Paramour (35 page)

"Bullshit."

"Look, I don't know. All I was told was that I was to go to Kassel and you would be following me."

"Why?"

She pulled away from him, and he involuntarily drew back his fist.

"I don't know why!" she cried.

"Then who the hell put you up to it?"

"I can't answer that question either. You worked for the government. You should know why I can't answer."

He released her. His temples were throbbing. "Do you actually think I'm going to accept that and walk out of here?"

"No, I guess not," she said, after a long silence.

They stood there staring at each other. Finally, she sat down warily on the sofa. Powers, regretting having torn her blouse, closed the apartment door. After a while she got to her feet and headed toward the bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

"To change my blouse."

Though his first instinct was to follow proper arrest procedure and follow her into the bedroom to ensure she didn't arm herself, he just sat there. Perhaps he didn't really care if she came back with a gun and killed him.

She came back a few minutes later-without a gun but with a new blouse on-and sat down in an upholstered chair across from him.

"I was told you were suspected of being a spy," she said, without looking him in the eye. "That there was a leak in the White House Secret Service Detail and they were testing you by having you follow me-to see if you reported the details of your mission to the other side. Now you know what happened."

He studied her. She appeared to be telling the truth. However, he'd believed she was telling the truth in Kassel, too.

For the first time, she looked directly at him. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

He nodded.

She moved into the kitchen, opened a small refrigerator, and took out a bottle of German white wine. He watched as she pulled open a drawer and took out a corkscrew. Holding the neck of the bottle in her right hand, she turned the corkscrew into the cork and removed it from the bottle. She took two wineglasses from a cupboard and filled them. She set the bottle down on the counter and carried the glasses into the living room.

"You mean they thought I was a mole," he said.

"Yes."

"It doesn't make any sense."

"I can't help that," she said. "I just do as I'm told."

As well as the thrill of having found her, Powers felt a sense of dizzying confusion as his mind whirled with the possibilities. Then, almost as an involuntary reflex, he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out the baseball team photograph James Chilcott had given him. He stared at it for a moment without saying anything.

"What's that?"

"Your stepbrother gave it to me."

Her brow furrowed.

"Your stepbrother Jim Chilcott, who lives in San Francisco." Powers leaned across the coffee table and handed her the photo.

Her expression didn't change as she examined it.

"There was something about it that's been bothering me," he continued. "And now I realize what it is. In the picture you're ready to throw the baseball with your right hand ... but
you're
left-handed. You're not Marilyn Kasindorf!"

She set the photograph down on the coffee table. Then she removed her eyeglasses and wiped her eyes.

"You resemble her, and when your hair is dyed and you're made up like her it's hard to tell the difference, but you're not her."

She turned away.

"Who are you?"

"Susan Brewster is my real name."

"Where is Marilyn Kasindorf?"

"I have no idea."

****

TWENTY-THREE

Powers's heart was pounding heavily.

"You've never met her?"

"Never."

Powers let out his breath, "Well, I'll be goddamned."

"I thought there was something wrong with the mission from the beginning," Susan said. "It sounded too complicated."

"The mission-"

"I signed a paper years ago promising to never reveal operational facts," she interrupted. "They said I could be prosecuted."

"The only way I'm going to be able to figure out what the hell is going on is if you tell me what you know."

"I'm a flight attendant," she said softly. "A few years ago I was recruited by a pilot to help the CIA with a few small intelligence chores. It sounded exciting and I agreed. I was given some training, the usual trade craft. My first assignments were simple ones: to mail letters from certain cities I fly to or rent apartments here and there and mail the keys to an accommodation address. I never knew the ramifications of any of this and I never asked. I liked the extra money and, besides, I thought I was doing something worthwhile for the country."

Amazed, Powers sat back. "Who assigned you the missions?"

"Different CIA people. I never knew their real names. After a couple of years I was told that my name was being put in the Inter-Agency Source Index. I filled out a detailed questionnaire and took some photos for the computer so that any government agency could use me according to the needs of a particular mission. From then on I never met anyone. I would get the mission by phone. Once the FBI asked me to stop by a gallery in Amsterdam and inquire about a painting they thought was stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

"How did you get the assignment to impersonate Marilyn Kasindorf?"

"On August twelfth I flew into Dulles Airport from London on a Lufthansa flight. There was a message waiting for me at the flight desk to call 'Cousin Sandy' at a local number. 'Cousin Sandy' was the code that someone had a mission for me. I phoned the number and a man told me I was picked from the Inter-Agency Source Index because I had a close physical resemblance to a CIA agent named Marilyn Kasindorf. Also, I had a working knowledge of art, a subject she was familiar with. I was directed to an airport rental locker. In it was a color photograph of Kasindorf and some biographical information. I was told to dye my hair and make myself up like her, then check in at the Dupont Hotel and wait for further instructions. For the next few days, he would call and tell me to go places: the French restaurant La Serre, the apartment house on Scott Circle, some buildings with government offices. I spotted you following me."

"You weren't living in the apartment on Scott Circle?"

She shook her head. "No. Sometimes he instructed me to go in the front and out the back, other times to come in the back and out the front. I never went into any apartment."

Powers ran a hand through his hair. "The lights in the apartment must have been on a timer," he ruminated.

"In Germany I followed the scenario he gave me the same way."

"And he told you to compromise me."

"He said you were suspected of working for hostile intelligence and the purpose of the mission was to test your loyalty. What happened between us started as an act, a mission. Then, I don't know exactly why or how, but I could tell you weren't a spy. I liked you...I hope you can understand what I'm trying to say-oh, hell." She covered her eyes with her hands.

Powers drained his glass.

"The morning you left?"

"I was told to park my rental car in front of a building on Erlangenstrasse and then walk to my apartment. That's what I did."

"Slick."

"Look, I'm really sorry for the problems this caused you," she said. "I know now that the suspicions they had about you were wrong-"

"How did you verify that you were being activated by the proper people?" he asked.

"There's a code, a series of numbers they read off when they call.... Why are you asking me this? You must know how the Source Index works. You don't believe a word I'm saying, do you?"

He returned her stare.

"I guess I can't blame you for that," Susan said. She got to her feet and moved onto the balcony. He followed her. "When I was first recruited it was thrilling-leading a secret life and all that." She put her hands on the balcony rail. "I never thought I'd be ashamed. But I am."

"Both of us were used," he said quietly.

She turned to him. "What did all this accomplish? Who benefited?"

"I have a better question," Powers said. "Where is the real Marilyn Kasindorf?"

"I don't know." She paused, "What are you going to do now?"

He shrugged.

She wiped her eyes. "Would you like another glass of wine?"

He nodded.

Susan picked up the bottle from the kitchen counter and poured.

"If you'd like, I
can fix dinner while we talk," she said, avoiding eye contact.

"Okay."

For the next hour or so, as she moved around the kitchen preparing dinner, he sat at the table asking questions and making notes. The note taking continued through a dinner of
Zigeuner schnitzel,
a sweet-and-sour red cabbage, and warm potato salad. By dessert, apple strudel with thick whipped cream she called
Schlag,
he finally understood exactly how the defection had been staged. But in the Byzantium that was Washington, Powers understood that knowing
what
had happened was only the beginning. It was always the
why
rather than the
how
that mattered. After all, they'd both been acting on orders. They'd both been used. In fact, she hadn't betrayed him-or the country or anyone else, for that matter. Like him, she'd simply been carrying out a mission.

Somehow, during the course of the meal, though he felt drained and confused, he came to terms with what she had done.

After dinner, Susan busied herself in the kitchen, perhaps to avoid him, and Powers strolled out onto the balcony. The traffic noise had subsided and, below, Frankfurt had become a tapestry of blacks and grays held together by dots of light. From the east came the distant sound of a jet. He'd found her, and she wasn't Marilyn Kasindorf. But she was still the woman he'd fallen in love with.

Later, he smelled her perfume as she joined him on the balcony.

"I guess I should be going," he said, without looking at her.

"I never thought I'd see you again, Jack."

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind," he said with difficulty.

He felt her hand touch his. He turned and took her in his arms, and they embraced. She met his lips forcefully.

In bed, they made love for a long time.

Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, talking quietly for what must have been hours. Finally, there were no more secrets between them. When he finally closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep, she was in his arms.

Powers woke about nine the next morning feeling more rested and refreshed than he had in months. He realized he was alone in bed and sat up quickly. He climbed out of bed and moved to the bedroom door. The smell of coffee was coming from the kitchen, and Susan (he almost thought Marilyn) was standing at the stove cooking breakfast. Relieved, he let out his breath.