Kisses Like a Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  “Hence, the university.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  He grinned.

  Not exactly. She opened her mouth to correct him.

  “After which, you can show the plans to a member of Her Majesty’s Government. Or, if you’re feeling generous—or exceptionally paranoid—you can give them to us for safe transport out of Eisengau in the diplomatic bag,” a crisp Welsh voice interrupted them.

  They spun to face the door. Brian’s young British friend propped his shoulder against the doorframe and watched them.

  “Gareth. I should have known.” Brian’s mouth worked but he didn’t spit.

  Morro growled and Meredith silenced him with a single hand signal, warning him to caution.

  “Don’t look so furious, old man. I come as a friend, not a foe.”

  “How did you know we were here?” Stall, Meredith, stall. Maybe Brian would think of a way to escape.

  “If I was trying to break into the university, this is exactly where I’d spy on it from. Assuming I had a lady present, that is.” He bowed to her.

  “What do you want?” Brian asked coldly, his earlier flash of temper entirely muffled. She’d have felt better facing the fury.

  “What every other diplomat in this town wants: the chance to copy those plans. They’re all hunting you, y’know.”

  Meredith looked back and forth between the two men, trying to judge where friendship began and ended.

  “Where are they?”

  “Eisengau is a steep mountain valley, for pity’s sake. Every road, every railway station, even the barges on the river—they all now have at least one paid spy and probably more. Secret police are fairly efficient but you can usually bribe them.”

  “But not this many spies.”

  “Even you couldn’t buy off all of them with such an enormous prize at stake.” Blackwood shook his head. “Plus, they’re bringing in the big guns from Switzerland and beyond to hunt you.”

  “In case she’s gone to ground.” Brian’s tone was very flat.

  “Exactly. They’ll flush her out, no matter where she goes or who she’s with.” Blackwood cautiously straightened up. “If you give us the plans, all will be solved.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You don’t have an embassy here to provide sanctuary.”

  “Because she wants the chance to use them for Eisengau’s workers.”

  “You’ve gone mad. Those cannons are needed by the U.S. and Britain, not a gaggle of backwater peasants.”

  “I suggest you reconsider your opinion.” A knife slid into Brian’s palm, light glinting on its razor-sharp blade. Meredith squeaked faintly.

  The air was suddenly too heavy to breathe.

  Blackwood frowned, his eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t use that, would you? Not over this?”

  “Not unless you force me to. But Meredith gets to make her own decisions as long as I’m around.”

  “She’s a woman.”

  “So?”

  “You’ve lost your mind.” Blackwood marched over to the room’s sole chair, sat down, and thrust his hands behind him. “Best make it look good when you tie me up. My ambassador’s a canny old bird.”

  The sharp blade disappeared back into Brian’s sleeve. Meredith gulped and started to hunt for clothesline.

  “Anything else we should know?” Brian asked.

  “Rumor says the Russians have the biggest organization here, other than ours.” Blackwood warily eyed the dog sniffing suspiciously at him then brought his attention back to Brian. “Supposedly they have people scattered throughout the capital and outside it, as well.”

  “Bully for them.” Brian finished tying him off, his long fingers moving almost too quickly to be seen. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “And please…”

  “Yes?” They looked back from the door.

  “Send me an invitation to the wedding.”

  Meredith gaped at him. “There won’t be one.”

  “I beg to differ, miss. Good luck.”

  She managed not to slam the door. She would have preferred to throw something at him.

  “Where now? The university?” Brian asked, considering the dreary alley with its row of trashcans. Marlowe and Spenser undoubtedly knew exactly how to break into such places, given their proven ability to escape from every school the family had ever sent them to. And get excellent grades at the same institutions, too, which his own boredom had always hampered.

  “Yes, of course.” Meredith was listening to the bells again and he fought back his impatience. The last one tolled and she nodded briskly. “Now we can go. The guard should have just finished his round inside.”

  Brian raised an eyebrow at her reliance on Teutonic efficiency but followed her down the squalid passageway. He choked when she produced a key ring from her purse and began to quickly flip through it. “Do you have keys for all the doors?”

  He leaned against the wall, keeping an eye out for any passersby. Morro was beside him, doing the same.

  “A master key for most of them, yes. Zorndorf enjoyed calling his staff in after hours.” She held up a key to the single shaft of light, nodded, and shoved it into the lock. A quick twist and the door silently opened.

  Brian caught the knob out of her hand, provoking a glare. Good Lord, the chances that woman had been about to take, stepping into a dark building without a second thought.

  He poked his head inside and looked around but saw nobody. “Come on.”

  She sniffed and followed, Morro at her heels as always.

  “Where now? Upstairs?” he whispered.

  “No, the supply closet.”

  Supplies? Had she hidden the plans in the one room many people were likely to go in and out of?

  “Turn left and go to the end, then take a right to the first door,” she hissed.

  The hallways were deserted, the only sounds those of gossip over clattering coffee cops and footsteps crossing floors overhead. Morro was silent, his head up but his ears relaxed.

  She produced this key faster than the last one but he still gripped his knife the entire time. She grabbed the lantern and disappeared inside, emerging within seconds and carrying a sturdy wicker basket.

  “Those aren’t the plans,” he commented, heading for the door.

  “No.” She chuckled. “Let’s just say we absolutely don’t want to mix its contents with any water.”

  He regarded the nondescript parcel with considerably more interest but didn’t stop to ask questions. They had very little time if they wanted to catch the evening train to Berlin.

  She led him to another street, filled with closely packed, gold and orange stucco and brick buildings, topped by red tile roofs. She was far more cautious here, always keeping a wary eye out for any watchers.

  He eyed the stiff set of her shoulders, glad for his knife. Dammit, he’d have preferred his Mauser, little though that suited a polite district.

  A gleaming white church rose out of the fog and rain, fronted by elegant white pillars. Above it gilded pediments raised a cross to the darkening sky and a single bell rang mournfully. A few black-clad women rushed out of it, bringing bursts of organ music and lifting umbrellas as if warding off the devil.

  Meredith lingered by the café across the street, eyeing them.

  Why the devil was she going to church, someplace guaranteed to have watchers?

  He frowned and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Where’s the back door, love?” he whispered.

  “Around to the right. But I don’t have a key and the organist will notice me.”

  “And Morro.”

  “Oh, dogs are common enough not to attract much attention.”

  Morro wagged his tail, recognizing his name, and Brian harrumphed under his breath. Even for a sentimental Germanic country, Eisengau welcomed its canines more than most.

  The flow of churchgoers ebbed, leaving a lull in the traffic.

  Br
ian immediately gripped Meredith by the elbow and raced across the street. He shoved her inside the door and closed it quietly. Whoever the builders had been, all those centuries ago, they’d done very, very well.

  Morro slipped through on their heels, silent as a well-bred cat.

  Meredith tugged Brian’s sleeve and half-pushed, half-pulled him into the closest pew. Morro settled at her feet, barely visible against the black and white marble floor. He’d clearly been here before.

  Brian sat down, determined to be inconspicuous, and took stock of one of the fanciest churches he’d ever seen.

  The place of worship was all cream and gold magnificence, with an immense pair of paintings towering behind the ornate, gold high altar. Great white pillars, topped by embossed gold curlicues, upheld a ceiling composed of magnificent frescoes. Black and gold pulpits stood tall, to enhance the speaker’s authority. Sunlight crept into the great hall from immense semicircular windows between the frescoes and the pillars, bouncing between the white surfaces until it became a glowing ball and the paintings seemed to float.

  A quiet warmth enveloped its sanctuary, as if its golden light had sunk into its bones. A few old women knelt in prayer among the pews, their soft words a reassuringly familiar hum from the few times he’d been an altar boy. Even the bells which tolled loudly elsewhere for the dead grand duke were muffled here.

  Brian instinctively bowed his head and crossed himself, taking comfort from old joys.

  Two black-robed priests whispered urgently amid the columns to the side.

  “If the new grand duke is coming here for matins tomorrow morning, I must have time to practice before then. Not on the piano—but on the organ to be played for the service!”

  “I’m telling you all must be cleaned first. It is the archbishop’s order.”

  Meredith gasped and Brian stared at her. She’d turned very pale.

  “Not everything…”

  “The organ screen tops the rear balcony. All of it must be perfect for the grand duke. This is a great honor, do you hear me?”

  Meredith closed her eyes. She tugged at Brian’s sleeve, her hand shaking, and left the pew through the center aisle.

  “A century has passed since a grand duke has prayed at the people’s church.” The organist shook his head. “It is good Grand Duke Nicholas who is bringing back the ancient tradition—but must he make me look like a fool?”

  Brian glanced back but the two men were facing the high altar, their heads close together.

  “You are the greatest organist in all of Eisengau. It’s impossible for you to appear anything but brilliant.”

  The organist sniffed and folded his arms across his chest.

  She swallowed hard and began to move faster, Morro matching her every step. She headed for the rear of the church, moving with the assurance of somebody who had every right to be there and totally ignoring everyone else.

  He frowned and followed her, hoping her strategy would work and nobody would raise the alarm.

  An instant later, she left the sunlight behind and passed into the shadows under the deep balcony. She headed unerringly for a doorway, identifiable only by ripples of wood carved into a broad pillar and a thin metal strip for a handle.

  “Let me try it first, sweetheart.” Brian wrapped his hand around hers.

  She started but didn’t scream, thank God. Instead, she stepped back and allowed him to lead the way, her white teeth gnawing her lower lip.

  The narrow staircase inside was steep and full of turns. A teenager could have defended it against an army but Morro went up it fearlessly.

  They emerged into blinding light, the sun having finally broken through the rainclouds. Complicated carved screens loomed on every side, filled with great pipes, in a great symphony of art and frozen music. Four great keyboards rose, one above the other, begging to be played. Rows of wooden plugs murmured suggestions about loudness and softness. Dozens of pedals stretched across the loft, beneath the widest bench he’d ever seen.

  Brian gaped at it. Despite his escapades in later years, he’d been born the son of a very fine pianist.

  “How many organists do you need to play it?” he queried, barely remembering to keep his voice down.

  “One can manage the basics.” Meredith set her basket down and silently ordered Morro to guard it.

  He shot her a disbelieving look and demanded a better answer, without saying another word. Her mouth twitched.

  “Two are more common—and I’ve seen four.”

  Four? He mouthed the number.

  She nodded rueful agreement and went to her knees before the bench, careful to dodge the pedals’ protruding edges behind it.

  He eyed it suspiciously from his guard post in front of the door. It was long, shallow, and solid wood, lacking even an upholstered top. Its legs were superbly carved, curved and cross-braced to support the seat. Maybe it held the key to where the plans really were.

  She sprang up to her feet, holding a tawdry, brown roll of fabric, as long and as thick as her arm. She clutched it and spun, chortling.

  “Meredith!” Brian hissed. By all the saints, if anybody happened to glance up here or if Morro disobeyed her order to be quiet, they’d be spotted immediately.

  She glanced at him inquiringly. Her eyes widened and she stopped immediately, flushing. Then she winked at him.

  He shook his head but had to grin back at her. “How did you find that that drawer? Or is it a ledge?”

  “Ledge. It helps cross-brace the bench’s legs.” She knelt to tuck the damn plans inside his map case. “My best friend studied organ and once dropped an earring between the pedals. While hunting for it, we spotted the shelf and used it to pass notes.”

  He’d have done the same with his brothers.

  “Now what?” she asked, standing up with a neatly fastened case.

  “We have just enough time to catch the afternoon train to Berlin and Paris.” Thank God his intellectual darling always kept her paperwork with her. He didn’t know which would have been worse—try to bribe a Prussian customs inspector or persuade her to marry him so she could travel on his passport.

  “We can’t take the plans out of Eisengau.” Her lovely jaw was locked tighter than a steel vault.

  He glanced over the railing, settling the map case diagonally across his chest. The priest and organist seemed to have become closer friends. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”

  “Not on the train.”

  “Not here.” He jerked his head toward the scarlet carpet flowing toward them below—and the two men still arguing there.

  “I believe the processional must be more eloquent, rather than a strictly traditional piece,” the organist stated, clearly determined not to add “dolt.”

  “For a prayer service like this…” the priest began.

  The organist sighed grandiloquently. “If you’ll let me fetch my music, I can show you what I mean.”

  Meredith cast a horrified look at Brian. “Not here,” she agreed.

  They tiptoed out, doing their best to appear ordinary citizens.

  The moment the great doors opened onto the street, Meredith turned to Brian. “Altstadt,” she said firmly.

  No words came. Instead, his hand brutally gripped her shoulder and shoved her toward one of the pillars.

  “What on earth?” She rubbed her aching muscles and looked to see what had provoked him.

  “Entschuldigung, mein Herr?” a very smug man inquired.

  Oh, drat and double drat. It was Chief Inspector Grebing, who’d led the raid on the beer house—together with Sazonov. He’d always been willing to take bribes, if it didn’t interfere with Grand Duke Rudolph’s orders.

  The big, brutal beast smiled at Brian, exposing a row of sharp, crooked teeth.

  “Good afternoon, Donovan.” Sazonov chuckled, his face obscured by a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his forehead. “Let me introduce to my friend to make sure you realize which one of us is master.” He briefly flour
ished an ugly revolver before putting it back into his pocket.

  Meredith gritted her teeth, her stomach sinking toward her boots. Should she pray for somebody to come along so they could send help? Or would Sazonov shoot them, too?

  Morro snarled deep in his throat, warning he too could attack.

  “How did you know we were here?” Brian asked, neither voice nor attitude betraying any discomfort.

  “It’s where the girls always spent the most time. My spies sent me word the moment you showed up.”

  She’d remember that the next time she had to hide something. But, oh, she didn’t want Brian to die for her mistake.

  Morro bared his teeth, his rumbling roar deepening.

  “Now have the girl bring the map case and the basket to the steps.”

  She blinked. He didn’t know which one held the plans.

  “No, I will,” Brian said softly. “If she comes, the dog does, too.”

  Her lungs seized—but she didn’t argue. Brian must have something in mind.

  “Very well,” Sazonov agreed.

  Brian advanced onto the wet marble steps, his suddenly nervous smile making him look remarkably young and foolish.

  She eased out from behind the white marble column to see him better, nervously aware of the windows rising around them. Morro growled vehement objections.

  “If you please, sir,” Brian suggested.

  “Yes?” Grebing took a gloating step closer toward him.

  Brian slung the basket over his shoulder straight back at her.

  If it crashed to the ground, they’d all die.

  Terrified beyond rational thought, she dived forward and caught the flying missile only inches above the ground. Shaking and gasping for breath, she clutched it to her chest and sat up.

  “You fool!” Sazonov snapped.

  Brian ignored him, eyeing instead the crooked policeman.

  Morro arrived beside her, clearly willing to do battle. She steadied him with a single quick pat and chanced a quick look at her new location.

  “Why did you do that?” demanded Grebing, who must sometimes still remember how to be a policeman.

  Brian punched him in the nose, using the back of his fist. Blood spurted, spilling crimson over the other’s far too expensive clothes.