The Kremlin's Candidate Quotes

“I have consulted the Gregorian, Julian, and Coptic calendars and conclude there is not enough time before the next solstice for me to enumerate the ways you have been stupid,”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until you hear them speak,”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Gondorf, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce,”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Perhaps I will have a bakery someday named Dominika’s, she thought. Idiot you don’t know how to bake.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“She hoped she would be lying on a sun-drenched veranda somewhere tropical, sipping rum while Nate painted her toenails Island Pink and, maybe, she dreamed, with a little girl at their feet chattering to her dolls in Russian and English. Would my children be synesthetes? What would Nate say after all these years of keeping the secret? Would we be happy together? Will it ever happen?”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“You’re safe now,” he whispered to her.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“They all knew Nate was spoony over Dominika and dreamed of settling down with her behind a white-picket fence.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“On his return lo Langley, there would be medals, a promotion, choice of assignments, but in reality his career would be over. He would be considered too burned coverwise and too burned out psychologically. By then, he daydreamed, Dominika might be finished at SVR and would be ready to retire and disappear into idyllic resettlement with Nate. It was a hell of a long way around to finally start a new life together, but it would be worth the wait.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nate craned his head to see. The woman was Dominika, dressed in a dark suit and dark stockings, a prison-visitor’s badge was around her neck, and it swung as she walked, her heels clicking unevenly against the white floor tiles because of her slight limp. It was like a dream seeing her now, here, like this. Her hair was up as always, and their eyes met for an instant. It would have been the most natural thing for her to walk up to his chair, kiss him on the lips, order his bonds cut, and walk him out of this basement and through the front gates while holding his hand. She’d give him some khren, some grief, like “Dushka, you cannot manage even this without my help?”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nate heard a chair scrape behind him and willed Dominika to stay still. How long could she last? How long would Domi stay in her seat? Come on, baby, hang tough.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“It is an axiom of our profession that this work is experiential; one is not born to it, one becomes more skillful with time.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“What is over the ocean for you, Nate? What is in your heart? “A woman far away,” he said, his eyes still closed.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Beris druzhno, ne budet gruzno,” said Nate in Russian. If all of us take hold of it together, it won’t feel heavy. Piotr clapped Nate on the shoulder. “Now I will buy you a drink,” he said.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“BLOKHIN’S KOREAN BARBECUED RIBS Rinse flanken-style ribs in cold water. In a separate bowl, mix soy sauce, brown sugar, rice wine, sesame oil, black pepper, and cayenne. Combine onion, garlic, pears, and ginger, and process to a smooth purée, then add to the soy mixture. Add toasted sesame seeds and a splash of water to thin. Pour marinade over ribs and toss to cover. Chill overnight, then bring to room temperature and discard marinade. Grill or broil until caramelized. Serve on lettuce leaves with ssamjang paste, pickled peppers, kimchi, cucumber salad, and steamed rice.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Gable often said Gondorf couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the sole.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“bumps, dangles, peddlers, old whores, burn notices, drops, caches, headhunters, scalps, dry cleaning, rabbits, chicken feed, barium enemas, 201s, PRQs, natural reverses, flipping, fluffing, fluttering,”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nash is one of the best,” said Forsyth helpfully. “He’ll get through. The son of a bitch has one advantage: he loves her.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nash, I suggest you prepare ro crash President Putin’s party.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“GEORGIAN BEET SALAD Put boiled beets, pitted prunes, garlic, walnuts, and sour cream in a food processor and pulse to a grainy paste. Garnish with rough-chopped walnuts and cilantro. Serve with crusty bread.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nate’s always trying to get me to defect. Okay, lover boy, come rescue me.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Dominika would break a vase over his head when (if) she saw him next, but she realized she still loved him; he had said he loved “a woman far away”, which she knew meant her. She was the first person he thought about from his Yab Yum-addled subconscious.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“In the living room, Nate found a cabinet with an old-fashioned turntable and a stack of LPs and Dominika said, “that one” —Schubert piano waltzes—and Nate sat in the dark while Dominika stood in the moonlight, pinned her hair up, and pulled the shirt over her head. She was moon-bright naked, eyes closed, and motionless in profile, something Minoan on an amphora, listening to the music, seeing the capering stepladders of colors in the air. She started dancing, slowly at first, then with strength, up on the balls of her feet, her calf muscles bunching, hands allongé and delicate, following the colors. He watched her ribcage expand, the scars crisscrossed silver in the moonlight, marking with an X the position of her heart. The cords of her neck stood out when she bent her neck.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“You know perhaps better than most, what he would have told you right now. He would have told you to do your job, protect your asset, get the intel, and set up the next contact. I would add that you should make him as proud of you as he always was.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nate was sitting in the relative dark of the room, doors open, the long gauzy sheers floating in the wind. He peripherally registered movement on the lawn. It was Dominika, holding a small case in her hand. She had somehow gotten through the gate and come around the side of the house. Two hours early. Nate dis not move, watching her through the French doors. She faced the water, dropped her bag, shook out her hair in the breeze, and looked at a freighter thrumming down the channel. She lifted one foot, then the other, slipping sandals off her feet. Her dark-blue summer dress billowed in the breeze, right out of Wuthering Heights. Nate walked to the open door and leaned against the frame. “I’m sorry, but the property is not for sale,” he said. Dominika did not turn, but continued to look at the water. “Are you the owner?” said Dominika over her shoulder. “I represent the owners,” said Nate, stepping down to the grass and walking up behind her. “Are you sure they will not consider selling?” she said. She turned around and brushed wind-blown hair off her face. She took a step toward him. They were inches apart. “How much are you willing to offer?” said Nate. “For a view like this, price is no object,” said Dominika. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Nate lightly held her waist. They stood like that for a long minute, then Dominika stepped back and wiped her wet cheek. “Kak ty?” she wispered, in Russian, how are you? “Privet,” said Nate, Hi. “I missed you.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Nate’s halo was faded and waning. “Is something bothering you?” she asked. Nate buried his head in his tablet. “What?” he said. “You’re acting strangely.” She wondered if she would ever tell him about the colors. She decided to try to distract him. “You should try stretching, to relax, like we did in ballet.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“In Russia, people who do not fit into familiar categories are usually dangerous and best left alone.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“Dark ancillary thoughts emerged: could either of them live without the sustaining excitement of this work, the knife-edge bustle of the street, the adrenaline high of stealing secrets from an implacable foe? What would their retired life be like? Would they look at the snowy Rockies from the porch of a log cabin? Or eat breakfast on a white balcony overlooking Biscayne Bay? Or throw another log on the fire in a cozy New England farmhouse? A conjugal dream or a constricting nightmare? Could either of them survive retirement? Gable always said that spooks dried up and died when they left the Game. Most Russian defectors went around the bend away from the Rodina; they missed the Motherland, the black earth, and the pine forests. Could he do that to her, to himself? Jesus, maybe he had scared himself straight, maybe she’d see the light too. Maybe they would move to the next chaste and professional level of superasset and sagacious handler, coolly taking care of business against Vladimir Putin and his predatory kleptocracy. Maybe.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“The familiar passion was there: he couldn’t feel his tongue and there was a numb spot on the point of his chin. But Gable’s face kept intruding. Now his resolve to stay professional, for her sake as well as his, was also for the memory of Gable. She straightened, brought her legs up and hugged her knees, and blinked at him again. Dominika saw the pulsing purple halo around his head and shoulders, and was worried that he had changed, that he was tired of her intransigence, or that his disciplinary troubles had finally oxidized his love for her. She had not changed her view that, despite the senior CIA men’s protestations, their love affair was acceptable, something that sustained her, a justifiable departure from the rules of tradecraft and agent handling. Bozhe, God, she wanted him. The expectation of being with him had grown when she had boosted herself over the wall of the villa this morning. The Sparrow tagline No. 99, “A whistling samovar never boils over,” came to mind. But the decorous Russian in her would not be so nekulturny, so base as to stand up in front of him now, shrug the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, and step out of her dress. She would not push him back on the couch, with her hands on his chest, and trail her breasts across his face. No, she wouldn’t. They looked at each other shakily through the midday light.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“He walked around the table and stepped up to the counter between her dangling legs. He put his hands on her shoulders and without artifice, pecked her on the mouth. The brotherly kiss had her lips tingling. Was he teasing her, spinning her up? She watched him, assessing the purple around his head and shoulders. Was he trying to act professionally and not make the first gesture? Was he testing her? She caught herself swinging her legs faster in agitation. Do not be nekulturny, she told herself.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate

“A burned hand did it. The fractured levee of their resolve having collapsed under the floodwater of their passion, Dominika grasped Nate’s wrist as if she feared he would escape, and led him up the marble staircase to one of the peacock-blue bedrooms. She stood stock-still, her eyes closed, and felt him undress her. Dominika gently pushed Nate onto the bed and showed him No. 47, “Ships passing in the night.” Her breath was hot onto his thigh as she finally quivered and whispered da, and rolled off him, groaning. Nate lost count of how many times Dominika stuttered da, da, da that golden afternoon, her wild hair spread on the pillow, her breasts heaving, her arms hugging herself to stop the convulsions.”
― Jason Matthews, The Kremlin's Candidate