Need to Know: A Novel (Random House Large Print) - Softcover

Cleveland, Karen

 
9780525587828: Need to Know: A Novel (Random House Large Print)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0525587829 ISBN 13: 9780525587828
Verlag: Random House Large Print, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • FINALIST FOR THE ITW THRILLER AWARD • Perfect husband. Perfect father. Perfect liar?

“Terrific.”—John Grisham
“Superb.”—Lee Child
“Breathtaking, heart-pounding.”—Louise Penny
“A fast-paced, relentlessly gripping read.”—Chris Pavone

Vivian Miller. High-powered CIA analyst, happily married to a man she adores, mother of four beautiful children. Until the moment she makes a shocking discovery that makes her question everything she believes.
 
She thought she knew her husband inside and out. But now she wonders if it was all a lie. How far will she go to learn the truth?  And does she really . . . 
 
. . . NEED TO KNOW?

Film rights sold to Universal Pictures for Charlize Theron • Rights sold in more than 20 markets

“Shaping up to be one of the year’s biggest new thrillers.”—Entertainment Weekly
 
“So timely . . . Think of the perfect mix of Homeland and The Americans. . . . Need to Know needs to be read by all who relish spy novels. As entertaining as it is informative and as irresistible as it is impossible to put down.”—Providence Journal
 
“Pulse-pounding.”—O: The Oprah Magazine
 
“Accomplished . . . a nonstop thriller tapping into a hot mix of contemporary digital counterintelligence, old-school spying and ageless family drama.”—Shelf Awareness

“An early contender for next year’s Gone Girl.”—GQ (UK)
  
“The Russia page-turner that should be on everyone’s list.”—New York Post

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Cleveland is a former CIA analyst. She has master’s degrees from Trinity College Dublin (international peace studies) and Harvard University (public policy). Cleveland lives in northern Virginia with her husband and two young sons. This is her first novel.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Two Days Earlier

Chapter 1

“Bad news, Viv.”

I hear Matt’s voice, words anyone would dread, but a tone that’s reassuring. Light, apologetic. It’s something unfortunate, sure, but it’s manageable. Anything truly bad and his voice would be heavier. He’d use a complete sentence, a complete name. I have some bad news, Vivian.

I hold the phone to my ear with a raised shoulder, swivel my chair to the other side of the L-­shaped desk, to the computer centered under gray overhead bins. I guide the cursor to the owl-­shaped icon on the screen and double-­click. If it’s what I think it is—­what I know it is—­then I only have a bit longer at my desk.

“Ella?” I say. My gaze drifts to one of the crayon drawings tacked to the high cubicle walls with pushpins, a pop of color in this sea of gray.

“A hundred point eight.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. We’ve been expecting it. Half her class has been sick, falling like dominoes, so it was only a matter of time. Four-­year-­olds aren’t exactly the cleanliest bunch. But today? It had to happen today?

“Anything else?”

“Just the temp.” He pauses. “Sorry, Viv. She seemed fine when I dropped her off.”

I swallow past the tightening in my throat and nod, even though he can’t see me. Any other day and he’d pick her up. He can work from home, at least in theory. I can’t, and I used up all my leave when the twins were born. But he’s taking Caleb into the city for the latest round of medical appointments. I’ve been feeling guilty for weeks that I’ll have to miss it. And now I’ll be missing it and still using leave I don’t have.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I say. The rules say we have an hour from the time they call. Factoring in the drive and the walk to my car—­it’s in the outer reaches of Langley’s sprawling parking lots—­that gives me about fifteen minutes to wrap up work for the day. Fifteen minutes less leave to add to my negative balance.

I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen—­seven minutes past ten—­and then my eyes shift to the Starbucks cup beside my right elbow, steam escaping from the hole in the plastic lid. I treated myself, a splurge in celebration of the long-­awaited day, fuel for the tedious hours ahead. Precious minutes wasted in line that could have been spent digging through digital files. Should have stuck to the usual, the sputtering coffee maker that leaves grounds floating at the top of the mug.

“That’s what I told the school,” Matt says. “School” is actually our day care center, the place where our youngest three spend their days. But we’ve been calling it school since Luke was three months old. I’d read it could help ease the transition, lessen the guilt of leaving your baby for eight, ten hours a day. It didn’t, but old habits die hard, I guess.

There’s another pause, and I can hear Caleb babbling in the background. I listen, and I know that Matt’s listening, too. It’s like we’re conditioned to do so at this point. But it’s just vowel sounds. Still no consonants.

“I know today was supposed to be a big day . . . ,” Matt finally says, and trails off. I’m used to the trailing off, the evasive conversations on my open line. I always assume someone’s listening in. The Russians. The Chinese. That’s part of the reason Matt’s the first one the school calls when there’s a problem. I’d rather him filter some of the kids’ personal details from the ears of our adversaries.

Call me paranoid, or just call me a CIA counterintelligence analyst.

But really, that’s about all Matt knows. Not that I’ve been trying in vain to uncover a network of Russian sleeper agents. Or that I’ve developed a methodology for identifying people involved in the highly secretive program. Just that I’ve waited months for this day. That I’m about to find out if two years of hard work is going to pay off. And if I stand a chance at that promotion we desperately need.

“Yeah, well,” I say, moving my mouse back and forth, watching Athena load, the cursor in the shape of a timer. “Caleb’s appointment is what’s important today.”

My eyes drift back to the cubicle wall, the bright crayon drawings. Ella’s, a picture of our family, stick arms and legs protruding straight from six round happy faces. Luke’s, a bit more sophisticated, a single person, thick jagged scribbles to color in hair and clothing and shoes. MOMMY, it says in big capital letters. From his superhero phase. It’s me, in a cape, hands on my hips, an S on my shirt. Supermommy.

There’s a familiar feeling in my chest, the pressure, the overwhelming urge to cry. Deep breaths, Viv. Deep breaths.

“The Maldives?” Matt says, and I feel the hint of a smile creep to my lips. He always does this, finds a way to make me smile when I need it most. I glance at the photograph of the two of us on the corner of my desk, my favorite from our wedding day, almost a decade ago. Both of us so happy, so young. We always talked about going somewhere exotic for our ten-­year anniversary. It’s certainly not in the cards anymore. But it’s fun to dream. Fun and depressing at the same time.

“Bora Bora,” I say.

“I could live with that.” He hesitates, and in the gap I hear Caleb again. More vowel sounds. Aah-­aah-­aah. In my head, I’m calculating the months Chase has already been making consonant sounds. I know I shouldn’t—­all the doctors say I shouldn’t—­but I am.

“Bora Bora?” I hear from behind me, faux-­incredulous. I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and turn. It’s Omar, my FBI counterpart, an amused expression on his face. “That one might be hard to justify, even for the Agency.” He breaks into a grin. Infectious as ever, it brings one to my own face, as well.

“What are you doing here?” I say, my hand still covering the mouthpiece. I can hear Caleb babbling in my ear. O’s this time. Ooh-­ooh-­ooh.

“Had a meeting with Peter.” He takes a step closer, perches on the edge of my desk. I can see the outline of his holster at his hip, through his T-­shirt. “The timing may or may not have been a coincidence.” He glances at my screen and the grin fades ever so slightly. “It was today, right? Ten a.m.?”

I look at my screen, dark, the cursor still in the shape of a timer. “It was today.” The babbling in my ear has gone quiet. I roll my chair so that I’m turned, just a touch, away from Omar and remove my hand from the mouthpiece. “Honey, I have to go. Omar’s here.”

“Tell him I said hi,” Matt says.

“Will do.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I set the phone down on its base and turn back to Omar, who’s still sitting on my desk, denim-­clad legs outstretched, feet crossed at the ankles. “Matt says hi,” I tell him.

“Aaah, so he’s the Bora Bora connection. Planning a vacation?” The grin’s back, full force.

“In theory,” I say with a half-­hearted laugh. It sounds pathetic enough that I can feel color rise to my cheeks.

He looks at me for a moment longer, then thankfully down at his wrist. “All right,...

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Verlag
Random House Large Print
Erscheinungsdatum
2018
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0525587829
ISBN 13 
9780525587828
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
384
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Purmerul LTD
https://strengholt.nl/en/

22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9
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Bulgarien

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