Undeceived (20 page)

Elizabeth startled at the movement beside her. “He’s coming to.”

“You?” George gasped.

“I’m fine. You will be too after they fix you up.”

He croaked something unintelligible.

“Hurry, William.” But she knew he was going as fast as he could.

“Tell Darcy…” He grimaced and tried to bend his torso.

“Shh, lie still, George.”

“Sorry. About Jirina.”

“You can tell him.”

“No. I can’t.” And he was gone.

The boat bounced and swayed, throwing the occasional sea spray over them. The bright morning sun lent a surreal quality to the trip—a boat ride with a dead man’s head in her lap. A part of her wanted to scramble as far from him as she could, but she sat there, unable to move, and for a moment, unable to breathe.

Darcy seemed to understand the shock and her need for silence. Finally, he broke the quiet with another call on his radio.

“Henry? Change of plans. Have the coroner meet us at the dock. And I’ll need secure transport back to my office.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “For two.”

Within hours, George’s body was on a US government jet to the States, the local police were satisfied and/or bribed with the story of two lovers finding a dead body on a deserted beach, and Elizabeth was sitting in Darcy’s office in Port of Spain, chewing on her thumb and trying to place a call to Charlotte Lucas at the FBI.

“Ms. Lucas is out of the office until next week. Is there someone else who can help you, Ms. Bennet?”

“When did she leave?” It was unlikely that Charlotte would take a vacation, not when they were in the middle of designing a trap to use on the mole.

“Two—no, three days ago.”

“Did she tell you exactly when she’d be back?”

“Actually, I didn’t talk to her myself. Someone else took the message. Said she and her boyfriend took a trip.”

Charlotte’s not seeing anyone.
“Can someone just please call and check on her?”

“We can go by her place, but if she isn’t there, there’s not much we can do. If she doesn’t turn up at the time she said she would, you can file a missing person’s report.”

“This is ridiculous! She’s an FBI agent. Somebody over there can bloody well find her!”

The voice stiffened. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll report your concern.”

She slammed the receiver onto the cradle with a satisfying thud.

Darcy came in behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got some instructions from headquarters.”

Elizabeth’s voice shook. “What is going on?”

“Somebody tried to kill you today.”

“I know that! Don’t patronize me, Darcy. I want to know why.”

“My guess is you’ve hit awfully close to a nerve. You’ve found something that has made you dangerous to a well-buried double agent.”

“But what, specifically, would that be?”

“Tell me what you’ve been working on.”

“Translations, mostly. From various departments.”

“That’s all?”

She started to open her mouth and shut it tight.

Darcy swore. “You can’t tell me. Damn it!” He paced to the office window and back. When he turned, the famous Darcy scowl was firmly in place.

“Elizabeth, answer me honestly: Am I still under suspicion?”

“No. At least not as far as I know.”

“As chief of station here, I should have been informed about this meeting of yours.”

“I did inform you.”

“I meant through formal channels. The director could have sent a dossier or even just made a damned phone call. Why won’t they trust me with intelligence operations going on in my own field office?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did the asset want to meet here on my island?”

“I don’t know that either. Wickham let me have the assignment after I volunteered. He got permission from the director.”

He paced back and forth behind his desk. “This is maddening. You’re being flown back to the US in two hours. They’re finding you a safe house now. I won’t know where or how to find you if you can’t tell me anything.”

“I can’t, Darcy. It could spell trouble for you if you knew—and you don’t need any more trouble.”

“The director has expressly forbidden me to accompany you back home.”

Her chin rose with stubborn defiance although she fought to keep it from trembling.

“I can go alone. I don’t need a babysitter or a knight in shining armor.”

“Elizabeth.” He knelt down on one knee in front of her, a bizarre parallel to a proposal. But instead of declaring his feelings, his eyes bore into hers, trying to read her face. He took both her arms in his hands, slid them down to her hands.

She looked down at their intertwined fingers. “Besides, you have a job here. I won’t have you jeopardize that for my sake.”

“Do you not understand the grave danger you’re in? Someone has penetrated the counterintelligence department. It isn’t about your career or mine. Your life is at stake! There is someone out there who knew enough to link you to CI and to Wickham, and was able to use him to try to kill you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Can you at least tell me who this Charlotte person is?”

“She’s not even CIA, she’s…” She shook her head. “I’m afraid for her. I think she’s missing.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “I started working on this alone because I didn’t know who to trust anymore. I still don’t, and I’m afraid.”

He crushed her to his chest. “I am too, darling. I am too.”

“Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“I want to go home. Maybe change my clothes.”

“You can’t go back to the villa. It isn’t safe. But I think we can find you something to wear without blood on it.”

“Thank you.”

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t know who to trust either. And I don’t trust any of them to take care of you.”

“Your hands are tied. I know this. If you get involved, it will throw suspicion right back on you.”

“Perhaps, but—”

“I have to go. Alone.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Can you find those clothes for me now? I don’t think I can wear these much longer.”

“Of course.” He stood. “Of course.” He leaned out the door and spoke in low tones to a woman in the outer room.

He came back and sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, his eyes on her face, watching, contemplating.

Elizabeth looked down at her blood-covered shirt, holding it away from her body. Her face crumpled.

***

Two and a half hours later, Elizabeth leaned her forehead against the window of the agency’s small jet. Darcy had spoken personally with the pilot—knew him from a stint in Paris—and had finally agreed to let her go. She saw Darcy standing on the tarmac as she taxied to the end of the runway. The jet turned, and as it raced back by the airport’s gate, she thought she saw him still standing there, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, his hair tumbled by the rushing air of the jet. She lifted her hand to touch the window.

What if we never see each other again?

Damn it!

I thought he was you. At first, I thought he was you. I was surprised, I have to admit—expecting that silly little whore of yours instead, but then I thought, “The white knight has gone in his lover’s place.” Sure, I’d have to go back to her villa and kill her too, but this was like a bonus. Convenient…and efficient. Then I rolled him over, and it wasn’t even you, you sorry son-of-a-bitch! It was only Wickham! Stupid asshole.

Not that I had anything against him personally. Some men just aren’t cut out for covert operations. It takes guts, which he had. It takes brains, which he had to some degree. But it takes control over your impulses most of all. And self-control? He never had that. Not like you and me. It’s why we were made for the spy game.

Chapter 30

Elizabeth woke when she felt the plane’s landing gear engage. The sun was sinking behind her, and she saw deep blue ocean below rather than the Chesapeake Bay and the monument-strewn skyline of DC.

What the hell?
Unbuckling her seat belt, she made her way up to the cockpit.

“Where are we?”

“Five miles due west of Bridgetown, Ms. Bennet,” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

“Bridgetown? As in Barbados?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And why are we landing in Bridgetown?”

“’Cause Darcy said we were.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Sometimes he does things on his own like that without telling anyone. He radioed me the confirmation from Langley a few minutes ago.”

“Hmm. Where am I supposed to go when I get there?”

“Ground transportation will meet the plane.”

“How do I know to trust ground transportation—or you, for that matter?”

“He said you’d say that.” The pilot grinned. “He said, ‘Tell her to check her book.’”

“Book?”

“Your LeCarre book.”

She stared at the back of his head then turned without a word and went into the cabin to fetch her bag. Sure enough,
The Little Drummer Girl
lay buried in a change of clothes. Inside the cover, she found an envelope addressed to her in his slanted, looping handwriting.

Dearest,

I have made arrangements for you near the estate, at least temporarily. The director thought to hide you in Virginia again, but I was able to persuade him otherwise, or rather, Charles was able to persuade him. I have little to no pull in that quarter any more.

Our friend from the guard shack will meet you on the ground and escort you to your safe house. I chose him because you know his face, and he can be trusted. I’m coming to you as soon as I can, hopefully with some answers. I have some information to round up first.

Destroy this message—it’s on water-soluble paper.

Be cautious. Be safe.

—
W

Elizabeth disintegrated the message in the lavatory sink and returned to her seat. The pilot seemed content to leave her to her own thoughts. So Darcy had—well, basically he’d abducted her, hadn’t he? In his arrogant, I-know-best way. It kind of pissed her off. Did he think to hide her forever? Like he had hidden Georgina? Her life was in turmoil, perhaps, but she certainly wasn’t broken. She hadn’t endured what Georgina had. He wrote he would be coming to her. So she was just supposed to wait? Do nothing? Of course, hidden away from an assassin was hidden away and doing nothing—whether here or in the States.

And when it came down to it, what choice did she have?

***

The Park, Washington, DC

Bingley frowned into his cup as he dumped two packages of sugar in the coffee and stirred it in methodical circles. “I convinced him that we needed to hide her fast, and that’s why he relented, but you can’t just take her off somewhere indefinitely! The director wants her close to McLean so he can debrief her. Scuttlebutt is she had some office files. Have you heard about those? She used the written order CI gave her to investigate you, and she’s been working on her own in between assignments, looking into the records of other officers and assets. The director’s pissed she went off and collaborated with the FBI before going through the proper channels.”

“And yet, apparently she found something.”

“Looks that way.”

“But she doesn’t know yet what that something is. That’s why I’m here in DC. I want to take her files with me when I go back.”

Bingley laughed without an ounce of humor. “They’ll never let you do that. You can read through the files. You have the clearance to do that much, but taking them out? No way.”

“Elizabeth needs to lay eyes on them to continue her investigation.”

“No. They can’t leave Langley.”

Darcy let the topic drop; he had another way to get that information to Elizabeth, thanks to Georgina.

“Elizabeth isn’t part of your team anymore. This isn’t Budapest or East Berlin. She’s the director’s responsibility now, not yours.”

“She was working in my corner of the world even though I wasn’t told beforehand.”

“But she was a NOC. Technically, you had no right to do what you did, spiriting her off that way. No right to take her protection into your own hands.”

Darcy started to speak then paused as if reconsidering. Then he blurted out. “I’m in love with her.”

Bingley stopped stirring. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I see,” he finally said.

“And yes, I do appreciate the irony. How that must sound to you—coming from me.”

“Feels different on this side of the coin, doesn’t it?”

“Charles—about Johanna—I’ve reason to believe I may have—misinterpreted her feelings.”

He held up a hand. “You had my best interest at heart. I know that. Doesn’t make your interference right. Now I’ve got to decide what to do to rectify it and whether that’s really the best thing for Johanna.” He looked miserable for a moment, but then he waved the emotion away. “But the fact is you’ve overstepped your authority by hiding Elizabeth from everyone, even her own government.”

“It’s not about authority. It’s about responsibility, and, damn it, Charles, it’s about safeguarding her life. This was attempted murder of a CIA officer on my turf. How could I just let that stand and do nothing?”

“You can’t save her if we’re all kept out of the loop.”

“Working outside the agency may be the only way we can save her.”

Bingley scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“The director wants her here to debrief her. I understand. He wants to know what she was working on, and he thinks she’ll be safer in the States. Generally, that would be true. But. Not. This. Time.”

“How do you get that?”

“Because this time the danger is from somewhere within Langley.”

“What?”

“Elizabeth was in Tobago to meet with Wickham’s ‘Viceroy’—the same asset who contacted Wickham with information for counterintelligence and insisted on meeting there. I don’t think that location was a coincidence. It was meant to cast suspicion on me, but I also think it was an attempt to get Elizabeth away from whatever information she and her friend in the FBI found.”

“Where did this ‘Viceroy’ come from?”

“That’s what I want to find out. When I do, I’ll have a definite lead on the mole.”

“Good God, man! Do you think this goes all the way to the top?”

Darcy’s expression was grim. “I don’t know, but I can’t really eliminate anyone at this point. When she and Wickham went to the rendezvous, the shooter was waiting for her. That tells me inside information—from inside counterintelligence—is in play. Only by a quirk of fate…” He couldn’t go on, couldn’t articulate what might have happened had Fate not intervened. “So in this case, she won’t be safer in the States. I can protect her better using my security, my place, because virtually no one knows about it.”

Bingley whistled. “Man, oh man.” He shook his head. “It’s an idea, I suppose. I’ll discuss it with the guys on the seventh floor. Sure looks like the mole was after her. Why else would he single out Elizabeth to meet Wickham’s asset?”

“At first, I thought Wickham himself was the leak. And when I discovered her there and that it was his asset she was contacting, I thought he was trying to get her by herself, cull her from the herd so he could take her down. That’s why I had Mrs. G put the boat there the night before. And why I followed Elizabeth and Wickham that morning.”

“Fortuitous.”

“Yes.”

“What will you do now?”

“I’m itching to go through Wickham’s office and find that order.”

“Then you’re off to Barbados. What about Trinidad?”

“I’m taking a leave of absence—for personal reasons. Henry’s in charge.”

He heard throat clearing to his right. “Your check, sir.” The proprietor of The Park coffee shop appeared at Darcy’s elbow and laid the check between the two men. “How was everything today?”

“Excellent, as always, Mr. Baker. Thank you.” Charles reached over and picked the paper off the table.

Mr. Baker looked back at Darcy, a kindly twinkle in his blue eyes. “We aim to please.”

Darcy, lost in his own thoughts, looked up and nodded curtly.

“You gentlemen have a nice day.” He walked away slowly, a slight limp in his step.

“Nice guy,” Charles commented before finishing his coffee in one long gulp. “Good coffee. The man’s an institution. I wonder how many government types he’s served coffee to over the years? He’s been here since I came to work at Langley.”

Darcy pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ve used this place to convey a message or two myself over the years.” He thought of the package he’d left Elizabeth after their stay on Hunsford Street. Making that tape hurt like hell, but it sure was a game changer. “You’ll persuade the director I’m not kidnapping Elizabeth? I’m trying to save her life—and the lives of countless assets and officers. We have to find this guy.”

“You’re sure it’s a guy?”

“It was predawn when I got that glimpse of him on Tobago, but I’m sure he was male. Men and women move differently.”

A shadow of a grin crossed Bingley’s face. “Boy, do they ever.” He stepped up to the cash register to pay his bill.

“1965,” Darcy mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“1965. You wondered how long The Park has been here.” He pointed to a plaque on the wall behind the cash register. On the gunmetal gray background, the letters shone in gold:
The Park. Established 1965.

“Like I said,” Charles replied, “an institution.”

***

Darcy devoured pages as fast as his photographic memory and his tiny hidden camera could go. Elizabeth’s files were full of biographical, financial, and surveillance information on a couple dozen people. He recognized some of the information as his own. Right down to his father’s government contracts back in the fifties and sixties.

“Thorough, aren’t you darling?” He snapped some photos of the next file. Thing was, none of it had names, only code numbers. “Where would you hide those, Elizabeth, my love?” He opened her desk drawers, checked for false bottoms. Nothing.

The door opened, and a voice rang out. “It all goes, gentlemen. All the contents of this office go to archives.” Bill Collins stopped on a dime when he saw Darcy behind the desk.

Darcy saw a flash of temper and contempt quickly smothered with an ingratiating smile. “Mr. Darcy, I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were on Tobago.”

“I brought Wickham’s body back. Given that they worked together, I thought there might be something useful in Elizabeth’s notes, something that would point to who killed him.”

“That was a real shame, wasn’t it? I liked Wickham, but it sounds like he was…impulsive. He convinced the director he had to go down there, see what was what, and then he went and got himself killed.”

“Somebody shot him in cold blood; that much is certain.”

“No way!”

“I was there. I saw it go down.”

Collins eyes widened. “You were actually there?”

“No one knows if he was the real target or not.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, some people—including me—think the bullet wasn’t intended for him at all.”

“Really? Then it’s an even bigger shame. Have you found anything that would help you figure it out?”

“Perhaps. I’m going to confer with a colleague of Elizabeth’s.”

“Where is Ms. Bennet? I was just told to move her office files to archives.”

“Tucked away, safe and sound. For now.”

“Sounds serious.”

“She had a history of working with Wickham. It seemed prudent to put her under protection.”

“She must be abroad then. No one’s been moved to the safe houses around here.”

“She’s safe. That’s the important thing.”

“Of course. Well, if you’re finished here…”

“Sure. These aren’t much help.”

“Why not?”

Darcy tossed the file on the desk in front of him. “No names. Only code numbers.”

“Perhaps the woman at the FBI has them—the one Ms. Bennet was conspiring with.”

“I wouldn’t call a coordinated investigation ‘conspiring,’ Collins.”

“No, of course not. I’m sure it was all on the up and up. You’re right.”

“I’m going through Wickham’s office next. Trying to find the order that sent Elizabeth Bennet to the Caribbean.”

“I can save you the trouble. There was nothing of value in that office. The man kept horrible documentation. There was no signed order.”

“No order?”

“Unless he took it with him.”

“This just gets weirder and weirder. Elizabeth saw an order. She wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”

“If we could bring her in—question her—we might find out, but she’s incommunicado.” Collins eyed Darcy with speculation. “
You’re
here though. Since you witnessed the incident, they may want to debrief you. Let me just call and ask.”

A frisson of alarm raced up Darcy’s spine. He didn’t want to delay his departure one second longer than necessary. He couldn’t protect Elizabeth from inside Langley, and with a mole burrowing inside the walls, who knew if he’d make it out alive.

“Okay, fine. I’ll be in my office.” Darcy yanked open the door and left, leaving Collins standing in the middle of a team of employees filling boxes—and frowning.

Instead of his office, Darcy made a beeline for the exit.

***

He stood in line, waiting to pass his briefcase through the metal detector. It was near the end of the day, and the line inched along, feeding his impatience to get the hell out of Dodge. He glanced up at the mezzanine behind him, saw Collins standing there, hands on the rail and searching the crowd. Darcy turned back, putting a big linebacker of a guy between him and Collins’s line of sight. Collins pushed off the rail in frustration, and Darcy stepped up to the scanner.

“Mr. Darcy, sir. How was your day?” The young security guard opened the briefcase and examined the contents. “What’s this?” He held up the pen.

“Birthday gift.” He lied. “From my father.”
Indirectly.

“Nice. Never seen one like that before.”

“My family says it’s one of a kind.” He stuck the pen in his shirt pocket, took the briefcase, and turned toward the door. The phone behind the guard rang. Darcy kept walking.