience and skill at maintaining taught, nail-biting tension make Red Widow a standout espionage thriller.” –BookPage (starred review)

“This fast-paced spy thriller offers a seemingly realistic look inside the CIA and raises plenty of questions about the ethics of spying. With a smart, plucky heroine; white-knuckle suspense; multiple twists; and a satisfying conclusion, this is a must for espionage fans.” –Booklist

“Gripping…An intriguing look at the day-to-day office politics and jostling that goes on behind Langley’s walls. Best known for her novels of psychological terror, Katsu shows a sure hand at a new genre.” –Publishers Weekly

“Women serving in the CIA face unique challenges and Alma Katsu’s exhilarating Red Widow captures the reality and nuances with deadly accuracy, style, and truly enjoyable writing. As a former CIA official, Alma writes with welcome insight about the ‘wilderness of mirrors.’” –Valerie Plame, former covert CIA ops officer

“A first-rate thriller. Red Widow provides an intoxicating, insider’s view of the CIA, betrayal, revenge, and espionage at the highest levels and the highest stakes.” –Robert Dugoni, author of The Last Agent

“Superb! Part savvy geopolitical spy thriller in the tradition of John le Carré, part whipsawing investigative procedural, part gripping psychological suspense, Red Widow grabs you in the harrowing opening scene and never lets go—and I don’t mean at the last page; this novel stays with you long after you’ve finished it. Author Katsu brings an incisive and resonant voice to her tale and has populated it with truly distinctive, fully formed characters, including one of the sharpest and most appealing protagonists in recent fiction: Lyndsey Duncan. Did I say superb? Well, consider it said once more.” –Jeffery Deaver, author of The Goodbye Man

“Red Widow is a spy thriller that shines with authenticity and heart.” –Karen Cleveland, author of Need to Know

“Red Widow is a novel only Alma Katsu could have written—a gripping story of secrets and loyalties that nails the brutal tradeoffs involved in high-stakes espionage. Tense, smart, and fearless.” —Joseph Finder, author of House on Fire
Alma Katsu is the award-winning author of five novels, most recently The Deep and The Hunger. Prior to the publication of her first novel, she had a thirty-five-year career as a senior intelligence analyst for several U.S. agencies, including the CIA and NSA, as well as RAND, the global policy think tank. Katsu is a graduate of the master’s writing program at the Johns Hopkins University and received her bachelor’s degree from Brandeis University. She lives outside of Washington, D.C., with her husband, where she is a consultant to government and private industry on future trends and analytic methods.One

NOVEMBER 2018

NEW YORK CITY

The gentleman in seat 2D was in medical distress when he boarded, the flight attendant is sure of it.

He was the first on the plane, leading the rush of premium club members. She noticed he was already having trouble, stumbling in the narrow aisle, sweat visible on his face. He shoved his overnight bag into her arms to stow for him and asked for a drink right away, a vodka neat. She is used to this kind of treatment from business class passengers, especially on this hop from JFK to Reagan National, which is often full of VIPs, senators and businessmen. He looks to her like a politician, the worst of all. She knows better than to argue with him.

She brings him a glass of water, too, even though he didn’t ask for it, in case he needs to cool off or take medication. He’s not in great shape—­three hundred pounds easy, squeezed into a suit at least two sizes too small. His face is pale, but there’s a deep flush creeping up from under his collar.

He grumbles to himself throughout the boarding process, but is otherwise quiet. His cell phone is clutched in one hand as the rest of the passengers squeeze by, his face turned to the tiny window, shunning any possibility of contact. He pays no attention through the safety demon­stration but then again no one does anymore, and the flight attendant stopped taking offense long ago.

As the plane taxis onto the runway, she checks the manifest. His name is Yaromir Popov and he came to JFK via an Aeroflot flight from Heathrow. A Russian businessman, then.

No sooner has the Airbus A330 lifted into the night sky than the Russian starts having problems. From the jump seat in the galley, the flight attendant sees his face has turned bright pink and that he’s having difficulty breathing. Could he be choking on something? He hasn’t pressed the call button so it might just be garden variety anxiety. Takeoffs are the worst for many passengers. She counts the minutes until the fasten seat belt signs go off.

The flight to Washington, D.C., will be quick. Because the plane is barely one-­third full, the airline cut back on flight attendants. Tonight, it’s just her and another woman, the bare minimum. Still, there’s plenty for them to take care of and she doesn’t think about Popov again until it’s time to take drink orders. By then, he’s gotten worse. He is shaking in his seat and on the verge of convulsions. His eyes bulge, and his bright red face is shiny from sweat.

She is glad the cabin is dark and the plane practically empty. She doesn’t want to alarm the rest of the passengers. Most have their heads down anyway, trying to catch a quick nap on the ninety-­minute trip.

She leans over him, bringing her face close to his so she can check for the smell of alcohol. “Are you okay, sir? Is there something I can do for you?”

He opens his mouth but no words come out, only a gurgling, choking noise.

Something’s seriously wrong. Her pulse immediately quickens. She’s never had to give emergency medical aid on a plane and she frantically tries to recall what she’s supposed to do next. Loosen his tie? Check his airway for obstructions? Signal for the other flight attendant to come help her?

Bubbles form in the saliva that coats his lips, like a rabid dog. She darts into the galley for another plastic cup of water which he gulps down greedily but it does nothing to help him to speak. The shaking increases; it is like he is riding his own personal wave of turbulence. There is a strangled look of panic in his eyes—­he knows something is very wrong—­but stubbornly keeps trying to speak, as though he is determined to give a message to her.

Spooked, she leaps to her feet and sprints for the cockpit. She knocks on the door and waits for the click of the lock as it disengages before popping her head in. The pilot and copilot look up at her at the same time without even a hint of curiosity as to why she needs to see them. Maybe they think she is bringing coffee.

“We’ve got a passenger in medical distress. In business class,” she adds, knowing that sometimes makes a difference.

A look of annoyance flits across the pilot’s face. “How bad is he?”

“I don’t know. He seems pretty bad.”

The pilot twists in his seat to look directly at her, like this is her fault. “Do we need to turn back?”

“We’re almost over Trenton,” the copilot says, looking at the instruments. “Even if we turn around, we’d have to circle at JFK for an hour before we could land. It’s only another forty minutes to D.C. We can ask for priority landing and for a medical team to be waiting at the gate.”

She can tell by the glassy look in the pilot’s eyes that his mind is made up. “Yeah, sure, that’s what we’ll do. You”—­he turns to the flight attendant, not having bothered to remember her name—­“keep him as comfortable as possible. See if he can give you anything we can radio on ahead to Washington—­the name of a doctor, what medications he’s on, anything.”

She hesitates. “Could you see if there’s a doctor on the flight?”

Both pilot and copilot exchange glances; it’s the kind of thing they hate to do. It makes the passengers nervous. Ask over the intercom if there’s a doctor on the plane and some passengers immediately assume that Ebola has broken out and start freaking out. But the pilot gives a quick nod.

By the time she gets back, Popov is having a full-­blown seizure. Luckily, after the announcement on the intercom, the flight attendant from economy class came forward to help. She has the confidence of the very young and—­thank goodness—­remembers first aid training from her time as a lifeguard at the town pool. She’s brought the plane’s automated defibrillator with her. The two women huddle over Popov. Given his size, putting him on his side is out of the question, even in the more spacious business class seat. The attendant tucks one of the small, thin pillows under his head and spreads a blanket over him. He’s not cold—­his clothes are soaked through with sweat—­but she does it for privacy more than anything else.

The flight attendant notices a man has crept forward from economy class, watching from a couple seats back. He didn’t announce himself to the attendants so he’s probably not a doctor. He’s just morbidly curious. He is middle-­aged but tough looking, like he’s former military. She holds out hope for a second that he’s an air marshal—­she will take all the help she can get at this point—­but knows they wouldn’t put an air marshal on this flight, not a midnight run.

There is a cold curiosity in his eyes. “Are you a doctor, sir?” she asks.

He says nothing, just gives a curt shake of his head.

“Then would you return to your seat, please?” she asks with only a hint of irritation. People can be unthinkingly rude; she has learned this in her ten years on the job. “We need to give him air.”

After one more look at the sick man over the attendant’s shoulder, the passenger retreats down the aisle.

The attendant turns her attention back to the Russian. She pats his hand. “Mr. Popov, is there someone we can contact for you? Someone waiting for you in D.C.?” She wishes she had thought of this earlier as the Russian is now nearly unconscious. His eyes are rolled back in his head, his face freezing in a rictus of fright and surprise. He is unresponsive to their questions. His hands are balled tightly, his arms and legs rigid and shaking. Worst of all, foam is coming out of his mouth in waves, like a washing machine gone out of control, like something you might see on a television show. She can’t imagine what’s wrong with him; she’s had passengers with food poisoning and one heart attack, but it was mild. She’s never seen anything like this. She is nearly paralyzed from fright.

She glances at her watch. Twenty more minutes. “Hang on, we’re almost there,” she tells him, though she doesn’t think he can hear her.

That’s when she sees the note. A scrap of napkin. She can’t make out what he’s written. It could be a name, but the ink has bled into the napkin’s porous fibers. If he was trying to tell her something, she’s at a loss.

The rest of the trip goes by in a blur. When she sees that he’s slipped into unconsciousness, she and her colleague in economy do as they were trained. One strips the clothing from his upper torso while the other readies at defibrillator. She breathes a silent prayer of thanks for the muscle memory of the classes; it makes what they’re doing now seem less unreal. This is something she can do. She attaches the pads to the man’s chest and side as indicated, sits back on her heels as the machine searches for his pulse. No heartbeat detected. It delivers a shock. The other flight attendant begins CPR and she waits impatiently for her turn as the machine counts off two minutes before it will check again. The pair take turns doing CPR, two cycles, four cycles . . . Before long she is damp with sweat and shaky from nerves as each time the machine says No heartbeat detected and shocks him again . . .

By the time the first wheel touches the ground—­the bounce and sudden deceleration as rubber catches on the second touch—­she is ready to accept that he is gone. If not dead then so far gone that it doesn’t matter.

They will not be able to keep the other passengers on the plane while waiting for the medical crew to remove the body—­they are like thirsty cattle that smell water in the distance—­and so she does her best. The other flight attendant ran down the aisle just before landing to get her cabin ready, leaving her alone with the Russian. She takes a second blanket from the overhead bin and drapes it over Popov so his entire body is covered. She stands in the next seat to block the view as passengers disembark, her knees trembling. They shuffle by quickly, eyes averted, even Mr. Curious, who can’t get off the plane fast enough.

It’s not until the last passenger is gone that the medical crew comes down the jet bridge with a gurney. The crew is nudged aside as the EMTs congregate around the body. The flight attendant stands in the galley, craning her neck to see what’s going on, but the EMTs’ body language is clear: the passenger is gone. The way they handle the body, there can be no doubt, pulling it out from the tight space like a beached whale and then—­drafting in a member of the cleaning crew for assistance—­lugging it over to the gurney. The flight attendant takes one last look at the dead man’s face as they struggle past her. Poor man.

Then she remembers the note. She had left it next to the passenger, thinking that it might come in handy at the hospital. But it’s gone. Disappeared.

Maybe the EMTs took it with them.

Whatever he was trying to tell her, she will never know.US

Additional information

Dimensions	0.8000 × 5.4300 × 8.1800 in
Series	Red Widow
Imprint	G.P. Putnam's Sons
ISBN-13	09780525539421
ISBN-10	0525539425
Author	Alma Katsu
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC031010, FIC006000
Subjects	books fiction, espionage fiction, espionage and spy thrillers, FIC006000, spies, widow, spy thriller, Widows, mystery thriller suspense, fiction books, mysteries and thrillers, crime books, mystery and thriller, crime novels, crime thriller books, spy novels, spy books, spy thrillers, spy novel, spy book, the hunger, thrillers, thriller, spy, fiction, FIC031010, action, suspense, mystery, novels, crime fiction, crime, CIA, espionage, assassin, crime thriller, betrayal, suspense fiction, thriller books, suspense books, suspense thriller books