City of Spies (34 page)

While her attention was on Vogel, Dieter surged toward her. He was faster than she thought possible.

She caught the movement in the corner of her eye, and turned to lift the knife. He didn't seem to care. His face was a grimace of anger and hate. His large hands reached for her throat.

One stab wasn't going to stop him. She raised the knife and slashed. He ducked and got one hand on her knife arm, forcing it down, the other reaching for her neck. He was going to choke the life from her. Beside them both, on the altar, Naomi was kicking and yelling, unable to get free. Somewhere behind them, Mercedes was standing up, pulling free of the rope that tied her to the pillar.

Pagan twisted her wrist against Dieter's grip and kicked his thigh, missing the more tender area she'd been aiming for. Again. Damn it, she didn't want to die at the hands of this jackass.

Something cracked loudly behind her. Dieter's right eye was gone. A red hole had taken its place, and something redder spewed out the back of his head.

Naomi Schusterman screamed.

Dieter fell over backward, his face frozen in its mask of hate.

Poor Emma.

Pagan looked back at Alaric Vogel.

“You're welcome,” he said in English, his pistol still smoking.

“Get him!” Wolfgang yelled over by the fire, and all nine young men, wounded and otherwise, surged forward.

Alaric Vogel calmly began firing, and Wolfgang went down, clutching his side. Another boy fell, and the others spread out, taking cover. So much for not killing anyone.

There wasn't time to feel bad about it. Pagan tugged Naomi's leg free of the last rope. “Run!” she said.

But Naomi was already up and off the altar. Pagan ran, head low, around the altar to avoid the charging boys, over to Mercedes, who was hopping toward her. She'd worked the gag off from around her mouth, and said, “My feet!”

Pagan resisted the urge to throw her arms around her friend and fell to her feet, sawing at the ropes around them.

More shots echoed through the vaulted chamber. Pagan didn't bother to count. Mercedes's feet were free. Pagan steadied her, hand under her elbow, and they ran for the stairs.

The shooting had stopped. Pagan pushed Mercedes in front of her up the last few steps and took a moment to look back for Alaric Vogel.

He was calmly shoving another magazine of bullets into his gun as three of Dieter's gang left their hiding places and ran for him.

He shot one down before a second one tackled him.

“Keep going!” Pagan shouted to Mercedes, putting the knife in one of her bound hands, and ran back down the stairs.

The third boy had piled onto Vogel, as well, trying to take his gun away. Pagan sprinted for the glowing brand, lying where Dieter had dropped it. Dieter's padded glove lay a few feet away.

She slipped on the glove and grabbed the end of the brand. She could see two other boys skulking in the shadows, not brave or stupid enough to emerge.

Vogel had kicked one boy between the legs and was wrestling with the other. She couldn't see the gun, but she recognized Vogel's gray trench-coated back as he rolled. She danced a few steps to the side, waiting. As they rolled again, she raised the brand and, using it like a club, whacked the other boy on the back of his head.

He made a guttural sound, and his grip went slack. Smoke rose from his hair, where the brand had touched.

Vogel pushed him aside and got to his feet, still holding his gun.

“Time to go,” Pagan said, and, dropping the brand, she bolted for the stairs again, not looking back.

There were people in the tunnel. The headlights were shining in her face. The voices were speaking in English, and relief washed over her so strongly her knees turned to jelly.

She squinted into the light, putting up a hand to her forehead to see. “Mercedes? Where's Mercedes?”

“Pagan.” A man's voice, tinged with a Scots accent. “We've got them both. They're all right.”

She stopped and smiled weakly at the lean silhouette jogging toward her. “Sorry,” she said. “I've been coloring outside the lines again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Buenos Aires,
Argentina
January 13 and 14, 1962

VIBORITA

Little viper. A back and forth slithering motion with the leg.

Devin was angry with her, although he said nothing. She could tell from the way he curtly waved off the driver as they exited the car and in the tone of his voice as he spoke into the phone to make sure Mercedes was okay.

Mercedes hadn't been happy with her, either. She'd accepted Pagan's hug before the cops put her in a car and took her to the hospital, and she'd nodded when Pagan sobbed, “I'm sorry, it's all my fault,” but she hadn't said a word.

Not that Pagan blamed her. Mercedes had wanted to leave her violent old life far behind. Instead, Pagan had dragged her into something even worse.

At least she wasn't injured. The boys hadn't molested her or beaten her beyond a few blows. Devin thought they'd spiked her breakfast with a powerful sleeping drug, then broken into the suite, expecting to find Pagan, and found Mercedes instead. After they'd released Mercedes from the hospital, she told Pagan she needed to be alone and went into her room in their suite and shut the door.

Pagan didn't blame her one bit. Still, she wished M would talk to her.

Now it was Devin who wasn't talking to her. Or anything.

“I'm sorry,” she said as Devin hung up. They were in his suite. “I really am.”

“I'm not angry with you,” he said, pacing by the bed, where she was sitting, kicking her feet.

“Like hell you're not,” she said, drumming her fingers. She was jittery. She wanted him to hurry up and forgive her, touch her, make her forget about the events of the night for a little while. “Should I go to my room?”

“I'm not angry at you for saving Mercedes and Naomi,” he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. “That was brave, and calling upon Alaric Vogel to help you was dangerous but brilliant.”

“I still can't believe he helped me,” she said. Compliments were nice, but she didn't want to talk about what happened. “I wonder how he got away without you finding him. Maybe there are other tunnels in or out of that sunken church.”

“He'll be an excellent agent for the Stasi,” Devin said. “Assuming they don't find out he risked himself to help you tonight and execute him.”

“They won't,” she said. He wouldn't look her in the eye. “If you're not angry with me, then why aren't you over here right now, taking my clothes off?”

“I'm not angry with you.” He stopped and lifted his gaze to hers. “I'm furious.”

“You said you weren't!”

He sighed. “You've become far too used to acting on your own. That's not how a good agent works. This is the second bloody day in a row you ran off like that, Pagan. You're part of the team. And you should have waited until you had your team to support you.”

“That would've been too late!” She fell back on the bed, her feet dangling off the edge. “Naomi would've been branded or worse, and Mercedes would be dead by then. Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Dieter's death and the injuries to the other boys will be officially blamed on a rival gang, but that could lead to more reprisals against the Israelis.”

“The Israelis will figure out I was involved,” she said. “Naomi will tell them.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “The Israelis probably already know all about you working for us. If the CIA hasn't told them already, they'll figure it out for themselves.”

“What about Emma?” Pagan's heart ached for that girl right now. “Now that Dieter's dead, what's going to happen to her?”

“She's sixteen, so she might be allowed to act as her own guardian. Otherwise, I think she still has cousins in Germany.”

“She's all alone in the world now.” Pagan stopped kicking her feet. She knew how that was.

“Stop trying to distract me.” Devin stalked over to the edge of the bed to stare down at her. “Ten men, Pagan. You went up against ten men, alone.”

It did seem stupid when he put it like that, and if you didn't know the outcome.

She looked up at him frowning down at her. His tie had come loose from his jacket and dangled over her. “I didn't mean to. Can we stop going over all the bad things that could've happened? Because they didn't.”

“Even though you had Vogel's help, Dieter nearly got to you,” he said. “There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity.”

She reached up and grabbed his tie. “You get angry when you're worried,” she said. “It's cute.”

His expression didn't relax, but he didn't pull away. “I may have to recommend we give you no more missions,” he said. “You're too unpredictable.”

She shrugged and tugged on the tie, pulling him toward her. “Very well.” It was something her mother often said, in a very final tone. Pagan gave it a lilt at the end and a smile.

He didn't fight her, but put his hands down on the bed on either side of her head to keep from falling into her. “I mean it. I'm officially telling them you're unreliable. I won't be coming to you for help again.”

“Fair enough,” she said, releasing the tie and raising herself up on her elbows, so that their faces were only an inch apart. “Any chance you'll be coming to me for something else?”

That made his lips twist as he tried not to smile. She pushed herself up and kissed his neck.

“Miss Jones,” he said, his voice huskier. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

She tugged his tie loose and kissed up his throat to his mouth. His lips opened beneath hers, one of his arms curled around her back and he rolled down onto the bed, pulling her on top of him.

“I'm still angry,” he said as she sat up and pulled his tie loose.

“Uh-huh.” She unbuttoned his shirt so she could run her fingers over his warm skin.

He lifted both hands and ripped her shirt open. The buttons went flying.

She gasped, jolted with desire. He sat up beneath her and kissed her with a ferocity that turned her bones to putty. Her bra was off. Her bare breasts brushed against his chest and she reached down to unbuckle his belt.

An image of Naomi Schusterman, the front of her dress ripped, tied to the altar, flashed into her mind.

She shrank from it.
Not now, not now.

“What is it?” Devin said, concerned. His touch became gentle. “Are you all right?”

She climbed off him, trying not to breathe too quickly. Why did it feel like the walls were closing in?

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I saw Naomi again for a second, on the altar. Dieter was going to put a brand on her, right here.” She covered her breasts with her hands. “I'm sorry.”

He got to his feet and put a hand to her cheek. “Shh, now, don't be sorry,
mo gràdh
,” he said, his voice so Scottish, so soothing. He tenderly took her in his arms and pulled her close. “I'm sorry. I should have realized.”

She pressed herself into him. “I didn't want to think about it. I don't ever want to think about it.”

“It only just happened,” he said. “It must have been awful, but try to remember that Naomi Schusterman is home safe with her family now. Mercedes is flying home tomorrow and you're safe, too.”

“I didn't stop to think about it at the time,” she said. “So why would I think about it now? This doesn't mean I don't want to be with you.”

“I know,” he said. “It's not required, you know.”

“But we might not have a lot of days left before I have to go back,” she said. “And I don't know when I'll see you again, so I wanted to be with you as much as possible.”

“You are with me now,” he said. “It's okay to need some love and care, Pagan. It's a grievous world and sometimes we must grieve.”

He led her over to the bed and she got in with him under the covers, snuggling in close. “Can we stay here forever?” she asked.

“Let's pretend we can,” he said. “You've seen enough ugliness for one lifetime. Try to be more of a spoiled movie star after this, will you?”

She chortled. “It's a challenge, but I'll see what I can do.”

* * *

In the morning, Devin got off a call with someone that was probably Reggie Pope, and slammed the receiver down. “It's confirmed. That minger Von Albrecht is taking the deal from the CIA to go back to working on our nuclear program, under special guard, once he's feeling better.” He looked at Pagan. “Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” she said. Her heart had started hammering inside her, hard. So much for trust in her own government, in anything, really. What a fool she'd been to ever get involved in any of this. “But it's horseshit, as Bennie Wexler would say.”

“I'm pure scunnert with them myself,” he said, and when she shot him a puzzled look, added, “I'm fed up with them. Pope says they're not going to give you your mother's file. Even after all you've done.”

“Damn it.” It wasn't a surprise, really. Anger stirred, but she'd worn out her rage with overuse. So the CIA had strung her along, used her and now wouldn't give her what she wanted. Why should they? If they were capable of coddling a man like Von Albrecht, they were capable of anything.

“Are you all right?” he asked, jacket in hand, coming over to the side of the bed to touch her face.

“I don't know,” she said, and she didn't. She felt oddly blank inside. “That's all I wanted—to know why Mama killed herself. But maybe I'm getting used to not getting what I want.” She took his hand. “Well, I was lucky enough to get you, wasn't I?”

He leaned down to kiss her hand before putting on his jacket. “I wish I didn't have to go in and watch Von Albrecht today of all days,” he said. “Right now I'd like to punch Reggie Pope in the throat and sic Rocket on Von Albrecht all over again.”

But he wouldn't. He was a good soldier, Devin. He'd do his duty.

And Rocket was safe in her suite with Mercedes. The concierge was arranging for her to take the dog back with her to Los Angeles on a flight this afternoon.

“Try not to poison Von Albrecht accidentally,” Pagan said, forcing herself to smile up at him as Devin came in for a goodbye kiss. “Or push him off any cliffs.”

As he left, Pagan's heart was still pumping as if she'd been dancing with Fred Astaire. It kept thumping away as she went back to her own suite.

Mercedes was packing her suitcase, Rocket curled up on the foot of her bed.

“Did you let him sleep on the bed with you last night?” Pagan asked, sitting next to the dog to pet his healing head while his tail thumped on the bedspread.

“Did Devin let you sleep in the bed with him last night?” Mercedes countered. She hadn't met Pagan's eye yet. She really hadn't said much of anything.

In spite of her concern over her friend, Pagan couldn't help remembering how it had been in that bed with Devin last night.

They'd made up for lost time in the middle of the night with the sweetest, sleepiest lovemaking she could've imagined. She'd told him that she was off the movie, and he'd shyly asked if she wouldn't mind staying a few more days so he could see her. She'd joyfully agreed.

So she should have been glowing with happiness as she made everything okay with Mercedes once again.

Instead, this strange thumping rhythm kept pounding in her head, invading her chest. All she could think about was Mercedes, tied to a pillar. Naomi, bruised and bound. Dieter's fault, yes. But he was Von Albrecht's creation. He was the one who had tortured animals and people, planned to kill millions and created a monster like Dieter. And the worst he would suffer was to be forced back to work in the US, maybe with a guard by his side. It was eating at her, sucking the life and color from everything else in the world.

Mercedes stopped shoving her stockings into a lingerie bag and looked at her at last. “What's wrong?”

“My head is pounding,” Pagan said. “I'm so worried about you, and how you are. And ever since Devin told me about Von Albrecht not being punished for anything this morning, I can't stop thinking about it.”

“You probably need a nap and some peace and quiet after all this craziness. I know I do.”

“Maybe.” Pagan conjured up a half smile. “I don't blame you for hating me right now, M. But please don't move out before I get back, or anything like that.”

Mercedes sat down heavily on the other side of Rocket and put a hand on his back next to Pagan's. “I don't hate you,” she said. “I don't even blame you. I just want to get away from this place as fast as possible.”

“Of course.” Pagan felt a small weight lift. M didn't hate her guts. She could figure anything else out. “Thanks for taking Rocket.”

“Thanks for finding him.” Mercedes gave her a small, rare smile. “Remember how I said we needed a big dog back home?”

That's right, she had. Pagan patted Rocket again. “He's quite the guard dog, too. You should've seen him tear into Von Albrecht.”

M nodded, her smile fading. “Let's hope he gets to lead a nice quiet life from now on.”

“Yeah.” Pagan did hope that, for Rocket, and for Mercedes. But she didn't feel that way herself right now. Right now she wanted to tear the lid off the world.

“I'm crazy restless for some reason,” she said. “I need to get outside, move.”

“You always did hate being boxed in,” Mercedes said. “Go, walk. See you before I go to the airport?”

“I'm going there with you, silly,” Pagan said. “I'll be back soon.”

She grabbed her purse and left the suite, barely seeing the gilded hallway as she paced down it to the elevator. The pounding in her head didn't hurt, really. She didn't have a headache so much as a heart problem. Or maybe she was going crazy.

She had her head down, thinking hard. Behind her, someone followed, his footsteps moving in perfect rhythm with her own.