Undeceived (12 page)

“Truth.”

She considered what to say, frowning as she studied his arm. What followed was a rush of words that tumbled from her exquisite mouth. “My father worked for the CIA.”

“He did?”

“It’s not common knowledge, although there are still a few old hands around Langley who remember him. I prefer to be known for my own accomplishments.”

“I can understand.”

“He was killed in the line of duty, around the time of the Bay of Pigs. He has a star on the Memorial Wall.”

Darcy startled. “Bay of Pigs? He trained the rebels in Guatemala?”

“Among other things.”

“Do you know how he died?”

“Not the details, no. One of the commercial suppliers found his body, which was a comfort to his parents and my mother—to know for sure. So many families don’t know for sure.”

“What was his name?”

“Thomas Bennet.”

“You kept his last name—even though your mother remarried?”

“My mother never bothered with changing it when I was younger. Later on, I insisted on keeping it. Another way to honor him, to be close to him, I guess.”

“The Bay of Pigs—the CIA’s big disaster.”

“It was. But I’m proud of my father, of his service.”

“Of course you are. So that’s why you joined?”

“It was a factor.” She brought his hand straight up above his head, and he grimaced again.

“That motion still hurts a lot doesn’t it? Can I see?”

He nodded, and she unbuttoned the top three buttons on his oxford shirt, pulling the sleeve over to the side to examine his sutures on his arm, just below the shoulder.

“No signs of infection,” she said, almost to herself. “Maybe it’s just swollen in there, which impedes the movement.”

She dug her fingers deftly into the tissue surrounding the shoulder joint, above the stitches. He felt the dual edge of pleasure and pain as she tried to ease the shoulder into position. Somehow, instead of destroying his arousal, the agony only sparked his libido further.
Intriguing. Never would have pegged myself as a masochist.
He closed his eyes, his mouth in a grim line, and she eased back.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” She let go of his arm, and of their own free will, his fingers skimmed her cheek as his arm descended.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured as he opened his eyes.

She stood in front of him, her eyes reflecting the firelight, her hands folded awkwardly in front of her. “See you in the morning.” Without another word, she fled the room, leaving him all alone, staring into the gas-log flames, and sipping brandy.

He sat before the flickering firelight another half hour, pondering the exotic dance between men and women, and the bonds between fathers and children. No matter what the bureaucracies built or the technologies changed, it seemed those fundamental connections between people were what bent and shaped the entire world.

Chapter 18

The Park: Coffee Shop and Bookstore
Washington, DC

“Welcome to The Park, my dear. Table for one?”

“Oh no. I’m meeting someone.” Elizabeth peered around the kindly older man holding a menu and silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. She pointed. “There she is. Right over there.”

“I’ll escort you,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It makes me look good to walk a lovely young woman to her seat. Is that her over in the booth?” He pointed to a tall, lanky young woman with expressive brown eyes and sharp features.

“Yes, thanks,” Elizabeth said as he showed her to Charlotte’s table.

“Hey there, E!” Charlotte stood and embraced her friend as the older gentleman retreated from the table.

“Charlotte, it’s good to see you. Thanks for meeting me.”

“I would have driven to you if I’d known where you were.”

“It’s better this way. Convenient to the Hoover building and hidden in plain sight, which follows Spy Rule Number Seventeen.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“How are you?”

“I’m doing pretty well, surprisingly.”

“I couldn’t believe it when you called! I had no idea you were back in the States. When did that happen?”

“Just a few days ago.”

“I won’t ask where you were.”

“Probably wise.” A young man in a coffee-stained apron put down his bus tub and took pen and paper out of his apron pocket.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Yes, two please. With cream.”

“My pleasure.”

“I won’t ask,” Charlotte said as he ambled away, “but I know you were in Europe.”

“FBI sees all, knows all?”

“You bet.” She caught Elizabeth scanning the room. “See somebody you recognize?”

“Hmm? Oh. Um…no. Habit I’ve developed. Scoping out the place. Sorry.”

“You’re a real CIA gal now, I suppose.”

“Yup.”

Charlotte Lucas eyed her college friend with a penetrating stare. “The CIA’s not what you thought.” It was an observation, not a question.

“Oh, I don’t know. In some ways, it’s very much what I thought.”

“And you can’t talk about it.” She folded her hands on the table. “I have some of the information you asked for.”

“You do? Charlotte, you’re a wonder!”

“I am. I truly am. This wasn’t easy to come by either.”

“I know, and I’m grateful to you. I needed some help—from a disinterested party.”

“Disinterested?”

“No…I mean…I know you’re interested. What I’m trying to say is I needed help from outside Langley.”

“And they say your kind and my kind don’t mix, at least not on the job. FBI and CIA don’t have a reputation for playing nice with each other.”

“You and I…we’re different, though, aren’t we? We’re friends. Our employers have different missions, so I get it. But this guy I’m looking at—he’s a US citizen, and I thought you might be able to shed some light on a corner I can’t seem to get to.”

“Gathering intel on officers inside Langley—sounds like you’ve worked your way into counterintelligence.”

Elizabeth fidgeted in her chair. “Look, can we keep this just between us for now? I could get into real trouble for it. I figured if my supervisors found out, it would be easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

“You know you can trust me. We are friends, but beyond that, you have my respect. And I have yours or you wouldn’t have called me for this.” She took a nine-by-twelve envelope out of her bag. “Here you go. But I have a feeling this just scratches the surface on the guy.”

Elizabeth frowned as she scanned the documents.

“There’s some background to start: education, work history, military record, travel history, family, financials. The guy’s loaded. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Old money on his mother’s side. Founding Fathers-type lineage. A lot of the money was hidden, especially because he’s CIA.”

“I knew you could find something.”

Charlotte grinned. “You do know me well, but there’s more where that came from.”

“More?”

“You can read through it yourself. The only thing that looks wonky to me is this little disappearing act he did right before Budapest.” She leaned forward and leafed through a couple of the pages. “Right…” She pointed. “There. Right there. He flew commercial to Miami, but then—poof. He’s off the grid for two whole weeks.”

“I’d heard about that.”

“No hotel, no rental car, nothing. He was at the airport, and then he wasn’t.”

“Private aircraft?”

“Maybe. He has a pilot’s license, which is on page two by the way. But there’s no record of a flight plan.”

“That is weird.”

“Yeah, a flight plan’s not mandatory, but most people file one in case of emergencies. You really piqued my curiosity with this. So I called in a couple of favors. An unidentified plane did land on a private air strip in Barbados.”

“Was it him?”

“Not sure. The FBI keeps tabs on people in the States who are suspected of espionage, but that’s way out of our jurisdiction.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shot up from the page just in time to see the older gentleman return to take the tray from his waiter and approach their table.

Charlotte sat back as he put the coffee cups carefully on the table. “No, no. We’re not tracking your guy. But we did pick up another guy here in DC earlier this week.” She plucked another file out of her bag. “This was found on him. See for yourself.”

“Anything else, ladies?”

“No, thank you.” Elizabeth absentmindedly picked up a spoon and twirled it in her cup, swirling cream and coffee.

“The message is coded.”

“Translation is on the next page.” She smirked. “We have code breakers too, you know.”

“Orders based on intel from Wilhelm to kill some asset at the Soviet Embassy in DC.”

“He got the guy too. Poor son of a bitch. Found him lying in a pool of his own blood outside his doorstep.”

“I could have gone all day without that visual. God, Charlotte, that’s gruesome.”

“Espionage is gruesome—except when it’s boring.”

“‘Wilhelm’ was the name Darcy got from his assailant before she died. George claims the similarity in names is more evidence against Darcy because his given name is ‘William.’ But—” She looked suddenly at her friend.

Charlotte grinned. “You see it, don’t you?”

“Wilhelm names a second target: ‘CIA officer currently recovering at Walter Reed from gunshot wounds. Officer can ID KGB asset.’ Holy shit, Char! This Wilhelm even gives Darcy’s room number!”

“Yep.”

“Thank God for the Suit-of-the-Day,” Elizabeth said to herself. “The date. This was written October 19. I was with Darcy that whole day. There’s no way he wrote or received this. He was still unconscious.”

“Yep.”

“Wickham hasn’t seen this, or he hid it from me.”

“Who?”

“Nobody. Colleague. Whatever.”

Wickham’s insistence on keeping me with Darcy was fortuitous
—
just not in the way he wanted.
“I
knew
something wasn’t adding up!”

“Your Mr. Darcy is no angel, perhaps, but he’s not Wilhelm either.”

“He’s not
my
Mr. Darcy, Charlotte.”

“Figure of speech, Elizabeth.” Charlotte gave her friend a speculative look.

Elizabeth studied the page a few more seconds. “I think you just solved my first case.” She lifted her cup in a toast to her friend. “It looks like the London Fog is innocent. And I have a report to write.”

“Here’s something else you may not have considered. It may not be as simple as guilt or innocence. Just because Darcy’s not the mole doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

“And with that in mind…” She pulled a file out of her bag. “Here are some other names: officers around Darcy during all of this. I want them checked out too. Same information: family, financials, etc.”

“Elizabeth, if there is a mole, someone who’s either in Langley or has connections inside, there’s a decent chance he or she knows Darcy’s current location—and yours.” Charlotte drew her eyebrows together in a worried frown.

“I know. That’s why they’ve got us holed up together—to keep an eye on each other. Sometimes I’d rather take my chances out in the open.”

“Come on. A hidey-hole with a major cutie beats a cubicle any day.”

“This cutie is grumpy, has a short temper, and sports an ego the size of Cleveland.”

“You admitted he’s cute though.”

“‘Cute’ isn’t the right word.”

“What is?”

“I don’t know…intriguing?”

“Hmm.”

“And I need to get back. I left him at the safe house unprotected.”

“He can’t take care of himself?”

“Maybe he could if he was one hundred percent, but I should go.” She started to dig in her purse.

“I got this.”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything, Charlotte.”

“You betcha. I should have some information on this”—she indicated the envelope—“in a couple of weeks. Good luck, girl. Stay in touch.”

***

Elizabeth roared down the street and bounced up the gravel drive to the detached garage. A strange car was parked out front—DC plates, rental car. She checked around her before bounding out of the sedan, hand on her .38 Special. Up against the house, with a stealth she’d practiced a hundred times, she eased around the back corner and inside. She heard voices but couldn’t discriminate who or how many.

“I bet you brought down the wrath of Darcy on him.”

“I did not.”

“I know you, old chap. Even if Bingley’s sort of your boss these days, you’d tell it to him straight.”

“Of course, I’d tell it to him straight. He doesn’t need that kind of distraction.”

Fitz! Liz relaxed, put away her revolver, and started into the room to greet their friend.

“By distraction you mean the Hungarian bird?”

“She was some asset’s daughter, for chrissakes.”

Elizabeth halted in her tracks.

“He listened to you?” Fitz asked.

“He always listens to me about those types of things.”

“You’re as meddlesome as an old woman.”

“Look, I don’t pretend to know everything there is to know about women.”

“Sure you do. I would say, perhaps he didn’t have that much of a thing for her, but that would lessen the triumphant look on your face. You must have had some strong objections to the lady.”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat up. How dare he? She remembered the forlorn expression Johanna Bodnar wore that day she met her in DC. How dare Darcy humiliate her, laugh at her with Fitz behind her back, and warn Charles away from her because she was
just
an asset’s daughter. She threw her keys down on the kitchen table and started through the house.

“I’m back!”

“So you are, love.” Fitz rose and took both her hands while kissing her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” She pulled away, flustered and angry and not in the mood for small talk.

“What’s the matter? Your face is all red. Are you well?”

“Um, yes. I’m well, thanks, Fitz. I…” She didn’t dare look at Darcy. “I’m getting a cold, I think. I’ve got some kind of headache.”

“I’ve never seen you ill.” Darcy stood, concerned. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no. Just some rest.” She hurried up the stairs.

Fitz and Darcy stared at each other as she stomped up the stairs. At the top, she glanced back. Fitz shrugged and returned to his beer. Darcy met her gaze for a second or two before he sat back down to the conversation with his friend. Elizabeth went into her room and shut the door.