Undeceived (18 page)

I’m not pleased with this turn of events. This isn’t what I wanted, but all these things you set in motion, starting way back in Prague, have led us to this point. You’ve forced me into this. You’ve brought Elizabeth into this mess. Can’t you see what you’ve done? I don’t want to kill her, but I have to. She knows, she knows. And if she puts her head together with the FBI, she’ll know it’s me. I had to get her away from her notes and her files, and that bitch she pals around with at the Hoover Building. Keep her busy, keep her occupied. Keep her thinking that the answer is out there, not here inside the walls of Langley. I needed a decoy. And I found one—you.

Chapter 26

“Arise, Sleeping Beauty.” Darcy leaned across the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Her eyes opened suddenly, full wakefulness—a quirk he’d learned about her over the last several days. It charmed him. No sleepy, slow-eyed mornings for his Elizabeth. She woke instantly, ready to face the day.

“Is that coffee I smell?” She rolled over and stretched her arms to the ceiling.

“Yes, ma’am. I brought you a cup.”

Pushing up on elbows, she grinned at him. “My hero.” The smile turned sultry.

His heart started pounding, but he squelched desire beneath a laugh. “Don’t tempt me, darling. We can’t spend all day in bed. I’ve got a mission for us today.”

“A mission? You’re kidding!” She flopped back on her pillow. “I don’t want to think about work. I’m on vacation. Sort of.”

“It’s not an agency mission.”

“Then what is it?” She sat up and took the coffee cup he offered her. Sipped. “God, this is good.”

“Nothing like the fresh-roasted, local stuff.”

“I agree.” She set the cup aside and crossed her arms over her knees. “So what’s the mission?”

“It’s not what. It’s where.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s take a run. I’ll fill you in.” He jerked back the covers and took her hand to pull her to her feet.

“Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?”

Laughing, he turned to the door. “See you downstairs.”

They set a leisurely pace, barely making indentations on the hard sand under their feet. Although it was right at dawn, they’d each worked up a sweat in the tropical morning air.

“Ok,” Elizabeth reminded him, “so, what—no, where are we going?”

“Barbados.”

“Barbados? How long will we be gone? I can’t just pick up and go away with you, Darcy. I have to be here to—”

“Just ’til tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

“What’s there?”

“It isn’t what’s there…it’s who.”

“First it was where and now it’s who.”

He broke stride. “I’m not saying this right.”

When they slowed, she took his hand. That one gesture brought him such joy. He squeezed her hand and smiled at her.
She
. Just her presence gave him hope, gave him courage.

“Did you watch the Ramsgate debriefing interviews? Read the reports?”

“I did.”

“So you know MI6 found Jirina Sobota. Alive.”

She nodded.

“We’re going to see her today.”

“She’s on Barbados?”

“Yes.”

“Mm, okay.”

“There’s more…” He dropped her hand and looked out to sea.

She took a moment to catch her breath, arms akimbo, watching him while he watched the horizon and concentrated on something beyond the sea and sky. “William Darcy,” she said in a gentle voice. “You can trust me.”

He turned back. “I know I can. That’s why we’re doing this.” He led her to a rock and sat down with a weary sigh.

“You have to understand: Jirina isn’t just an asset. Not to me.”

“Yes, I know. You feel responsible.”

“I do, even more so because…”

“There’s something else to this, isn’t there? Something besides a professional relationship.”

“Yes, but not the way you’re probably thinking. She and I weren’t romantically involved—ever. We never even met before the Brits rescued her. She was Wickham’s lover, and that’s still a hard thing to articulate even after all this time because…” He blew out a breath. “Jirina Sobota is my half sister.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Finally, in a whisper because her voice failed her, she spoke. “I see.”

“I sure didn’t. Not until it was way too late.”

“How
did
you find out?”

“It’s a long, convoluted story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time today.”

He face broke into a quick, sad smile. He kissed her to fortify his own resolve.

“When I came back from Prague, I spent all that time being debriefed. While they had me captive at Langley, I got roped into some of those lectures at The Farm, like the one where you saw me for the first time.”

“I remember.”

“I bet. I wasn’t myself really during that period. I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

“You were rude, and not just to me. But there were extenuating circumstances, and I realize that now. In essentials, where it counts, I believe you are pretty much the way you’ve always been.”

“That’s a kind way to say it.” He rested his arms on his knees. “The debriefing was arduous, and afterward, I went back to my parents’ house in Baltimore to recuperate, rest a little, get away from Langley. My mother was gone, spending the winter in Florida the way she does, and I had the house to myself. I rumbled around, searching through boxes in the attic, old things Mom had packed away. It was just past the holidays, and I was missing my father.”

“When did he pass away?”

“It’s been almost seven years ago now. He had a heart attack. It was unexpected. I was actually in the States when it happened, but there was no time to say goodbye. I guess I was trying to do that by going through his things. He and I, we had a…tumultuous relationship.”

“Why?”

“He never wanted me to join the military, but I was set on the Air Force. Before I went in, he wanted me to join the CIA, but afterward, he suggested I go into the family business. I considered it for all of half a second. It wasn’t for me, even though a part of me wanted to please him. In the end, I opted for the CIA as a compromise of sorts. They recruited me pretty hard, and I felt the need to…break away, be my own man.”

“I know what it’s like to live in the shadow of a parent. My dad was larger than life to me—more an idea than a person.”

“We all want to make our own mark.”

“True.”

“Anyway, I knew he had traveled a lot in his career. Darcy Shipping conveys, among other things, glass for automobiles, airplanes, and the like, so he’d been all over the world. If you’ve done your research, you know he lost his CIA contracts after Playa de Giron.”

She nodded.

“And in 1962, he was in Czechoslovakia for a time. If you watched the Ramsgate tapes back at Langley, you know the rest of his story while he was there. It’s Jirina’s story.”

“But on the tapes you said Jirina’s father found out about her when she was fourteen. Why didn’t he tell you about her right after he found out himself?”

“I think perhaps he planned to after he got her to the West, but he died before he could make that happen.”

“Does your mother know?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Their marriage wasn’t the best, especially in those last years. They were separated off and on, so he wouldn’t have confided in her, and I doubt she’s found out on her own.”

“So if he was gone and she didn’t know, how did you get wind of it? How did you even begin to suspect?”

“When I was home, those weeks after the Prague debriefing, I found a safe deposit key in his things. As you know, no intelligence officer can resist a mystery like a key with no lock. It took some doing, but I found the bank, and as his heir, I had access to the safe deposit box. Inside was a letter from Jirina’s uncle; he wanted her off his hands. Her mother had always been trouble for him, ensconced in the government as he was. And Jirina, the rebellious artist’s daughter, wasn’t an asset to a man who was trying to climb the ladder of the political elite.”

“Poor Jirina.”

“Yes, she was telling us the truth. We knew that her father was American from our intelligence sources. We just didn’t know he was my father too.”

“How did you confirm?”

“Our ambassador showed Jirina’s family a picture of my dad. Jirina also had a picture Dad had given her when he’d visited—a picture of him and her mother together. When he returned from Czechoslovakia that last time, he had been gathering evidence of paternity, including tissue, blood, and serology typing. All the results were in the safe deposit box with the letter. He was trying to build a case so the government would be more likely to give her exit papers. After comparing the photos, we compared his blood and tissue test results with Jirina’s, and voila—instant sibling.

“I was prepared to squawk until the agency agreed to keep her parentage compartmentalized information, but it wasn’t much of a fight. It must have been an awkward situation for them—a young woman, daughter of a disgraced civilian contractor, former asset, sister to a current agent, placed in a Communist government official’s household? Yeah, awkward at the very least. As for me, I was adamant Wickham not find out. I wanted him as far away from her as possible. So, I brought her to a private villa my father owned on Barbados. She has round-the-clock nursing and supervision and an agency-vetted psychiatrist. I sneak away to visit her when I can.”

“That’s why you were off the grid before Budapest,” Elizabeth muttered to herself.

“Found out about that, did you?” He tugged her up by the hand and began the walk back to his villa. “I have to warn you, Elizabeth, she still isn’t well. The KGB broke her. She’s docile and sweet, but she coped by dissociating. As her brother, I’m her anchor to reality. She’s fixated on me as her rescuer even though, to my shame, I had precious little to do with it.”

“You’re making sure she’s cared for. That counts as rescuing in my book.”

“I’d like very much to introduce the two of you. For a couple of reasons. One, I’ve seen how you were with Johanna Bodnar, how she came out of her shell. I know it’s not the same kind of illness, but I hope that, over time, maybe you could help Jirina too, even if it’s just a little bit. And two, I want to share this part of my life with you. It’s a painful piece of my history to be sure, but Jirina’s important to me. She’s my only sibling. I’ve spoken with her, and she wants to meet you.”

“I’m honored, Darcy. Truly. I’d love to meet her.”

“One more thing—when we get there, you should call her by the English form of her name. She wanted to change it, to embrace her new life—or so the psychiatrist said. I thought it was a good idea because her English name would help safeguard her anonymity on Barbados.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Her mother named her after our father.”

“So I should call her…”

“Georgina.”

Chapter 27

Darcy helped Elizabeth into the small plane and turned to speak to the mechanic on the ground. They were on an isolated runway, miles from the small airport in Scarborough. Elizabeth saw a bill exchange hands and a handshake before Darcy climbed into the cockpit and began flipping switches in preparation for takeoff.

“Off the grid again?”

“I paid him extra. If I don’t call in, he’ll give the authorities a flight plan so they’ll come looking for us.” He grinned. “But don’t worry, darling, I’m an excellent pilot.”

“Good to know.”

A short time later, they touched down on an airstrip much like the one they left on Tobago. An abandoned Jeep was waiting with the keys inside. Darcy certainly had the connections to get what he wanted, when he wanted it. After several minutes on a gravel road, they turned up little more than a well-worn path of tire tracks. After a steep uphill climb, they broke through the trees, and Elizabeth had to swallow a gasp.

The house—no, the mansion—was beautifully nestled within a grove of trees. She could barely glimpse its columns and verandas. The roofline was gently sloped with red clay tiles, and the gardens were lush with poinciana, palm, and various flowering shrubs. Darcy rumbled to a stop beside a guard shack, and a burly man in sunglasses and a uniform of khaki shorts and camp shirt stepped out.

“Mr. Darcy, good to see you, sir.”

“And you, Barrett. What’s the news?”

“Been pretty quiet around here.”

“How’s Georgina?”

The guard spared Elizabeth a surreptitious glance then turned his attention back to Darcy. “Okay. Think Mrs. Reynolds wants to talk to you about a fence though.”

“Fence?”

“Yeah. Little gal was found swimming before dawn one morning last week—alone.”

“Hmm. That
is
a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not sure a fence is the best option. It might scare her, and I don’t want her to avoid the pool. Maybe we can just beef up the alarm system? Set it up so Ms. R knows when she leaves the house? Or float some kind of alarm in the pool itself perhaps?”

“I’ll look into it.”

“I’ll speak to Dr. Reynolds as well. Get his take. Thank you, Barrett.”

Elizabeth marveled at the beauty and serenity of the place as the Jeep rolled toward the house. Palms lined the driveway. The heady scent of hibiscus spilled from containers on either side of the front door. A porch swing barely shifted in the breeze that intermittently stirred the thick, tropical air. Darcy pulled the vehicle in front of the house and turned to her with a smile. He leaned over and kissed her mouth. “Welcome to Pemberley.”

He took her hand as they ascended the steps. He turned the doorknob and walked right in.

“No lock?”

“Pemberley is more than just a house; it’s a compound. A door lock isn’t necessary. My father built the original structures: the villa, the boathouse, the guesthouse. I added to the property when I moved Georgina here. There’s fencing around the perimeter, electronically monitored and well hidden for her sake. Since her captivity, she’s frightened of being confined.” He tossed his keys on the counter. “Ina? Where are you, sweetheart?”

Elizabeth had been expecting a Spartan, modern sort of place, so the Victorian Laura Ashley look surprised her until she remembered that, currently, this was a woman’s house.

They ambled through tastefully decorated but ornate rooms, each open to a veranda by a set of French doors. The sound of piano music drifted from another part of the house.

“She’s in the library.” He beamed with pride. “It’s good to hear her practicing again.” He took Elizabeth’s hand and paused when they reached the library doorway. The music halted, the performer stared in momentary confusion, and then a smile bloomed across her features.

“William!” The piano stool scraped across the bamboo floor as the young woman formerly known as Jirina Sobota stood and raced toward her brother. “I forgot you were coming!”

“Remember, Georgina? We discussed it yesterday.”

Elizabeth turned toward the voice and saw an older woman dressed in bright colors that made a stunning contrast with her dark complexion.

“Mrs. Reynolds.” Darcy greeted her with a warm two-handed handshake. He turned to his guest. “This is Elizabeth. She’s a colleague and a friend. Elizabeth this is Gabrielle Reynolds who manages Pemberley. And this”—he paused, placing a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder—“is my sister, Georgina.”

Mrs. Reynolds gave Elizabeth a considering look and then slipped into gracious hostess mode. “Welcome.”

“Elizabeth, Liz, Beth…” That same look of momentary confusion crossed her expression. “Which one is the real you?” Her English still had an Eastern European lilt to it.

“Now, there’s a question.” She smiled at Georgina. “William calls me Elizabeth.”

“Then I will as well. My brother has told me much of you.”

“Oh, really? I’m sure that was an interesting conversation.”

She smiled. “He says you’re an excellent intelligence officer and that you speak many languages.”

“Not so many.”

“Czech?”

“I’m afraid not—just enough to get myself in trouble.”

“I’ve been in trouble.”

Elizabeth mentally kicked herself. She was trying too hard to be witty, to make a good impression, and had forgotten what the young woman in front of her had endured at the hands of the KGB. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The overwhelming resplendence of the house, the scrutiny of the housekeeper, the burden of trying to connect with a shy and emotionally wounded girl—all these things made it easy to lose sight of what was important and real: the new and fragile bond between siblings.

Georgina turned a glowing smile on Darcy. “But I’m not in trouble now. My brother rescued me and brought me here so I could get well. I wish he could stay with us, but he has his work. He comes when he can.” The last part sounded like it had been parroted straight from a counselor’s mouth.

Darcy gently turned the topic from himself. “Dr. Reynolds said you’ve been working on something, a new project of some kind.”

“Oh yes!” Her eyes shone. “I’ve been working on surveillance equipment. Listening devices mostly, but I just finished the prototype of one that reads electronic banking entries. I’ll show you.”

“I’d like to see that.”

She seemed to register Mrs. Reynolds’ hand at her elbow and stopped, peering into his face. “But first, we eat, yes? Forgive me; I’ve forgotten my duties as hostess.”

“And I’ve forgotten mine as host. Elizabeth, would you like to rest? Or have some lunch?”

The considerate, lord-of-the-manor persona gave her whiplash. Who was this man? Suave, debonair spy about town? Moody theater man? Grumpy agent? Laid back civil servant marking time in paradise? She wasn’t sure she knew the real William Darcy, but she had to admit she liked this version very much.

“Lunch sounds great.”

Mrs. Reynolds chimed in. “I’ll have the kitchen serve up something, say in about a half hour?”

“Thank you, Gabrielle.” Darcy turned back to Georgina, who had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“William, why don’t you show Elizabeth around? I’ll see you at lunch.”