Page 51 of Lone Spy

We are both seated in high-backed chairs, Temperance the tip of our triangle on a padded bench.

"I appreciate you taking the time to come and meet me," Ms. Levi says.

"To be fair, I didn't know I was meeting you." I give her a smile—sorry, but I’m not going to kiss your ass.

Ms. Levi's own smile widens as if she appreciates the honesty. I had a feeling that's what she would want. She may enjoy men groveling but not women. Especially not women she is going to ask for help.

Whatever she wants from me is dangerous and illegal and we both know it.

The woman who greeted us reappears. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I'll have a caffè, Martina,” Ms. Levi says. She looks to me.

"The same, thank you."

Temperance stands. "Let me help you," he offers. Martina nods her agreement. They leave us.

Rebecca Levi’s full focus falls on me. "I appreciate your trusting Temperance enough to come tonight."

"He seems to have a lot of faith in you," I say, ignoring the implication that I have faith in him.

"Yes, well." She cocks her head to the side, humor lighting her gaze. "He's a smart man." She winks and I can't help but let out a short laugh.

"Ms. Levi?—"

"Call me Rebecca."

"Rebecca, why am I here?" More not beating around the bush. More not bullshitting. There are no men here we need to make sure don't feel threatened by our directness.

"From what I understand, you and President Grand have a tense relationship."

"Tense." I huff a laugh. "We have a mutual destruction pact." Though, at this point, I doubt I could hurt him. My story would be just another scream in the cacophony.

"So you're hoping for a change in the administration?”

"I'd pray for it if I believed in a God who answered such requests."

"I'd like you to help me win." It feels like I just stepped on a landmine and moving could get me blown up. So I don't. "Grand has allies working on his behalf—disinformation is a powerful thing."

"Yes," I agree. "But I'm not sure how I can help with that."

"Truth is—" She opens her hands, gesturing to the sides.Truth is something we can't define.

My smile is brittle. I know she's right and I hate it. Truth is supposed to be ultimate. But reality refuses to play by the rules of evidence.

"Perception has more power." I shrug as if that's a truth I don't mind. It's certainly one I've managed to use to my advantage.

"Grand is in trouble—if he doesn't win, he faces indictments on several fronts, including the emoluments clause and treason." I stay very still on my unexploded landmine. She smiles, soft and kind, like she can see it. Like she wants to help me off without either of us losing a limb. "You don't look surprised by that."

"I follow the news. The accusations of election interference from Russia have been widely reported.” I blink away the images that try to spring forward—the blood and brains of Vladimir Petrov spattered all over my bedroom. "And I understand there are accusations that Grand is profiting from his position through his businesses.” Temperance returns with three little cups brimming with crème-topped espressos on a tray. “As you said, facts are not the problem. Belief is.”

Rebecca takes one of the drinks and offers it to me. “Facts matter in a court of law—a place Grand can end up if he loses the election, one he will surely avoid if he wins.” She sips her espresso before continuing. The crèma lines her lips for a brief moment before she licks it off. “He and his allies are working hard to insure that Grand wins this election. And that he won't have to surrender power when his next term expires. If we don’t stop him now, we may not get another chance.”

A pit opens in my stomach. I know the man has ambitions of dictatorship—no one working so closely with the Kremlin is going to feel constrained by democratic rules. People who believe in a government of, by, and for the people don’t claim it can’t survive without a strongman. But hearing it said out loud always makes me feel sick. "Do you honestly think that’s possible?" I ask.

"Nothing is impossible." Rebecca smiles at me like that's a good thing. Temperance puts the tray aside and settles back onto his bench. He watches us over the rim of his cup, his silent observation making my skin itch.

I meet his gaze. "What do you think?" I ask.

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