“It’s not polite to ask a woman’s age.” She slanted a look at him. She didn’t like where this was heading.
“Not the year,” Brad said.
“Want a taste?” She held out her fork.
“Sure.” He leaned forward and slid the fork into his mouth. “That’s good. Spicy. What month and date?”
The back of her neck tightened, but she kept her tone light. “Why don’t you guess?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “Okay.” He studied her until she almost shifted in her chair. “I’m guessing sometime in late November or early December.”
His accuracy surprised her. Especially because she didn’t know her birthday. Not the exact date. Her profile said December 1. The police had estimated she was already five days old when they found her tiny body wrapped in a ripped T-shirt in the Washington, D.C. skyrail station in early December. Plus or minus a day. Plus or minus. As if knowing your real birth date didn’t matter.
“Impressive,” she said. “December ninth.”
“Sagittarius.” He hesitated for a second, then took a breath. “My ex-wife is a Sag. Did I mention I’m divorced?” he asked, even though they both knew he hadn’t. “We met in college. At Columbia. We seemed to have so much in common.” Brad shook his head at the memory. “Both history majors. Both originally from California North.”
Anika wished she had taken the time at the computer center this afternoon to try to unlock the sealed files on Brad’s divorce. She didn’t like not knowing whether any of this was true. But she had been distracted by Gianni’s message.
“We were both like fish out of water in New York,” Brad continued. “When we found each other, I thought it was kismet.” He took another sip of beer.
“What happened?” she asked into the silence.
“I was a year ahead of her. When I finished, I wanted to get back to the Bay Area. Do my graduate work at Berkeley. I told her we could handle a year apart, until she finished up and came out to join me. But she was scared about being on her own.” He fiddled with his bottle of beer, turning it around and around. “She told me she was … pregnant.” His voice scratched out the last word.
Anika froze. This didn’t feel like other sweetheart missions. It had just turned personal.
Brad stared down at his plate. “Even though we took precautions, I believed her. Dumb, right?” He shot a glance at Anika, then lowered his gaze again.
“No, not dumb,” she said quietly.
His lips twisted. “When you love someone, you want to believe them, I guess.”
“I bet she would take it all back, if she could.” Anika placed her fork on her plate. She couldn’t swallow another bite.
“Have you ever been in love?” Brad asked.
Now she dropped her gaze and stared at the folds of her napkin. She nodded. “When did you find out the truth from your wife?”
“Our wedding night. At first, I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Then I got angry. But I still loved her. So we made a go of it for six more months. But in the end, I couldn’t get over the lie, her betrayal. So we divorced. And we sealed the records so it wouldn’t hurt our futures. We were so young. Barely in our twenties. Kids, really.”
Anika wasn’t much older. But she wasn’t a kid. And she hadn’t faked a pregnancy to get Gianni to marry her. Far worse.
“Have I totally ruined our evening?” Brad drew her thoughts back.
“Not at all.” She picked up her fork and moved the food around on her plate.
“My deep dark secret. I’m not sure why I told you.” Brad still gripped the bottle of beer.
“You believe it was your destiny to go through all that?”
“Kismet isn’t good or bad. It just is. And I learned something from the experience. That I want a wife, kids. Sometimes, you have to lose something before you know you really want it. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Time to move to safer ground. “Want to share a dessert?”
“Sure.” Brad didn’t say anything about the food still on her plate. He signaled to the owner and ordered mango mousse for two. “What about you? And the man you loved?”
“Not much to tell.” She shrugged and let her gaze wander around the room.
Two of the tables had emptied while the one nearest the door seated an attractive dark-haired couple, whose heads were almost touching as they leaned toward each other.
Brad was watching her when she finished her survey.
“It didn’t work out,” she said finally. “He couldn’t give me what I wanted.”
“Love isn’t always about what someone can give you,” Brad said. “Sometimes, it’s about what you can give them.”
“What if … what you have to give them isn’t enough?”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He didn’t have to.”
“Did you ask him?”
“We aren’t … weren’t.” She caught herself. “Weren’t a good fit. Isn’t that what your astrology says? Some people match. Others don’t.”
Like profiling. But done with stars, not with computers.
“What’s taking so long with the dessert?” She glared at the curtain that led into the kitchen. Her look could have melted the beads into a smoking pool of colored plastic.
“It’s not the mango that takes so long.” Brad’s voice deepened with professorial authority. “But the Cuban mousse is quite elusive.”
Anika’s eyes switched back to him. His lips twitched and she laughed despite herself.
The owner stepped through the curtain and set two dessert goblets in front of them.
“Is that why you’re on sabbatical here?” Brad asked. “Are you taking a break?” He picked up a spoon. “Or moving on?”
She dipped into the whipped orange concoction and tasted a fruit-and-liqueur-scented delicacy. “Right now, I’m enjoying having my very own tour guide. When does your flight leave tomorrow night? Do you have time for another museum or two before you go?”
“Absolutely. If you want a change from art, we could go to a different kind of museum in a great old mansion in Miramar. It’s dedicated to the work of the country’s police force. And MININT.”
“MININT?” She sat up straighter. “Isn’t that short for — ”
“The Ministerio del Interior.” Brad scooped up some of the mousse. “Lots of space devoted to all the so-called counterrevolutionary plots that have failed here since Castro’s takeover. Interesting insight into the government’s mind.”
I have enough insight into the Cuban government’s mind.
“How about outside Havana? Any places you’d like to visit?”
“I haven’t been to the Ernest Hemingway house on this trip. It’s in a suburb fifteen kilometers from here.”
“Nothing farther out? I mean, only if you have the time.”
“I’ll make the time.” He smiled at her and she lifted the corners of her mouth in response. “There’s Santa Maria del Rosario. It’s a pretty village about a day’s drive from here.” He dropped his gaze and focused on the last bit of his dessert. “We could stretch it out. Take some detours along the way.”
“An overnight trip would be nice.” She played along, placing her elbow on the table, her cheek in her palm.
Brad reached for her hand on the table and squeezed it. She didn’t pull away. “I’ll make the arrangements in the morning.” He picked up his beer bottle and raised it in the air between them. “To kismet.”
She lifted her glass to meet his toast. To sweetheart mission training.
When they rose from the table, Brad held out his hand for the knapsack. With only the slightest twinge of resistance, she turned it over, then nodded at his suggestion to stop by El Zorro for some music and a nightcap. She was starting to get the hang of this single, defenseless woman cover.
She turned to walk out of the restaurant. The owner was setting tall glasses of amber-colored liquid in front of the young couple near the door. As they drew away f
rom each other, the woman looped back a strand of hair and played with the silver circle on her shoulder-length earring.
Anika stopped in mid-stride. I remember you. On the seawall along the Malecón. Then in the lobby of the Europa.
“Is something wrong?” Brad asked. “Your leg … ?”
“I’m fine. I just wanted to take some pictures of this room. It’s so pretty.” She plucked the knapsack out of his hand. Her fingers closed around the disposable camera and she clicked off several rounds.
The owner hurried over, a look of concern on his face.
“Would you mind?” She held out the camera and flashed her biggest smile. “Our first date.”
The owner’s face relaxed.
Brad draped his arm across her shoulders and she stepped in close, dipping her head, angling her face as far away from the camera as possible. Only three more days. The owner snapped their picture.
“I want a copy,” Brad said.
“Of course.” She dropped the camera back into the knapsack and returned it to his outstretched hand.
As they moved closer to the couple, the woman leaned toward her lover, simultaneously nuzzling his face and raising her hand to stroke his hair. Her movements obscured their profiles.
Too late. I’ve got you now.
Chapter 21
“Are you sure you’re up for walking?” Brad asked once they were outside.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I’ll run her images through the computer first thing. “The air is so soft here compared to New … ” Focus. “Compared to home.”
Four blocks away, their surroundings changed from small stucco houses to tall concrete buildings with ugly gashes and cracked windows. Dim fluorescents on some of the top floors provided the only light.
After the samba music and low murmurings in the restaurant, the night seemed too quiet. Anika strained to hear … what? Brad started humming one of the tunes from dinner. She wanted to shush him.
They passed an alley blanketed in darkness.
Her head was yanked back and a hand clamped over her mouth. She inhaled a whiff of tobacco and something hard dug into her rib.
“¡No le tires!”
Anika heard the command not to shoot.
Brad’s attacker smashed a fist into his stomach. He doubled over.
Anika jabbed her elbow into her assailant and air whooshed out of him. Whirling, she drove the heel of her hand under his chin. His head flew back. Snap. She rammed her knee up.
“Ay-eee.” He jerked forward and dropped his weapon.
She rapped her fisted hands on the back of his head and he slumped to the ground.
Two meters away, Brad knelt on the sidewalk. Vomit, like watery stew, pooled in front of him. His shirt had been pulled halfway down his back and his arms were pinned to his sides.
His attacker stood over him. A woman. She pointed a 9mm Walther at his head.
“On your knees.” The woman spoke to Anika in carefully unaccented English. Too carefully. Her long earrings dangled to her shoulders.
Dammit. Anika mentally kicked herself. Why didn’t I realize you were tracking me sooner? But who are you?
“Now.” The woman shoved the tip of the barrel into Brad’s ear. He didn’t flinch, his eyes shiny like metallic marbles.
“Okay, okay.” Anika raised her hands. Her elbow bumped the Glock at her waist. She lowered herself to the ground, not hiding a pained grimace. No harm in making the woman think she was hurt. She kept her gaze on the woman, on the icy blue eyes that stared out from her bronzed face.
A swatch of facial tape had peeled away from the woman’s cheek to reveal the porcelain skin underneath.
Anika’s mind telescoped back to the boardroom of the New Museum and the gathering of the two terrorist cells. She saw again the fair-skinned, blue-eyed First Aryan taking notes. I guess I won’t need to research those images of you after all.
The woman tossed a pair of restraints at her. They bounced off her chest with a muffled thud and fell to the ground.
“Ich bin es, die Sie suchen,” Anika said. It’s me that you want.
“Zieh das an.” The woman jerked her head at the restraints.
“Lassen Sie ihn los,” Anika responded, asking for Brad’s release.
The woman repeated her command to put on the restraints.
“It will be okay.” Anika spoke to Brad and tried to make eye contact. “Just do what she says.” She started to secure the restraints.
Brad didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Don’t! Don’t go for the faint.
He pitched forward and landed in his own vomit.
Anika used the split second diversion to dive sideways. A bullet whizzed past. She grabbed for the Glock and fired.
The first bullet shot the gun out of the woman’s hand. The second hit her thigh and she crumpled to the ground.
Anika leapt to her feet and sprinted for the Walther. She shoved the gun into her wrap, slapped the restraints on the woman, and hurried back to her attacker.
He had been in the restaurant with the First Aryan. Maybe a local recruit. Or a civilian, seduced by her.
Anika slid his gun out from underneath him and stripped off his shirt and shoes. She bound his wrists and ankles with the old-style laces and tossed the shoes to the side.
Then she ran over to Brad, who was sitting back on his haunches.
“You okay?” She squatted beside him.
He nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Good fake,” she said. “Not smart, but good.”
“What are you talking about?” Sweat glistened on his forehead and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “What happened?”
“Stay here. Take some breaths.” I’m so sorry for getting you into this.
She returned to the woman, conscious, breathing shallowly. She wrapped the man’s shirt around the woman’s leg to stem the bleeding. As she cinched the shirt tight, the woman hissed out curses.
“Why are you after me?” Anika asked.
The woman fell silent.
Anika applied more pressure on the wound and the woman cried out.
“Jane!” Brad protested. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me.” Anika pointed the gun at the woman’s temple.
“What do you think?”
Anika remembered what she had said to Gianni about life on the outside. A life of running and hiding. From U.N.I.T. From its enemies.
“Did U.N.I.T. send you?”
“Why would your own organization send me?”
“What’s she talking about?” Brad asked. “What’s the unit?”
Anika placed the male attacker’s gun into Brad’s hand and curled his stiff fingers around it. “Go watch him.” She angled her head toward the man’s inert body.
“We have to get the police.”
“In a minute. But right now, I need you to do what I say. Please.” She reached out her hand to squeeze his arm, but kept her eyes on the woman. “Start talking.”
Sweat covered the woman’s face and her eyes blazed with pain and fury.
“Why did you tell your partner not to shoot me? Who wants me alive?”
“We do.” The words wheezed out of the woman. “We were told … you were the one … ruined the Mendelson mission in Ohio.”
“You mean the planned attack on Senator Mendelson’s supporters?”
“Zionist sympathizers.”
Anika knew it wouldn’t do any good to tell the woman that she was the one who had almost helped the mission succeed. Because of her refusal to take out the bomber bodyguard at the museum. Was this U.N.I.T.’s latest attempt to kill her? By providing false intel about her to its enemies?
“Who told you?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.” When Anika pressed against the woman’s wounded leg, she cried out, “An informant. I don’t know who he is. I was only told where to find you. And to bring you back.”
“Who told you where to find me?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement. She tried to grab the First Aryan. Too late. The woman rammed her head against the street, knocking herself out and ending the interrogation.
Now Anika wouldn’t be able to learn whether the First Aryans had discovered her location on their own, or been given that intel, courtesy of U.N.I.T. Either way, she couldn’t stay here and wait around for another attempt.
“What about the police?” Brad’s voice shook.
“Get my knapsack.”
“What?”
“My knapsack. I need it.”
She removed an ampoule of Pink and snapped it open.
“What’s that for?” Brad asked.
“Buying time.” She tilted the woman’s head back and poured two drops into her nostril.
“Time for what?”
“They’ve been following me. I need to get away before they report back to … ” Her voice trailed off.
She stood and walked over to the man. He groaned when she rolled him onto his back, but didn’t try to fight her off. She poured the remaining liquid into his nose and watched his body go completely slack.
“Why have they been following you?” Brad asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m sorry.” She gestured at the area around them. “About all this.”
“Don’t apologize. You saved my life.”
“They weren’t after you. They were after me.”
“Still,” he said, then stopped. “Where will you go?”
She wanted to stay in Havana. For Gianni. If the message about waiting three more days had come from Gianni. She wasn’t so sure now.
“We can go to the cottage,” Brad said, interrupting her thoughts. “In Guardalavaca. We’ll be safe there. No gadgets, remember? And the Estradas will help us.”
“You can’t come with me.” She was relieved to see some color had returned to his face.
“I know you think I’m just some geeked-up professor. Someone who passes out when it gets a little rough.” Brad paused and looked down at the remnants of spewed dinner still sticking to his shirt. His lips twisted. “I guess I can’t really blame you.”
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