She crossed her legs. “Suppose,” she said, “suppose I say no.”
“That would be very ungrateful ” he replied reproachfully. “And not practical. After tonight.”
Her fingers lightened around her glass.
“You see, Laurie, what would Washington make of a photo showing you letting me into your apartment in your nigh/clothes?’ The lips were still smiling.
“That’s that’s rubbish,” she gasped.
“Not really,” he went on softly. “That couple outside Waiting for the elevator. Actually, friends of mine. They took a picture. It will be adequate, I assure you. And how
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will you explain Ivanov the spy being welcomed by you in that “
He waved a hand airily at her attire. Nervously, she suddenly fastened the top button of her pajama jacket where he had been looking at her cleavage.
“I am sorry,” he said, quite sincerely. “But you know it’s true. Nothing is for nothing.”
She stood up and faced him. “I never want to see you again,” she declared.
He also rose and bowed rather gently. “You see, that’s what I meant,” he said. “One sacrifices such beautiful relationships in the line of duty. Of course, we will meet again, and when it’s not me, it will be somebody else. The bill will be paid. I know you always honor your debts. You’re that kind of woman.”
She took a step forward and then stopped.
“I’ll let myself out,” said Ivanov.
“Just go,” Laurie said tersely.
“I keep thinking what a lucky man Tony Verago is,” he murmured. Then he left the room and she heard the apartment door slam.
She stood very straight. She did not go to the window.
Perhaps Ivanov would have had a shock. Por Laurie was smiling, a deadly smile. She had been well trained to play the game.
And for her, the real game was only just beginning.
West Berlin
“Have you been to Berlin before?” asked Grierson.
“No,” Serena Howard answered curtly.
“It’s an interesting place. Not my cup of tea, but it has its points.”
“Well, I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing much of it,” she said.
They were being driven in a car that had picked them up at Tempelhof Airport. She was wearing a smart traveling outfit, and Grierson had the distinct impression that she kept edging away from him, as if she didn’t want there to be any physical contact between them.
“You’re lucky, you know,” he said.
“Really?” Her tone was cold.
“Absolutely. Do you know what Section One carries? Fourteen years.”
“Mr. Grierson,” began Serena, “the Official Secrets Act is a matter of supreme indifference to me.”
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“It shouldn’t be,” he said. He was still holding the folded copy of the Times he had picked up at Heathrow when he’d escorted her aboard the plane. He hadn’t opened it during the flight. “After all, that’s what you would have been charged with. Section One. The big one.”
Serena smiled thinly.
“Mind you,” Grierson went on chattily, “I’m glad it’s worked out this way. You’ wouldn’t have enjoyed Holloway. Much better that you join your friends.”
“Have you got a cigarette?” she asked, as if his statement didn’t even merit a reply.
“Of course.” He held out a packet of Players. She took one, and he lit it for her. “I don’t suppose you’ll be smoking many more of these. They don’t go in for English cigarettes over there. Their taste runs more to American brands.”
“I’ll manage,” said Serena. She was totally in control of herself.
“I’m sure you will,” purred Grierson.
She studiously ignored him and seemed engrossed staring out of the window. But after a while she asked, “Is it an exchange?”
“Is what, Miss Howard?”
“Me for somebody else?”
“Well,” said Grierson, “in a way, perhaps. Not precisely.” He paused. “You could say it’s a way to get rid of an embarrassment. On both sides.”
She exhaled a cloud of smoke almost into his face. It could have been taken as a studied insult, but Grierson didn’t even blink.
“I’m curious,” said Serena. “When did you first find out about me?”
He hesitated. The driver honked at a taxi that had just cut in.
“Oh,” Grierson said finally, “quite some time ago.”
“How?”
“Your taste in boyfriends. One boyfriend in particular. We’re also interested in girls who pick up American officers on highly classified work.”
Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t pick him up,” she snapped. “You know very well “
“All I know is that your relationship got rather intimate.”
“And then?”
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Grierson looked at her. “We found out the rest about you. Fancy a girl like you….” He shook his head. “Who made the first contact? You or … them?”
“You’re really stupid,” Serena said, studying him as if he was someone beneath her contempt. “You don’t understand about commitment or caring, do you? I wanted to do something. Not just sit back and watch the world get blown up.”
“Oh, really?” Gderson remarked dryly. “Touching idealism.”
“Puck your” she swore, and it was the first time he’d heard well-bred, Roedean educated Serena Howard use an expletive.
Even when they had arrested her at her flat in Charlotte Street she had kept her cool. She’d even smiled a little when she’d seen them taking the bookshop downstairs apart, and not finding a thing, of course. But now, on the eve of being handed over to her fdends, there was an edginess about her, a growing tension.
“You still haven’t told me who you’re getting back for me.”
“It’s rather funny.” Gderson smiled. “Actually, you know him.”
She waited, and he could see she was interested.
“You remember Captain Verago? The army lawyer?”
She nodded, puzzled.
“Well, the Americans are getting him back.” He paused. “If you ask me,” he continued silkily, “they’re getting a much better bargain than your friends. Personally, Miss Howard, I wouldn’t give tuppence for you.”
And at last he unfolded the Times and read it for the rest of the journey.
Saturday, August 12,1961
Laconbury
THREE hours earlier they had landed at Heathrow, and Unterberg had hustled Verago down the steps of the Viscount and straight into a car that had pulled up on the flight line as the plane taxied to a halt. It was a black, anonymous Chrysler, and they were driven straight out of the airport.
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Only later did Verago realise he had never cleared customs, never shown his passport.
“I didn’t go through immigration,” he pointed out.
“So?” inquired Unterberg.
Which meant that, officially, Verago had never returned to England. The same thing had happened in Berlin when they’d left Tempelhof. There too Unterberg had hurried him through passport control, and no documents had been shown. SO, as far as the record was concerned, he had never left Germany.
It worried Verago. Unterberg noticed his expression.
“Sometimes, Tony, it’s best not to have too many things on paper,” he said cheerily.
Now they had arrived at Laconbury, and as the car crunched up the graveled driveway, its headlights picked out a bungalow. The car stopped.
“There you are,” announced Unterberg, but did not move. “Just ring the bell.”
Verago hesitated.
“Go on,” urged Unterberg, from the depths of the car. “You’re expected.”
Verago got out and slowly walked toward the bungalow. He pressed the bell on the porch and heard a glockenspiel sound inside. After a moment the door opened.
“Come in, Captain Verago,” invited Croxford.
The general was wearing an Eisenhower blouse, and his single stars flashed in the hall light.
“This way,” he said.
It was a large parlor, with modern furniture, but it had a utilitarian, assembly-line look about it. The only touches of individuality were a few ornaments, models of airplanes, and a big wooden propeller fixed to one wall.
“Sit down,” said the general. By the couch stood the command phone, which Croxford connected to a jack in whatever room he was in in the house. He carried it around like a life-support system.
Verago didn’t know if it was intentional, but a lamp on the table shone onto his face, making him uncomfortable.
“Tell me about Captain Kingston.”
“He’s in bad shape, sir. He needs help.”
Croxford peered at Verago. “You look as if you’ve had a rough time yourself.”
“It wasn’t exactly a joy ride, sir.”
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“But not as rough a time as Captain Kingston’s havingl”
“General, they’ve been trying to break him. Make him talk. He just won’t give in.”
“I’ve read the OSI report,” said Croxford. “What you told Unterberg. The way they’re treating him. Not pleasant reading.” The general paused. “He’s a fine officer. A very good man.”
Verago thought of the gaunt, haggard wreck he had left behind. The bloody hands …
“Sir, we’ve got to get him out. Somehow. An exchange. Anything. Before it’s too late.”
He was getting used to the light now. Croxford appeared more careworn.
“If it was possible…”
“Why isn’t it?” demanded Verago.
He thought he had gone too far. But the general answered slowly, “Because they’ve never admitted they’ve got him. He was presumed dead. And we can’t prove otherwise.”
“But I’ve seen him,” Verago almost shouted. “That’s proof.”
“You?” Croxford’s thin smile was chilling. “You were never over there. That’s the deal. That’s how you got out. You were never across the border.”
“My passport …”
“Will be brand new, courtesy of the State Department.”
Verago tried to control himself. “You mean he’s going to be left to rot.”
The general sat upright. “God damn you, man, you think it’s easy,” he roared, and then he got a grip on himself. “You’re pretty good at making moral judgments, Captain, aren’t you? You think I like it, sitting here, knowing one of my men is being tortured?”
Verago swallowed. “No, sir.” He said it very quietly.
“you think it’s a big sellout, don’t you?”
Verago was pale.
“Washington doesn’t have to justify anything to me, and I don’t have to justify anything to you, Captain, you got that? But I’ll tell you one thing. Say a prayer every night that you don’t have to make these decisions. You read me?”
The general stood and Verago rose.
“You’re very naive, Captain. Don’t you realize we’re
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doing a trapeze act and there isn’t a safety net? You talk about deals. Man, we’re on a knife edge. Every minute, every hour. Men like Kingston are the price we’re paying for this so-called peace, and people don’t even know it.”
“There’s a lot they don’t know, sir,” Verago said boldly. “Like East and West making a deal to divide Berlin. Like the Russians holding American airmen prisoner secretly. Like “
“You’re just about through, Captain,” cut in Croxford. Then the command phone bused, and he made a grab for it.
“Yes? Okay.” He looked at his watch “As of … now. Check.”
He put the receiver down. “We’ve gone on Bikini Alert,” he announced.
“Bikini?”
“Minimal combat readiness. A bikini doesn’t cover very much. Only the essentials. Tonight we’re keeping, only one eye open.”
“Part of the deal?” suggested Verago bitterly.
“That’s all, Captain.”
Verago faced him “No, sir. I’m going to tell his wife. I’m going to find Mrs. Kingston, and tell her what I saw, the state he was in….”
‘No way,” barked Croxford. “You’re not. That’s a direct order. You’re going to leave her in peace. Like hundreds of other wives who will never know, because it’s … better that way.”
“Sir ” Verago started to say, and Croxford added:
“But I’ll tell you this. Everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve heard over there is already known to Washington. The full report. If anything can be done about Kingston” he held out his hand “they’ll do it. That’s what I wanted you to know.”
It was the first time in his life that Verago had shaken hands with a general. Croxford had a hard grip and it hurt. It hurt a lot.
The Cell
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” announced Major Fokin. Kingston slowly raised his head.
“Here,” said Fokin. He had a carton of two hundred American cigarettes under his arm and put them on the
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bunk beside Kingston. “A little farewell present. To remember me by. Don’t smoke them all at once.”
“I’m I’m leaving here?” Kingston asked incredulously.
“Yes,” said Pokin.
Kingston’s eyes started to swim. He hoped the tears wouldn’t come. He didn’t want this man to see him cry.
“When am I going?” whispered Kingston. He had a sore on his lip, but all physical aches and hurts didn’t matter any more.
“In about half an hour,” replied Fokin.
“You mean, I’m really going home?” gasped Kingston, like a man who could not believe his good fortune.
“Well,” began Pokin, and cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that. I said you’re leaving here.”
The fear, the cold fear that had become so much a part of his life took hold of Kingston.
“Not not home,” he repeated, and he knew he would not be able to keep his composure much longer.
“I’m sorry if I misled you,” said Fokin. “You’re going somewhere else, but it isn’t home. You see, your government has been asking us about you. They seem to think that instead of drowning in the Baltic, we captured you. A ridiculous mistake to make. We have put the record straight, as you say. We have officially confirmed that your body has not been discovered.”
Kingston gave a howl. It was a strangled, final cry of despair, almost a scream.
Fokin grimaced.
“There is no need for that, my friend,” he chided, rather plaintively. “We have admired your self-discipline. Do not disappoint us now.”
The American sat dazed, rocking to and fro.
“What are you … going to do with me?” he finally asked in a low voice.
“I shouldn’t really tell you, but we have become good friends, haven’t we?” Fokin smiled at him encouragingly. “You are going to a special camp. Quite far away. Behind the Urals. That is why you won’t see me again.”
“The the Urals?”
Fokin nodded.
“For how long?” Kingston croaked.