Undeceived

by Cox, Karen M.

  Elizabeth stopped just inside the door, frozen in shock.

  “Darcy!” Deputy Director Charles Bingley came in from another door behind his desk—looking remarkably well, Elizabeth thought. Better than he had the last time she had seen him, his arm around a fragile Johanna Bodnar in Vienna.

  “Hello, Charles.”

  “I have to say, I’m damn glad to see you in one piece and on the mend.”

  “I’m glad to be seen.”

  “I was afraid that phone call from East Berlin might be the last time we spoke.” He turned to Elizabeth. “And you’ve brought your go-to-officer in the field.”

  “Which you already knew, given that you sent for both of us.”

  “True enough. How are you, Liz Hertford? Or should I say, Elizabeth Bennet?”

  “Charles?”

  He gave her that quick, handsome grin of his.

  “I…I can’t believe it. You’re Ambassador Hurst’s idle brother-in-law. Not…”

  “It’s a good cover, isn’t it? Even the case officers don’t suspect me. Having Louis so high in the State Department has really helped, in more ways than one. Of course, it’s hard to hide from seasoned guys like this one.” He put a hand on Darcy’s good shoulder.

  “What’s happened to our Alsómező friend?” She had been itching for news of Johanna Bodnar, and now she could get an update straight from the horse’s mouth.

  “Ah, doing well, as far as I know,” he said hurriedly, glancing at Darcy.

  “Is she in the States? Perhaps I could see her.”

  “I think we could arrange something.” Bingley deftly changed the subject. “I feel compelled to thank you.” He pressed her hand in both of his. “Your service to your fellow officer here, and to the CIA, does you credit.”

  “Thank you. I’m just glad it didn’t result in a star on Memorial Wall.”

  He smiled. “Yes, we’re all pleased about that. Let’s sit down, shall we? We have a lot to discuss.” He led them across the office and opened a set of double doors leading to a conference room. A number of officers and security men gathered in groups of two or three, talking in soft tones, and a long table monopolized the space.

  “Coffee please, Bridget,” Bingley murmured quietly to his assistant as he gestured Darcy and Elizabeth into the conference room with his arm. “After you.”

  Darcy stepped in, and this time it was he who froze in his tracks. Elizabeth felt the resentment rolling off him in waves and the toxic vibe returned in equal measure. At the other end of the table sat George Wickham.

  Well, this meeting is full of surprises. Playing her part as Darcy’s colleague rather than Wickham’s, she took a seat and turned to hold out a chair for Darcy. He plopped in it, glaring furiously at Wickham, at Bingley, and then at the table in front of him.

  Bingley joined them, pulling his chair up to the table.

  “I appreciate you all being here today. Darcy, you especially—I know you still have some recovery ahead of you.”

  Darcy nodded.

  “We have had a situation arise—one that needs our immediate attention and, I think, a change in operations, at least for a while. George?”

  Wickham cleared his throat. “There’s been some chatter over in the West German intelligence channels. Some rumors about a mole in the CIA. Those kinds of rumors aren’t new, but in light of recent events, they deserved some attention. In the messages from East to West Berlin, they refer to this mole as Wilhelm…”

  Darcy interrupted. “That’s the name I was given by my assailant.”

  Wickham went on as if Darcy hadn’t spoken. “While it’s possible that name was a plant of some kind to throw us off base, I think we have to consider that this Wilhelm may be a real threat. Not only that he might be real”—Wickham speared Elizabeth with a brief look—“we think he may be here.”

  “Here—as in here in the States?” she asked.

  “Here—as in here at Langley.”

  “Impossible,” a voice piped up from the other side of the room. There was a collective roll of the eyes.

  “Nothing’s impossible, Collins,” Wickham declared. “We know your favorite asset has weighed in on this, but other sources—”

  “My Soviet contact in East Berlin, Ekaterina, insists that there is no Soviet intelligence officer within the walls of Langley. Due to her contacts within the KGB, she has intimate knowledge of the workings of the highest levels of the Soviet government. She…”

  Elizabeth let her attention wander. Collins was always spouting off in one way or another about this “contact” who, in truth, was nothing more than the widow of a mid-level bureaucrat. Her information was rarely even relevant and almost never confirmed by the agency’s other sources.

  “Uh, Collins, is it?” Bingley interrupted. “Be a good man, would you, and get a copy of your original report for me? I want to take another look at it.”

  Several smirks were exchanged around the table. Elizabeth saw Collins take in the looks and almost thought she saw wheels turning for a second. His expression tightened into a mask of contempt that flickered and then died so quickly she might have imagined it. He beamed at Bingley. “Of course, sir, it’s in my office in the other building. It may take a while.”

  “It could be important, so take your time, and bring me the complete report—and your notes.”

  “My notes, sir?”

  “Yes. I appreciate your effort.”

  “Yes, sir!” He left the room.

  “Thank God,” Darcy mumbled under his breath.

  Bingley waited several seconds then buzzed his assistant. “Bridget, if he comes back before we’re finished, implement Code Eighteen.”

  “Code Eighteen?” Elizabeth asked, confused.

  “Director is playing a round of golf with some high-ranking official.”

  Darcy sat back in his chair, eyeing Charles carefully. He still refused to make eye contact with George.

  “This information could have been conveyed by phone or message. Why bring us down here?”

  “There’s a new wrinkle in the situation.”

  “Spell it out, Charles. I’m growing old waiting for you to give it to me straight.”

  Charles sat back and studied his old friend as he spoke. “This attempt on your life, along with what happened in Prague and the close escape in Hungary, as well as other information I’m not at liberty to share with you yet, has led our analyst here”—he indicated Wickham—“to recommend that we put you under protection.”

  “What?” He whirled around on Wickham. “Son-of-a-bitch! You’re recommending they take me out of the field?”

  “Sit down, Darcy.” Bingley spoke sharply then softened his voice. “Please.” The men standing at the corners of the room tensed, ready to intervene. Darcy observed them and then looked around the room, realization dawning.

  “You think I botched those assignments in Prague, in Hungary—on purpose? You think I’m Wilhelm? I’m some kind of…double agent?”

  “Relax. No one thinks that.”

  Darcy pointed at Wickham. “He does. He has for months, ever since Ramsgate.”

  Wickham held up his hands, a show of surrender, but Elizabeth caught the smug little spark in his eyes.

  Bingley interceded again. “I don’t think you’re a double agent—not by any stretch of the imagination. We are concerned, however, that you may have been the intended target of the abduction in Prague and a victim of the leak in Budapest. Obviously, you were the target in East Berlin. We need to get you out of the line of fire for a while until we can sort this out—figure out why in hell they want you so much.”

  “I know a lot of people working across Europe. If the KGB could get that kind of information out of me…”

  Wickham snorted.

 
“But this is Langley! What makes you think they would come after me here? I understand if I’m out in the field, but they won’t try to get to me in the US.”

  “We think they might. And with a mole inside, they might succeed.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It does if you can help us identify this Wilhelm.”

  “I can’t.”

  “But once we debrief you and Elizabeth and put your information with ours, it’s possible we can. Wickham’s intelligence sources say the former Prague station chief is believed to know Wilhelm personally. You were the COS, Darcy. And if they think you can help us identify their mole, they’ll want you dead—no matter where you are.”

  “But—”

  “Plus there may be some retribution for the deaths of their agents in East Berlin.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “If your identity has been compromised, and on the chance that the KGB can track your assignments and location, you’re a danger, not only to yourself but to anyone who works with you. We can’t risk it. We have to take our analyst’s recommendations.”

  Darcy slumped back in his chair. His expression was glum. “Very clever, Wickham. That’s the one scenario you knew would work on me—putting the others at risk.”

  “No left-handed compliments are required,” Wickham said. “I would never assume you’d consider anyone above yourself. I simply recommend what needs to be done.”

  Darcy snarled and turned to Bingley. “So, do you have a plan, Deputy Director?”

  “We have a safe house in northern Virginia. The cover is set. We pretended to put the house up for sale, and you”—he looked down at the folder on his desk—“Dr. William Eliot, Civil War historian, on sabbatical to write a book on Civil War weaponry, are now the proud owner of a Federalist style fixer-upper. That is, you”—and here he grinned mischievously—“and your lovely wife.”

  “Wife? What wife?”

  Bingley looked at Elizabeth, his eyes twinkling.

  “Oh no,” Elizabeth declared. “No way! Pretending to be his wild Hungarian fling is bad enough. I’m certainly not posing as his wife.” She tossed a frantic glance at Darcy, once up and down, and turned to Bingley with a pleading look on her face. “Look at him,” she whispered. “The very idea of being married to me is about to make him toss his breakfast all over your expensive mahogany conference table.”

  Darcy did indeed look shell-shocked.

  “Don’t fret. It’s temporary. He needs a believable cover, which you can help provide. You know the area, correct?”

  Darcy spoke up. “But you said you were from Illinois.”

  “I lied, okay?” She turned back to Bingley. “My dad’s family is from Taylorsville, but I haven’t been there in years—since my grandmother died.”

  “You won’t be in Taylorsville. You’ll be in Fredericksburg, hidden in plain sight. You know enough of the area, the community, the social structure. So it’s perfect.” The deputy director laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s something else you should consider.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If the KGB broke Darcy’s cover, then they almost certainly have broken yours as well. And if they’ve sent an assassin to the States for him…”

  Elizabeth paled.

  “…your life’s at risk too, Elizabeth. You simply can’t function effectively as a field officer at the current time. The decision’s been made. Think of it as a vacation.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. A vacation? Is he serious? A vacation is a couple of weeks on a tropical island, lounging on the beach with a romance novel in one hand, a piña colada in the other, and a sweet but not too bright bronzed Adonis at my feet. Not a cold, miserable existence in the middle of nowhere with the London Fog, who never looks at a woman except to find a fault.

  Darcy scrubbed his hands over his face. For the first time in her memory of him, he looked…weary. Still handsome of course, but not polished and debonair the way she first saw him in Budapest or competent and shrewd as he had been in East Berlin. He rested his chin in his hand and smiled at her weakly.

  “Guess you’d better go pack, honey.”

  “No, no,” Bingley interrupted. “You aren’t going back home for any reason. We packed you. Your bags are waiting in the car. If there’s anything else you need, let us know, and we’ll get it for you.”

  Darcy sat back in his chair, resigned. “Don’t chew your thumb, darling, it’s a nasty little habit, and people will think you are an unhappy wife.”

  She grimaced at him and stalked out of the conference room.

  “Sorry, I can’t be there for the housewarming party, Darcy.” Wickham gathered up his papers and stood. “Enjoy the thriving metropolis of Fredericksburg. Good day, Deputy Director.”

  “Wickham.”

  After Wickham and the others left, Darcy turned to his boss and friend. “Trusting that man is a mistake, Charles.”

  Bingley sighed. “You’re probably correct in a general sense. But in this case, I think he has the right of it. You were quite chummy with Anneliese Vandenburg, and now she’s been eliminated by your hand. I’m not sure the KGB will let that slide.”

  “It was self-defense. She held me at gunpoint. And she shot me, damn it!”

  “I believe you.”

  “You know I wouldn’t have done it if there was another way.”

  “I do. I still can’t figure out what pushed her to threaten you. What did Anneliese know about you?”

  “Nothing, at least, I thought she knew nothing. Sure, I spent time with her, but I didn’t make time with her. I didn’t fall into a honey trap. I’m smarter than that.”

  Bingley turned cool blue eyes on him. “No one’s smarter than that if the right situation comes along.”

  “Charles, if this is about Budapest…”

  “But no, I don’t think you gave Stonewall classified information. Unfortunately, I have to convince the men at the top. Just give me some time on this, won’t you? I’m hoping we can get you back out there soon.”

  “The chief of station in Moscow has been there for three years come January. Maybe…”

  “Maybe.” Charles looked troubled. “That’s not my call though. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Darcy glanced back as he stepped through the doorway. Charles was looking out the window again, sipping coffee as if he had not a care in the world. For the first time in years, Darcy was on the outside looking in.

  It was a lonely place to be.

  Now, I wait. The CIA brass are baiting the trap, but I’m too smart to take the bait. I watch and wait, hidden in plain sight. And I’ve been thinking. I don’t think it’s enough of a punishment to turn you, to make you like me. Now, I think you must die. But how to do it? Sure, I could just take you out, no problem. Because you’re weak now. Injured. On my own, I made a try for you while you were in the hospital, and once again, my plans were thwarted. Now I wait. Perhaps that is for the best; that was impulsive on my part—impulsive, vigilante retribution for the wrongs you have done me. I’m better than that. I’m smarter than that. I don’t have my love anymore, but my mother always said money can buy excellent substitutes for happiness. So I’ll make myself a rich man. I’ve already got a good start on that. Oh, my handler isn’t pleased that I took matters into my own hands. He still thinks there’s a chance you can be turned, but I see now, you are too weak for it. Too weak, too stupid.

  Chapter 16

  The National Mall

  Washington, DC

  Elizabeth approached the blonde reading as she sat on the park bench. “Szia.”

  Johanna Bodnar glanced up, and a delighted cry escaped her lips. “Hello to you too, Erzsebet!” She embraced her friend, clutching her around the neck as if
it had been years since they had seen each other rather than five months. Elizabeth’s bodyguard advanced and then retreated when she waved him off.

  “I did not know it was you I was meeting in this place today!”

  “Neither did I.” Elizabeth grinned. “I suspect a mutual friend with some connections arranged it. So, how have you been? Have the doctors been able to give you some answers?”

  Johanna sat and patted the bench beside her. “I am on the mend. It is not all good news though. They say I have lupus.”

  “I’m sorry, Johanna. That’s difficult news. But it’s treatable, right?”

  “Yes. It is serious, but there is medicine. And I have to take care of myself. Papa is insisting I stay here for treatment, but I miss him so much. Sometimes I want to go home, even if medicine is here.”

  “I’m so sorry you’ve been lonely.” Johanna did indeed look unhappy, although her color was better than Elizabeth had ever seen it. “Have you not made any friends here?”

  “A few,” she acknowledged. “At first, Charles and Cara were regular visitors. He, especially, came to me.”

  “I see.” Elizabeth tried not to smile too much. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

  “I admit, I thought we did.”

  “Thought?”

  “All of sudden, one month ago, all that ceased. I imagine he was out of country. He travels much, you know.”

  “I know.” And now I know why. Although, Elizabeth was pretty sure that Johanna didn’t know her American crush was a deputy director in the CIA.

  “But I thought Cara and Louis might still be in town, so I called her on the phone. Twice. I had almost given up entirely when she finally returned my call.”

  “What excuse did she give for not calling you back?”

  “That she had been so busy she hadn’t gotten the message.”