Undeceived (6 page)

“Have you rehearsed what you’ll say at the checkpoints?”

“I work for the state agricultural committee. We’re taking wine and grapes to Austrian vineyards. Peter has the papers, right?”

He nodded. “It should be pretty routine. Peter’s smuggled things out before, and he’s yet to have his cargo inspected, except for a random box near the edge of the truck. Of course, he’s never smuggled out people before. We’ll put ourselves in the interior crates, away from the tailgate. Once they look in a couple of places near the back, if they look at all, they should wave us through. There is a trap door in the bottom of the truck, in case a timely escape is needed.”

“Let’s try to avoid that if we can,” Liz said in wry tone. “I don’t know how I’d ever find you if you left the truck—at least before state security scooped you up.”

“Remember, in that case, the plan is to drive a mile down the road and wait there for…?”

“Three hours—I know, I know.”

They rode on in silence. He found himself wanting to comfort her but not knowing how or what to say. He’d watched her for weeks, read her dossier, listened to her talk with the locals. She loved Hungary and regretted leaving, but it was par for the course. Maybe, someday, she could return.
Sure thing, right after the USSR dissolved
, he thought with grim humor.

Their landing point, a rickety dock, loomed ahead. Darby shut off the motor and took up the oars. They careened gently into the dock, and Liz reached out a hand to grab the post. He looped a rope over and stood beside her.

“Just step out and help Johanna. I’m going to let the boat drift off into the lake. Less chance of someone suspecting anything out of the ordinary if there’s no empty boat here.”

“And boat owner be damned?”

“Afraid so. Peter will make it right. I hope.”

They approached a truck parked behind a warehouse on the outskirts of town.

“We haven’t much time before sunrise.” Peter waved them toward the truck impatiently. “Here you go. Get in, miss.” He indicated a crate in the center of the covered truck bed.

Johanna looked dumbstruck at the crate, which was a little over a meter square.

“What’s the matter?” Darby asked, irritated.

“She’s claustrophobic,” Liz whispered.

“Well, hell.”

“I can do it.” She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. Her voice was calm, determined. “I must do it. Therefore, I will.”

She took Peter’s hand and climbed into the truck. Darby was right behind her and settled in, his legs stretched out alongside Johanna’s. His crate was slightly longer, which, in addition to the slats on the sides, would allow some light and air to reach them. Peter and Liz arranged the other crates around the two carrying more precious cargo, and laid some tarps in strategic places.

***

Peter set out along the road west. They were waved through the first checkpoint after showing the papers to the guard, but as they approached the border right outside Kőszeg, they were motioned to stop. The guard checked a memo he held in his hand. Peter handed over his papers, but then the guard eyed Liz and asked in Hungarian, “See your passport?”

She handed him her Hungarian passport, littered with false trips to Austria, Czechoslovakia, and France over the past two years. He looked from her to the passport, and back again. “This paper looks brand new, not like it’s been handled during all these trips.”

“I take good care of it,” she replied, her Hungarian flawless.

“Need to inspect your cargo.” He tapped the slats on the truck with his weapon. Liz’s heart raced for fear of discovery.

***

Inside the crates, Darby looked at Johanna, trying to gauge her condition. Dawn-painted sunlight from between the crates cast a reddish glow on the upper part of her face. Her eyes were wide with fright and shiny with unshed tears. Darby held a finger to his lips and kept her gaze in his. He didn’t dare move another muscle, however, and she took her cues from him. He could hardly tell if she was breathing.

The guard swaggered around the back of the truck and smacked one of the back crates with his hand. Darby was afraid Johanna would jump at the noise, but she only closed her eyes and stayed deathly still. The guard’s voice moved up toward Liz’s window.

***

Beside the truck, the guard shifted his weapon in his hands. He approached Liz, running his eyes down her front, and stopping to admire her chest.

So that’s how to play it.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“None of your concern,” he grunted.

“Could we keep moving? See, we don’t want to be late. I know you understand. Today is our first trip to this particular vineyard. If I arrive late with opened boxes, the haughty vintner won’t take them, and I’ll get in trouble with the boss. You know how it goes.”

“Who’s the driver? Your husband?”

“Him? No. He’s just a guy driving the truck. I don’t have a husband.”

“You’re from Budapest?”

“Yes. Do you get to the city often?”

“Sometimes.” He opened her door. “Step out of the truck.”

Liz complied, leaving the door open so she could leap back inside at a moment’s notice.

“We’re supposed to be on the lookout for a Hungarian woman, which you are, accompanied by an American man.”

“Which he’s not, obviously.” She followed the guard toward the back of the truck. “Why do they want these people?”

The guard shrugged. “Why do they want anybody? It’s none of my concern.” He eyed her again. “Bela.”

“Hmm?”

He finally smiled. “My name’s Bela.”

“Erzsebet.”

“From Budapest?”

“Indeed. As you saw on my passport. Have you ever tried any of this?” She indicated the box closest to the tailgate.

“We don’t get to drink fine wine out here too often.”

Liz picked up a crowbar and pried open the back crate. It would be a horrible mistake to overtly offer a bribe, offensive even, but if she could sweet-talk him…

She called to Peter. “Did you put any glasses back here?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s a shame.” She tossed her head and speared the guard with a speculative look. “Because I know you’d enjoy it.”

His grin was slow, calculating. “I would, probably. But I wouldn’t know what I was tasting, would I?”

“That’s why I wanted to share a glass with you. To educate you on what you’re tasting.” She paused to consider. “You should take a bottle or two.”

“What about getting in trouble?”

“They’ll never miss a couple if I pack the box right. Take some to share with your friends.” She reached into the crate. Thankfully, there really were bottles of wine in it. “Save one though.”

“What for?”

“For when I get back to Hungary. We’ll open it together. Next time you’re in Budapest.”

“Where should we open this fine wine? Your place?”

She gave him the street address on her passport. “I’ll even have wine glasses.” Her laugh spilled out over the clink of bottles as she wrapped them in burlap and handed them to the guard. He had to shoulder his weapon to take them.

She turned back and gave him a bright smile. “Until Budapest.”

“Until Budapest then.”

She got in, and Peter wasted no time in leaving the checkpoint behind.

Liz let out a shaky sigh, took the handgun out of her ankle holster, and laid it on the seat between them.

He looked down at it, surprised. “And just how were you planning to use that?”

“I actually have no idea.”

“Not like you could blast your way through a check point.”

“I guess not.”

They’d reached the outskirts of Vienna before her panicked numbness wore off. Peter stopped the truck right outside an abandoned warehouse, and they each leaped out, pulling crates to the side and helping Johanna and Darby out into the Austrian sunshine.

“
Bécs
!” Peter triumphantly called out the Hungarian name for Vienna, grinning at Johanna. She gave him an uncertain smile in return and looked around her, taking it all in. Darby seemed wobbly, and his legs were likely stiff. He caught Liz’s shoulder to right himself.

She was shaking. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” But her teeth began to chatter in spite of the warm summer morning. “That was close.”

“Close, yes. But you improvised and got us out of there. You read the situation and devised a plan to deal with it. You did well, Liz Hertford.”

“Thanks.” She looked up at him. “It’s Bennet.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m Elizabeth Bennet. We’re out of Hungary, and I’ll never be Liz Hertford again.”

He nodded, and a small smile lit his face. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bennet.”

Her eyes filled, and a terrified sob bubbled up from somewhere inside her. She laughed through tears. “I’ve got to get myself together now.” Then she turned away, hand over her mouth to stifle the involuntary crying.

He turned her back around and drew her into his embrace. “Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, we’re all right.” She nodded against his chest, spilling hot, wet tears on his shirtfront. He pulled back and rubbed her arms. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m breaking down like this—and in front of you, of all people. Which stinks. But I was scared shitless, and don’t you dare despise me for it.”

“Indeed, madam, I wouldn’t dare. Don’t despise yourself either. It’s a side-effect of adrenaline, not evidence of weakness.” He let her go with an awkward pat. “You’ll be…fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” She bit her lip. “Thanks, Darby.”

“Darcy. William Darcy.”

She laughed at the James Bond allusion, a cautious display of mirth. His gallantry surprised her. She had rather expected him to roll his eyes at her outburst or at least scowl at her, but the situation must have strung him out, too, because he was looking at her with the strangest expression.

***

William Darcy knew he was heading for trouble. Nothing caught his admiration more readily than guts—and guts was something Liz Hertford—no, Elizabeth Bennet—had in spades. He had never been as bewitched by any woman as he was by her, and if it were not for the fact that she worked for him, he really believed he might be in danger of falling for her.

Part Two

Beware, my friend. It might be seen in your eyes, the way your head turns toward the object of your desire, how you speak of her when she’s not around. Eureka! After all this time, I believe I have finally found it—your fatal flaw.

Humbling, isn’t it? To know that someone exists who can lead you so far away from yourself or what you thought you were. Is it obsession? I suppose it is. It proves you’re human. Imperfect. Like…me! You’re like me after all. Don’t fear it so much. Don’t be such a wuss. Ironic that we should be in love at the same moment, isn’t it? So much we share. Yet so different our lives turned out to be. You with your golden badge of privilege and the status that comes with wealth and family. That privilege bought you career advancement too. Gave you a leg up that this old boy would never get. Never. The old man made sure of that.

Chapter 9

East Berlin, Germany
August 1982

Applause thundered through the theater. Liam Reynolds glanced at the man next to him, and after exchanging looks, they both rose to join in the ovation. From his third row seat, he saw all the actors as they came up to take their bows. His eyes were riveted, however, to one Beth Steventon, known to him now as Elizabeth Bennet, his translator and fellow CIA officer from Budapest. She was right when she told him she’d never be Liz Hertford again, just as he would never be the smooth American businessman Darby Kent again. New city, new assignment, new pocket litter in his jacket—scribblings, tickets, and cards to convince the Stasi about the veracity of this new life.

New assignment, but not where he wanted to be. Liam was frustrated with his lack of progress toward the top post in the USSR. East Berlin was on the front lines of the so-called Cold War, but he was still a case officer with a non-official cover, what the career embassy officers called a “damned NOC.”

Beth avoided eye contact with him in his third row as she should; they were supposed to be strangers. But somehow, he took a perverse pleasure in trying to draw her attention.

Last week, Reynolds was floored when he walked into the British Embassy and saw Beth chatting up his longtime friend and MI6 contact, Richard Fitzwilliam. Honestly, Liam assumed he’d probably never see Beth again after they parted ways in Vienna. Yet there they were, starring in their very own
Casablanca
moment. His lips quirked into a wry smile, thinking “of all the gin joints,” etc.

Her hair was different, shorter, a new auburn color—becoming but not too conspicuous. She laughed heartily at something Fitzwilliam said, making Liam’s insides twist in an odd way.

“Reynolds!” Fitzwilliam called him over with a wave.

He approached the pair, waiting to see whether she could cover her surprise at seeing him in East Germany, assessing her poise. He was oddly disappointed when she turned to face him without a hint of recognition whatsoever.

“Fitz,” he acknowledged his friend. “How’s the BBC?”

“Good, good. Glad to see you. What brings you to East Berlin?”

“I’ve got a traveling position, working for the Goodwin Theater Company—looking for new ideas, fresh talent.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Unknown. Depends on what I find, I guess.”

“I guess.” Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled. As if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone, he turned and gently took the elbow of the woman next to him. “Speaking of fresh talent, I’d like you to meet Beth Steventon. She’s an Oxford grad student on a theater fellowship at Humboldt University this semester. Beth, my friend, Liam Reynolds.”

She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

When their hands joined, he felt the old familiar tingle in his arm, the same one he felt when he first spun her around the dance floor in Budapest. That instant spark, unfortunately, hadn’t dulled at all. He rubbed his palm with his other hand to try and displace the feeling.

“Beth is a dancer in the new show at Rosengarten.”

“Oh?” He’d had no idea she could dance well enough for professional stage work.

“It’s a small role.” She looked away as if to downplay her part. “Just an extra really. But that’s what you expect when you’re a student—and an outsider. It’s been a good learning experience.”

“I’ll have to look for you when I attend the show on opening night.”

Fitzwilliam jumped in. “Liam’s organization, The Goodwin Theater Company, is one of the oldest in the States.”

“I’m familiar with the name,” she answered. “You’ll have to let me know what you think of
Stolz und Vorurteil,
Liam.” She twisted the ring on her finger, a well-established signal she was giving him a message with her next words. “The female lead is a talented actress. Make sure you see the show—for her performance if nothing else.”

“I will.”

“I’d be curious to know what you think of her and the play in general. I hear they’re having a cast and crew party to celebrate opening night. You could keep her out of trouble; ask her to dance.”

***

So here he was, attending the East German Rosengarten Theater with an eye bent to the show’s leading lady, a woman named—he glanced down at the program—Anneliese Vandenburg. She was apparently the new asset, according to that brief talk he had with Beth last week. Fitzwilliam had wrangled him an invitation to the cast and crew party after the show, a party that included government dignitaries and press. From the third row, he could tell Anneliese was a striking woman—tall, blonde, fair—actually, quite beautiful. He wondered what information she had or could get that would be useful to the CIA.

The after-party was taking place in the director’s house, located in the Prenzlauer Berg district, so Fitzwilliam offered to drive his Trabant to the festivities. Liam peered into the house’s entryway, lit up with a glorious chandelier, laughter spilling out of the kitchen and into the vestibule. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath to relax. There would be no Beth at a gathering like this, so there was no need to be cognizant of squelching his compulsive tendency to follow her with his eyes.

Instead, he would focus on his new asset, the mysterious Anneliese Vandenburg. According to the dossier Collins had left him, Anneliese was relatively new on the theater and cabaret scene, born and educated in Dresden. She was a fast rising star in East Germany’s state funded arts program. Liam would meet her, maybe spend some time with her socially, but let Beth function as the cutout, handling Anneliese’s intelligence information through a dead drop. Hopefully, after a few encounters, Anneliese Vandenburg would never remember Liam Reynolds was alive, which was exactly how he wanted it. After his recent experiences in Prague and Hungary, he needed to be extra cautious. Even with his new artist look, he was leery about being recognized. He’d toned down his splashy, polished spy persona for this tour in East Berlin. Hungary’s Darby Kent, the embassy man with the suave smile and expensive suits, was long gone. Flashy arrogance was too conspicuous for the Stasi and for the East German people. It wouldn’t do to have the luxuries they didn’t have or wear the clothes they couldn’t get. That would draw extra attention to his Western background, something he surely didn’t need. He’d grown his hair into a dark mane sprinkled with gray, long enough now to pull into a tail at the nape of his neck. He sported a Gallic-looking beard as well, and he had lost some weight, making him appear every inch the brooding artist.

Fitz brought a couple glasses of champagne and led Liam over to introduce him to Anneliese. She peered at the two of them over the rim of her glass. Her smile was chilly; her bright blue eyes glittered in a way that almost set his teeth chattering.

A cold, beautiful woman
.
Cold as ice.

But ice could feel as if it were burning when one touched it for too long, and Anneliese gave off that kind of searing bite when she looked at him. “Herr Reynolds.”

“Fraulein Vandenberg.”

“You work for Goodwin Theater Company, I hear?”

“I do.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the inner workings of Broadway theaters.” She smiled grimly. “On a temporary basis, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The tyranny, the uncertainty, the capitalist corruption.”

“The overnight success stories, the money, the free exchange of ideas.”

“There is that too, I suppose. But I’m only concerned with acting the plays, not writing them.”

He decided to leave American posturing aside for the moment. A little was expected after she baited him like that, but neither of them could speak their minds here anyway.

“I enjoyed your portrayal of Elsbeth tonight.”

“
Danke.
Will my Western thespian colleagues get to hear about it?”

“I could tell you that they definitely would, but I’ll be honest and say the development director has the final say.”

“An honest theater man.” She tossed her head, laughing. “What a novelty!”

“Honesty is a virtue.”

“And a virtuous one as well! Those are scarce around these parts. I should beg for an audience with you.”

“It’s a date.” Why on earth was he trifling with this woman? Her demeanor gave him the impression she’d as soon put his balls in a vice as look at him.

A stern-looking matron in an East German military uniform approached them from behind. “Anneliese.” Although her voice wasn’t loud, it still sounded like she barked the name. “Who is this?”

“Mother,” Anneliese said. “Meet Liam Reynolds, assistant to the artistic director at the Goodwin Theater Company. It’s in New York.”

“Western thespian.”

“I am indeed, madam.”

She studied him a long minute and then held out her hand. “Oberst Catrina Vandenburg.”

“Pleasure,” he said politely. His brain clicked through the various reports he’d read on East German military staff. No wonder Vandenburg sounded familiar. This was the prize Anneliese had used to angle into US intelligence. Her mother was a border commander—and even icier than her daughter if he was any judge of character. There was no family resemblance he could detect except for a grim wariness he saw in many of the East German people these days.

“Liam is reviewing
Stolz und Vorurteil
for his company. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Mm.”

“Should I let him review me as well?”

“It will have to be approved by the bureau, of course. I’ll need to read some of your earlier work, Herr Reynolds.”

So will I.
Thank goodness there isn’t much yet to read
. He was only the second officer to assume the Liam Reynolds cover since it was created in the late Seventies.

“Of course.” He turned once again to Anneliese. “Can I find you at the theater later this week?”

“Rehearsals each day at two, but I’m always there, it seems.”

“I’ll drop by.” He turned toward the doorway, and—

There she was.

He hardly knew what name to give her: Liz, Erzsebet, Beth. The only appellation that came to mind was “She
.
”
She
of the fine eyes and the bright smile, her hair pulled back in a sleek knot at the nape of her neck.
She
, wearing black pants that hugged her hips and a silky top with a plunging neckline.
She
, who glanced at him and turned away, nonplussed.
Tear your eyes away. Someone will notice if you look too long. Stop staring; stop—

“Do you know that young woman?” Anneliese asked, following his gaze to the door.

Damn it!
“No. I…I thought I did, but no.”

“One American looks like another, I suppose.” Anneliese’s brittle smile returned, and she leaned into him. “Yes, she is American: one of the dancers in the show. Graduate student—from Oxford, I think—but she is from the US originally.” The sharp, powdery scent of Anneliese’s perfume reached his nose, making it twitch in an attempt to keep a sneeze from erupting.

“I could arrange an introduction if you would like. She is a friend of mine.”

This was a disaster! He needed to distance himself from Beth Steventon, not associate himself with her in Anneliese’s mind. “She’s not really my type.”

Anneliese eyed him, speculation in her gaze, then shrugged. “Come meet our director. He is over by the wine, talking with the playwright and the Minister of the Theater.”

To have the leading lady show him around wasn’t conforming to his plan to observe and disappear, but Anneliese seemed determined to parade him in front of the entire cast and government officials in attendance.

“I suppose I should let you speak to your lovely American comrade now. You have met everyone else.” She hooked her arm in his.

“We don’t call them comrades in the States.”

“What do you call them?”

“I don’t know…countrymen?”

Anneliese drew her brows together in confusion.

“I know, I know—she’s not a man.”

“Ah, well. Your American country man then.” She shook her head. “It is a pity I have to introduce you to her.”

“Why?”

“Why encourage you to look at the competition?” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “The girl could at least have the decency to be ugly.”

“She could hardly be considered a great beauty.”

Anneliese nodded toward Beth. “But apparently, she is attractive enough to draw the attention of a man on our crew. You have missed your chance.”

He forced himself to stare into his drink instead of whipping his head around to see who had dared approach
his
rookie. He emptied the glass while Anneliese prattled on about the East German reviews for
Stolz und Vorurteil.

Once he saw Beth had her eyes trained on him, he gestured with his glass toward the kitchen.

“I seem to be empty,” he said to Anneliese. “Can I get you something?”

“
Danke
,” she replied. “But no alcohol for me. Bad for the voice, you know.”

He walked through the house and out the back door, confident that Beth would follow. Silently, he indicated a hedgerow several feet from the house and turned as she approached him.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

“
Guten Abend
to you too. I was invited. I’m in the cast. Geez, Liam! I’m the cutout remember? Between you and our new friend.”

“Does Anneliese know you’re the liaison?”

Beth shook her head. “She’s not supposed to. Collins set it up before he left town.”

“Collins. Hmmph. He left a shitload of redundant documentation I have to purge. Where did they send him again?”

“Back home to Uncle.”

“Best idea they’ve had in months. Maybe home will suit him better than the field.”

“It sounds boring to me.”

“Exactly. But then, you aren’t Collins, are you? You’re qualified for your work.”

Beth shot him a quizzical look, her eyebrows drawn together.

“What?”

“Waiting for the left-handed compliment to drop.”

He reached for her hand then drew it back. “What I mean is, you have an aptitude for what you do, and it shows.”

The sound of a door closing drew her attention. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

Liam cleared his throat. “So, how do you like East Germany, Miss Steventon?”

A short round of small talk ensued, ending with the appearance of Fitz, warning Liam that Anneliese was on the prowl, looking for him. Beth Steventon disappeared into the crowd, and the three officers parted ways for the rest of the evening.