Neither felt like a choice.
That’s when I realized I needed to talk to Pavel alone, away from Dmitri and FSB surveillance. If I’m going to make aninformed decision about my future, I need to understand what my handlers expect from me.
The abandoned warehouse district sprawls before me like a concrete graveyard. Perfect location for a clandestine meeting between operatives who don’t want their conversation recorded.
I texted Pavel two hours ago using the secure number he gave me, and he agreed to meet without asking questions.
Smart man.
He knows this conversation was inevitable.
I spot his familiar figure leaning against a shipping container near the river, and my stomach churns with anxiety. The last time we spoke, I was still pretending to be the confused amnesia victim.
Now, I have to drop the act.
“Agent Sidorov.” His voice is stripped of the concern Pavel the consultant once showed. “I wondered when you’d seek me out.”
“So, you knew.”
“I suspected. Your responses were too sophisticated for someone with genuine memory loss. You were testing me as much as I was testing you.”
“I need to know my options. My memories are back, I know who I am, and I need to understand what the FSB expects of me.”
“You’ve been compromised beyond hope of operational recovery. The question is whether you’re ready to accept extraction or if we need to implement alternative measures.”
Alternative measures.
FSB-speak for eliminating assets who’ve become liabilities.
“I remember my mission parameters. I remember Operation Nightfall. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t extract me the second you found out where I was. Why are my handlers treating me like a threat instead of a victim who needs rescue?”
Pavel brings his hands around his back and starts to circle me. “Because extraction would’ve blown surveillance on Kozlov. Your amnesia gave us the perfect chance to watch him through someone he trusted.”
“So, you turned my trauma into an intelligence operation.”
“We capitalized on an unexpected opportunity. But somewhere along the line, you stopped being a victim and became a willing participant.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Since the moment you woke up in the hospital bed. Viktor wanted real-time intelligence on your recovery and your relationship with Kozlov.”
“And what did you report?”
“That you’ve been emotionally compromised beyond hope of professional recovery. That Agent Sidorov has developed genuine feelings for her target and can no longer be trusted to act in the FSB’s interests.”
“Those feelings developed while I had amnesia. I wasn’t making conscious choices about my emotional responses. I was a blank slate responding to the only person showing me kindness.”
Even as I say the words, I know they’re not entirely true.
The connection I felt with Dmitri went deeper than gratitude or trauma bonding, but admitting that to Pavel would only confirm his assessment of my compromise.
Pavel stops circling and faces me. His eyes hold none of the warmth I remember from our interactions at the estate. This is Agent Romanov, my former partner, and he’s looking at me like I’m a stranger.
“The FSB invested three years training you for deep cover operations. We spent eighteen months preparing Operation Nightfall. We placed you in a position to bring down one of Moscow’s most dangerous criminal organizations.”
“And I gathered enough intelligence to complete that mission. The explosion temporarily destroyed my memory, not my commitment to the operation.”
“Your commitment?” Pavel barks out a laugh. “You’ve been sleeping with the target for weeks. You’ve integrated yourself into his organization as his wife. You’ve actively protected him from government surveillance.”
