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on the top floor. We’ve kept it since.”
Natasha struggled to control herself. “How far is it from where I’ll be working?”
“Twenty-five minutes by bike,” he said, moving the video feed to the garage. “ Which is a fifteen-speed Fuji you see here, beside the car. Your car.”
Natasha squinted at the screen. In the lower corner of the picture behind the red bike with the sleek titanium frame protruded a yellow fender. Could it be?
“Is that a Subaru?” she asked cautiously. It couldn’t be.
Igor consulted his paper file and flipped over a page. “Yes. It says WRX-51, whatever that is.”
Natasha sucked in her breath. The Subaru WRX-51, right out of the showroom without any modifications, was supposedly the fastest car ever made. She had never seen one, but recognized the sleek fender from magazine pictures.
“My car?” she asked cautiously.
“Of course. It goes with the apartment.”
“Looks functional,” she managed to say.

“We like to keep our best agents happy,” Igor said. “Of course, there are other options.” He clicked the video to a quite different neighborhood.
“This is Dorchester .” The camera panned a street of houses in various states of disrepair, with mostly black people staring suspiciously at the camera.
“This neighborhood?” Natasha said almost in disbelief. “We have a house here?”
“This one,” Igor said, zooming in on a corner house. The first floor was ugly brick with rusted but solid-looking iron grating. “As secure as the one on the Charles, if not more so. Nobody expects an Agency operative to live here, of course, so it’s a wonderful cover. If anybody suspects you of being Agency all you have to do is let them follow you home one night and they’ll be cured.” He chuckled.
“How far is this from my work?”
“Half an hour, in good traffic.”
“And the car?”
“It’s on a bus and subway line,” Igor said. “Most convenient. Although we can arrange to lease a Trabant for you should you fill out the necessary paperwork. ”
“Given the sensitive nature of my work…”
“Yes, yes, you need the apartment on the Charles. Fancy. I’m so surprised you should think so, Comrade Nikitin.” He clicked back to the first apartment, and let the video run as the camera panned from the heavy wood door of the apartment with beveled stained glass to the restaurants and markets within easy walking distance of the apartment. White mothers and Hispanic nannies played with children along Commonwealth Avenue . Outdoor cafés were busy with what looked like foreign exchange students from Italy , Spain and Scandinavian countries laughing over drinks. The screen showed clothing boutiques and homemade ice cream shops a few minutes walk from the apartment…
“I said , do you have a preference?”
“I, I think the first apartment would be more suitable to my mission,” Natasha said.
“Oh I’m not sure,” Igor said, pausing the video on the view from the back den of the Charles River . “As you know, I have complete discretion in the assignment of housing for Northeast District operatives.
“I would think you could influence my choice,” Igor said. “You see, I don’t get to the Northeast District much, but when I do I like having a place to stay.”
“Of course,” Natasha said.
“I prefer to stay at the Charles River location, as it’s closer to the airport and, as you say, generally more convenient to my mission in Boston . I don’t mind sharing it with you so long as when I’m in town you don’t mind sharing it with me. Make it seem a little less…lonely.” He began caressing her shoulder.
“So show me how you share,” Igor said, moving his hand down Natasha’s blouse. “Good working relations are–yow!” He jumped up, his cheek stinging. Natasha stood across from him, hands held in the defensive posture she’d learned at the academy.
“You know, I could send you to gulag for that,” he snarled. “I could throw your potato-eater of a sister