City of Spies

by Nina Berry

  Mercedes was regarding her with a bemused look. “You’re going to walk seven blocks to the hotel—in those shoes?”

  “It’ll be more like five blocks by the time we turn.”

  “Lista, señorita?” the driver said, motioning toward an upcoming intersection.

  “Ready,” Pagan said, feet primed underneath her, fingers clutching the door handle.

  The driver had gotten into the spirit of the evening. He didn’t angle the taxi as if it was going to turn, but waited until the last possible minute before yanking the wheel over hard without braking. Pagan and Mercedes slid across the backseat from the force of it, then jerked forward as he turned the corner and slammed on the brakes.

  Dislodged from her ready position, Pagan scrambled out of the cab much less gracefully than she’d planned, turned her ankle and hobbled across the sidewalk to a dark doorway, panting.

  She had time to see Mercedes shut the door and wave to her before the taxi took off again, tires squealing like sneakers on a clean floor.

  Pagan held her breath and waited, willing the blue car to zip around the corner and hover long enough in a slant of dim streetlight so she could see the man inside.

  The waiting went on, the seconds dragging out. Had they somehow lost him? Or had time slowed down because she was waiting?

  She heard the rumble of a car’s engine before she saw it. The sound confused her, then she saw the submarine shape of the vehicle outlined against the glowing windows across the street.

  He’d turned the headlights off.

  She’d been sure the car was following her, but this confirmation sent goose bumps down her arms. He wanted to remain hidden and had suspected something when the taxi turned so suddenly, so he’d slowed down and turned off his lights, coasting down the street.

  Was he scanning the street? Had he spotted her? What did he want?

  The car floated down the street. Without the lights from the dashboard, she could get no sense of his coloring or any real detail of his face or clothing. Still, as the car came even with her, the cut of his profile was delineated before her like a cameo. A high forehead, long nose, firm mouth, strong chin.

  A proud profile.

  A familiar face.

  She knew him. Somehow. She’d seen him before. But where?

  Pagan almost cried out in frustration as his car kept going. If she had a few more moments more to stare at him, maybe she’d figure out who he was. But she didn’t have those moments. As it turned left, the blue car accelerated, and the strangely memorable but nameless profile vanished from sight.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring after him before the breeze made her shiver. She needed to get back to the hotel before Mercedes started worrying. She was so deep in thought that she barely noticed how her ankle smarted as she limped down the dark, deserted sidewalk. She was riffling through her memory, going through every person she’d seen recently, trying to place that face.

  She turned left, pretty sure that was the correct direction, and took no note of the deserted courtyard to her left until a tall, slender form stepped out of it and said, “I told you I had this situation covered.”

  Pagan leaped nearly three feet in the air and came down with her heart in her throat. “Damn you!” she said. “How the hell did you find me?”

  It was Devin Black, of course, looking far too calm and debonair to be hanging out in the shadows of Buenos Aires after midnight.

  “But no,” Devin continued as if she hadn’t cursed him. “You had to pull an amateur’s stunt to see who was following you. What if he’d spotted you?”

  “But he didn’t,” Pagan said, and kept walking doggedly toward the hotel, trying not to let him see her limp. “Instead, I saw him.”

  Devin glided over to walk by her side, on the outside of the sidewalk, like a gentleman. “So you must also have noticed the type of car he was driving.”

  Pagan thought hard. “Blue, a sedan. No one else inside it. Makes and models aren’t my specialty.”

  “And the license plate?”

  She tried not to glower at him and said nothing.

  “No? Then you must’ve noticed it was a rental car, registered to a local business not far off the Avenida de Mayo.”

  “What I noticed,” she said, “is that he looked familiar.”

  That jolted Devin out of his smug “I’m a better spy than you” lecture. He took her by the elbow and pulled her into a tiny shadowed alley, scaring off a couple of warring cats. There was no one else in sight.

  “Who was it?” His dark eyes glittered in the faint light from the street.

  She shook her head. “I can’t put a name to the face. All I saw was the profile, but I know him. From somewhere, not that long ago. It’ll come to me. If I hadn’t pulled my amateur stunt, we never would’ve known that.”

  Her caustic tone slid right off him as he pondered what she’d said. “Where could you possibly know him from? Did you spot him following you back in Los Angeles, perhaps?”

  She hadn’t actually seen the face of anyone following her in Los Angeles. “There was that Plymouth that might have been following me and Thomas after the party at Frank’s,” she said. “But I couldn’t see who was in it. We thought it might’ve been you.”

  “Not me,” he said, dead serious. “Did they follow you all the way home?”

  “Almost. To Laurel Canyon, but not up my street from there,” she said. “When we got home, Mercedes said someone had been lurking in our backyard, keeping an eye on the house.”

  “So it’s possible the same person or people have been following you since that night. Or even earlier.”

  His words sent a chill through her. “So it wasn’t one of your men?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll have to look into it. Now.” His gaze traveled down her body, stopping at her ankle. “How badly does it hurt?”

  “Does what hurt?” she asked, not wanting to admit she’d messed up her exit from the cab. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re an excellent liar,” he said, hunkering down in front of her, and put one warm firm hand on her calf, lifting her foot from the ground. “But you’re limping.”

  His fingers probed the bones above her heel. “Ow!” she said when he hit a tender spot. “It’ll be fine if you don’t make it worse.”

  “A sprain,” he said, standing up. “Not a bad one, but still a sprain. And you have a dance scene to shoot tomorrow.”

  “I could outdance Tony Perry with both legs broken,” Pagan said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “We need you to keep shooting the movie to maintain your cover story,” he said. “So we can’t risk further injury.” And before she could stop him, he swept her up in his arms.

  “What...?” She automatically put both arms around his neck. The strong arms firmly supporting her beneath her shoulders and knees brought back the physical memory of the only other time he’d held her like this, before she fainted at the end of her adventure in East Berlin.

  Which automatically led to the memory of waking up next to him, fully dressed, in bed. Her body temperature rose a few degrees. “I’m okay, really.”

  “I’d like to keep you that way,” he said. Their faces were very close. His warm strength enveloped her and the world spun.

  She put her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to stop the vertigo. “I’m sorry. Just dizzy.” She couldn’t tell him that it was his fault for making her that way.

  His arms tightened around her, pressing her closer. She could feel the slightly sped-up beat of his heart, smell his smooth clean skin. “It’s been a long day for you. And you’ve done so well,” he said.

  “Have I?” She lifted her head to find his mouth inches from hers.

  His lips parted. She slid one hand up the back of his strong neck, want
ing to bury her fingers in his hair, unable to think of anything but pressing her mouth to his, of his hands moving over her.

  As if snapping out of a dream, he pulled his head back and stepped out of the alley still carrying her, moving down the street. “My car’s very close,” he said. “I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

  She settled her head on his shoulder again, pressing her forehead into his neck so she could breathe him in. “My hero.”

  A laugh rumbled out of his chest. “Mercedes was the hero tonight.”

  Pagan popped her head up, thinking. “Do you know any astronomers here in BA?”

  They had reached his car, but he stood there holding her for a moment longer, giving her a puzzled look. “I could make some calls,” he said.

  Pagan kicked her feet in their sparkling heels in the air, bouncing in his arms a bit from the excitement of her idea. “Mercedes got As on her latest high school exams, and an A-plus in astronomy. I think it really interests her. I’m trying to convince her to go to college, so how great would it be if she could look through one of those really big telescopes while she’s here? Or talk to a real scientist? She said something about the stars looking different in the southern hemisphere.”

  Devin eyed her fluttering feet, a little smile on his face. “They do. And I might be able to arrange something. Putting you down now.”

  As he lowered her carefully to the sidewalk, she made a show of standing only on her good leg, the other bent at the knee, shoe in the air behind her like a dance move. He still had his arm around her shoulders. And she kept her arms around his neck.

  She leaned against him, her chest against his, her hip bone digging into his upper thigh. “Nobody would know if we tangoed right here for a moment.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Pagan...” he said warningly.

  “It’s only a dance, silly,” she said. “Didn’t you see? Back at the café they did it like this.” And she slid her powdered cheek along his, her lips near his ear. She resisted the urge to sink her teeth into his earlobe.

  His chest rose as he inhaled slowly. His warm breath tickled her own ear as he exhaled. Carefully, he placed his free hand on the bare skin of her neck. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw.

  “If you only knew how much I wanted to,” he said.

  Her bones were made of liquid. The boundaries between her body and his were disappearing. Any second now she would melt into him.

  “But we can’t.” He released her, and she had to put her bad foot down or she would have fallen. His dark hair was mussed from her hands, black locks falling over his eyes, which glittered at her with a look so intense it might scald her. “I’m sorry.”

  “You care about me,” she said. “I know you do.”

  The fervor in his eyes altered. For the barest moment he looked much younger, like the boy he was, a boy who had lost something that meant everything to him.

  “My feelings don’t matter,” he said.

  Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let herself cry. “They matter to me,” she said.

  “They’re testing me,” he said. “They’re probably watching me, too. I can’t...” He broke off and leaned down to open the passenger’s side door of the car for her. “This assignment is important to me, too. I don’t want to fail them, or take advantage of you.”

  “Take advantage!” She took a limping step toward him. He automatically put out a hand to steady her, and she grabbed it. “I’m the one trying to take advantage of you.”

  His brows came together in an unhappy frown. “No, you don’t understand. You’re younger. You’ve been hurt. I could...” He ducked his head, stopping himself. When he continued, his voice was cooler, sterner. “I’m your boss. Now please get in the car.”

  His touch was impersonal as he helped her in, and he slammed her door a little harder than was necessary.

  He drove the few remaining blocks to the hotel in silence. Pagan stared straight ahead, in turmoil. As he pulled over to the curb, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  He put the car into neutral. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t mislead you.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re worried about your job and you want to do what’s right. You always try to do the right thing. It’s one of the reasons I love you. Like you!” She sucked in air. What had she said? “I mean...”

  Devin’s eyes looked hollow, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He leaned toward her. “Pagan...”

  She refused to look at him. “Good night!” She hauled open her own door and sprinted into the hotel as fast as her ankle allowed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Buenos Aires

  January 10 and 11, 1962

  DISOCIAR

  Disassociation. A position in which there is disassociation between torso and hips.

  The moment Mercedes glimpsed Pagan’s face, she stopped yawning and said, “What’s wrong?”

  Pagan threw her coat into the closet. “Nothing. It’s late. Go to bed.” And she stomped into her room and shut the door. She stood there, breathing hard, staring at her empty bed with its gold brocade cover and its huge pile of useless pillows. She wanted something now, more than she wanted to take back what she’d accidentally said to Devin. The need drove every beat of her heart.

  She opened her bedroom door again gently. Mercedes was still standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

  “I’m sorry.” Pagan took a deep breath. It was still hard to say the words to her best friend in the world. “I really want a drink.”

  Mercedes dropped her hands and walked over to the sideboard, where she clinked ice into a glass and splashed water into it. “Rough night,” she said, handing Pagan the glass.

  “For all of us.” Pagan gulped it all down. Not as satisfying as a vodka martini. Nothing was. But it was a ritual she and M had now. She wanted a drink? Then have a drink. Of anything except alcohol.

  “I saw the profile of the man following us, and I feel like I know him, but I can’t remember how.” She set the glass down. Her throat hurt. “And then I ran into Devin.”

  “Ah.” Mercedes paced, thinking. “Maybe it’s not good for you to be around him,” she said. “Since you can’t have him.”

  Pagan dropped to sit on the couch, her head drooping. God, she was tired. And, by God, she was an idiot.

  “Too late,” she said. “Too late. It’s happened.”

  It had happened. She’d said those stupid words to Devin because they were true. A thousand angry butterflies fluttered against her skin. She was vibrating like the steering wheel of her damned Corvette when she’d revved the motor before sending it over the cliff. She was falling over a different kind of cliff now, with no idea when she’d hit bottom.

  Mercedes sat down next to her, their shoulders touching. Her warm strength steadied Pagan. It wasn’t like Mercedes to get so physically close. Which meant that she knew. She had to. She knew what Pagan was saying. Which was good, because no way was she saying it again.

  “It happened a while ago. You just didn’t realize it,” Mercedes said carefully.

  “Back in Berlin.” Pagan swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat wasn’t going away.

  “Maybe,” Mercedes said. “Tomorrow you’ll probably see this man they want you to identify. After that, this whole mission thing will be over. It might be best if you ditched the movie and we went home.”

  Pagan lifted her head and looked at her friend. Mercedes knew: there was no way it could work with Devin. Maybe that was why Pagan hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she had any feelings for him. He was a spy. He lived in another country. However much she amused him, he was probably using her to get the mission done. All of her longing and confusion was for nothing.

  “Either way,” she said. “When this is done, he’ll be gone
.”

  Mercedes nodded and stood up. “You’re limping. Let me get you some ice for that ankle.”

  * * *

  Pagan’s ankle was only slightly swollen the next day, with no tenderness, so she wrapped it up tight and stumbled out into the foggy street at 5:00 a.m. to find Carlos and the car waiting. Fallout from the emotional storm last night and lack of sleep cramped the edges of her brain. She took deep breaths and tried not to think about a Bloody Mary. Oh, what a happy breakfast that would make. Until she found herself at the end of a three-day bender in Chang’s Bar in San Francisco at midnight with Nicky Raven asleep in the red leather booth beside her.

  She gulped the cup of coffee she’d brought with her instead and scalded the roof of her mouth.

  Clearly this was going to be the best day in the history of the world.

  By 7:00 a.m., Pagan’s hair and makeup were stiff perfection, and her tulle-bedecked gown frothed around her like the foam left after a giant wave. Rada had fitted her with a bra that lifted her breasts so far up it hurt to cross her arms. They’d taped the fabric into place, but still she’d have to be careful during the dips in her upcoming dance number or something untoward might pop out. Her tight, pointy heels squashed her toes mercilessly as she stood under a colonnade looking out at the large courtyard of the Colegio San José, where the first shot of the day, and of the movie, would take place.

  The wide square space, surrounded on all sides by three stories of vine-covered nineteenth century columns and doorways, was paved in beautiful alternating squares of black and white marble, a vast chessboard for the dancers and film technicians. As the best boy ordered his techs to turn on the huge lamps required for shooting in Technicolor, the polished stone gleamed, and the dark archways where grips, extras and wardrobe assistants lurked lit up as if it was noon, everywhere.

  This was where Rolf Von Albrecht taught physics. Within this same complex, his son and daughter went to high school. A few blocks away, Devin Black was keeping an eye on the Von Albrecht house, and if any members of that family headed this way, he would come tell her to be ready.