Undeceived

by Cox, Karen M.

  In addition to Prague, Sopron was a popular escape route from Budapest to the West. Therefore, Darby judged the Hungarians would beef up the border patrols along those routes. He also knew that more guards at Sopron meant fewer guards at the other checkpoints along the Austrian border. It was becoming increasingly difficult for the Hungarians to man every station the way they had in the early years of Communist rule. Guard shacks and barracks were run down, Soviets were called home, and personnel were cut back in favor of other “necessities.” With that in mind, he and Peter, the grape farmer turned spy, had plotted a course from Keszthely, on the western edge of Lake Balaton, heading west to Körmend, then north to Szombathely and on to Kőszeg near the Austrian border. Once in Austria proper, they would just head north to Vienna, unimpeded.

  “There was some government activity on the road from here to Keszthely yesterday,” Darby informed Liz while he burned their courier’s message in the fireplace at Alsómező. It was a couple of hours before dawn, and they had planned to take Darby’s car into the lakeside town. The music on the shortwave radio played to mask their voices, an anomaly in the early morning quiet.

  “So, do we wait another day?” Liz asked.

  “No more waiting—we need to get out of Hungary. We’ll go another way.” He glanced up at her, calm and collected as always. “By water. But we’re taking a little motorboat. The sailboat is too easily recognized, and the wind too unreliable.”

  “Where did you get this boat?”

  He let out a laugh devoid of humor. “I stole it. Peter will return it if possible. I will have to abandon the agency’s car, which is unfortunate, but maybe the ambassador can put it to good use.”

  “We’re abandoning quite a lot here in Hungary.”

  “True enough. I’m sorry about your apartment, Liz. Did you have anything irreplaceable there? Anything I can try and get for you?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing my friend Mary can’t pack up and forward out through diplomatic channels. Although I wasn’t talking just furniture and things. We have to leave behind some good intelligence channels we’d begun to cultivate—and, of course, we’re leaving behind our assets and other agency people. Have you heard from Bill Collins?”

  “No, I decided to keep the details of Johanna’s escape off the official information chain. Bill is in the embassy, so he’s safe there for the moment. By the time he gets wind of what we’re doing, we’ll already be in Vienna. It gives him plausible deniability about our plans, which he needs sorely, the schmuck. I swear I don’t know how he made it through training.”

  “I’ve wondered that myself at times.” Liz preferred to talk about the subject at hand, however. “How will we find our ride, given this change in mode of transportation to Keszthely?”

  “Our driver thought this might happen, so he arranged to meet us near an abandoned factory, just in case. It will be about a half-mile walk from the boat dock to his truck. Is Johanna up for that, do you think?”

  “I think so,” Liz said, grateful that they had been working on the young woman’s stamina. Who knew that she would have to sneak her way out of Hungary this soon?

  “How’s she holding up?”

  “Physically, she’s fine.”

  “And psychologically?”

  “She’s frightened but resigned to her fate, whatever it turns out to be. But, Darby, we have to get her out safely. I don’t know how she could possibly withstand incarceration, even for a short period of time.”

  “You’ve become too attached to your asset, Liz. It speaks well of your compassion, but it’s a rookie’s mistake—one that can have far-reaching damage, trust me. If it comes down to it, you have to be willing to leave her behind.”

  “Good God, Darby! Could you leave that sweet young woman behind to be arrested…or worse?”

  “If it was necessary, I could. I have done that very thing. Intelligence work is a lot of thinking and planning and writing reports, but at certain times, it requires ruthlessness. You know this. Our mission is bigger than one person.”

  “I understand that, or I thought I did, it’s just…”

  “It’s harder when your asset has a face.” His smile was almost sympathetic, but then his expression became tougher, more distant. “But you must do it, even when—maybe especially when—the stakes are high.” He turned toward the sound of steps on the stairs. “Are you ready, Johanna?”

  “Yes.” In spite of the early hour, Johanna was wide-awake, her blue-green eyes sad in her pale face.

  “No papers on you, are there?”

  “No. Just like you said, no papers, no photos—nothing but the clothes on my back.”

  “Good. Spy Rule Number Five: No papers on you when you’re sneaking around anywhere. That way, if the worst happens, and we are separated from Liz and Peter, we can pretend to be an American couple, robbed and set out on the highway. I might be able to pull that off. I’ll do the talking; you pretend you are dumb with shock.”

  Johanna looked, frightened, at Liz, who translated into Hungarian.

  “That deer in headlights look you’re sporting right now is perfect,” he muttered.

  Johanna frowned as she translated his last words while Liz stared at him, dumbfounded at his insult.

  Johanna’s face broke into a wry smile. “No pretending.” The smile faded. “I will do my best, Mr. Kent.”

  ***

  They walked along a wooded path to the ambassador’s boat dock, and there, tied up next to the sailboat was a small runabout that smelled of fish. Darby stepped down with one foot, and turned, leaving the other on the dock while he handed Johanna, and then Liz into the boat.

  “We’ll row out to the middle of the lake before we start the motor.”

  Liz took the oars next to her seat, and Darby smiled in admiration at her initiative. His rookie would never wait around for someone else to take over the physical work. Somehow, her typical spunky behavior settled him. “Can you row a straight line, Ms. Hertford?”

  “I may not be able to sail worth a damn, but I can row anywhere.”

  “Carry on then.”

  Fortunately, the lake was calm. The dark pressed around them, and every once in a while, there was the sound of a fish breaking the surface. Once they got out on the water, Darby started the motor, and they puttered slowly down the lake. Off starboard, the large, black leviathan of shoreline kept pace, looming over them in the cool, predawn air. Although there was no one around to hear, they kept their voices just barely above a whisper.

  A sudden breeze blew Liz’s hair in a swirling dark cloud around her head. Darby couldn’t see her face clearly in the darkness, but that just brought the light and pleasing outline of her figure to his attention. He felt this visceral pull between them, an impulse he tried to attribute to the danger in which they found themselves. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him hyperaware to every sight and sound and to her every twitch of movement. It was odd; he’d not felt this way when he fled Prague last year. But then he was reeling from losing Jirina. This time, both his charges were right here under his watchful eye, and Wickham was an ocean and half a continent away in Washington. At least this time, Officer William Darcy was in control of their collective fate.

  “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 c
ase 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 ri
ght 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.