Liar's Market

by Taylor Smith

  Sitting at the table, she was safeguarding Tom’s camera while he helped Lorraine’s family see the guests off. It was a digital camera, and Tom had shown her how to scan the file of pictures he’d shot that afternoon. There was Bishop Merriam in his robes and miter, looking apostolic. Lorraine and her mother flanking him, looking proud, Mrs. Merrian snowy-haired, Lorraine, who so resembled her, well on her way to pure white, as well. The bishop with Jonah and Carrie, looking avuncular. Jonah under the Space Window on the Cathedral’s south aisle, pointing up at the piece of lunar rock embedded in the celestial stained glass. The moon rock had been presented to the cathedral during its construction phase by the astronauts of Apollo XI.

  “Phew! Glad that’s over.”

  Carrie looked up, startled. “Oh, Tom! Yikes, I nearly fumbled your expensive camera here.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But you can’t really hurt the camera. It’s pretty resilient.”

  “All done with the farewells?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  She frowned at the doorway. “We really need to get going, too. I don’t know where Jonah and Brianne have gotten to.”

  “We were just going to head over to the rectory for a glass of sherry—or something stiffer. Why don’t the three of you join us?”

  “Oh, thanks, Tom, but it’s a school night. I should really get Jonah home. It’s been a lovely afternoon, though. Lorraine and her mom have been positively beaming.”

  They looked over to where Tom’s wife and mother still flanked the bishop. Lorraine was very active in cathedral committees, as much a support to her father as her mother was. It had severely limited Tom’s foreign posting opportunities, in fact, because Lorraine didn’t like to live away from Washington. The Bents had never had children of their own. Maybe that was why Lorraine, at fifty, seemed so childlike in her attachment to her parents, Carrie thought. But even as the notion passed through her mind, she felt petty and ungrateful. She liked Lorraine well enough, even though her personality was a little on the bland side. She was a kind person, and not stupid, by any means. So what if she was devoted to her mother and father? With no extended family of her own, Carrie could only envy the good fortune of still having loving parents at hand.

  The Merriams, too, had always been good to her and Jonah, as well as Drum—as little as Drum had ever appreciated it. Today, the bishop had taken special notice of them during his personal celebration and, as Tom had said he would, offered a subtle prayer on behalf of Carrie’s errant husband and Jonah’s negligent father. What was there to criticize?

  You are an obnoxious bitch, she thought. She sighed. She was tired. She was frustrated. She was scared.

  Just then, Jonah and Tengwall came through the door, and she got to her feet gratefully. “There they are now. We’ll say our goodbyes to Lorraine and her folks.” Tom rose and she turned to hug him. “Tom, thank you so much, as always, for everything.”

  He held her tight and patted her back. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’—and for my godson, of course.” He pulled back and held her at arm’s length, looking at her closely. “You call me anytime. I mean it. I’m here for you, Carrie.”

  She handed him back his camera. “I know. I appreciate it.”

  British Embassy, Washington, D.C.

  3:12 p.m.

  Huxley arrived at the Massachusetts Avenue entrance to the embassy by 3:00 p.m. as scheduled, Sunday traffic being light in downtown D.C., but it took another ten minutes before he was finally admitted to the wood-lined office of Greenwood, the MI-6 resident. When Huxley was finally shown in by a thin, acne-scarred young aide with the same Midlands-accented voice that had delivered the cell-phone summons a short while earlier, he found Greenwood on the scrambler, talking to London.

  “Yes, sir, he’s here now,” the resident said, waving Huxley over to the desk. “Shall I put you on the speakerphone?” He frowned. “Well, no, of course not, sir…. Yes, certainly. I have an extension for this line—” His frown deepened. “Very good, sir. I’ll just put him on, then. Yes, sir, I will. Thank you.”

  Greenwood stood and motioned Huxley to a chair in front of the desk. As Huxley approached, Greenwood pressed the mute button on the base of the heavy white phone. “This is Sir Roger on the line, Huxley.”

  “Sir Roger?” Huxley paused, confused, until it dawned. “Sir Roger Cambridge, you mean?”

  “Yes, C himself.” The chief of MI-6. “He’d like a word with you.”

  “Good Lord. What for?”

  “I’m not privy to that, I’m afraid. I was summoned to the embassy this afternoon and told to have you here at 8:00 p.m. GMT for an incoming call. You’re late, by the way.”

  “I’ve been waiting in the bloody outer office for ten minutes.”

  “I see. Well, you’d better get on the line. Sir Roger’s waiting. I’ll be outside. When you’re done, just let me know.” Greenwood thrust the phone into his hand, poked the mute release button, and walked out the door huffily, taking care, however, to close it quietly behind him.

  Frowning, Huxley put the white receiver to his ear. “Huxley, here.”

  “C here, Huxley. Sorry to call you in suddenly like this.”

  “It’s all right, sir. I’m on duty.”

  “Still keeping MacNeil’s family under surveillance?”

  “Yes, sir, but no sign of the man himself. I’m not sure this is very fruitful, as operations go.”

  “Yes, well, I’m inclined to agree, but for reasons you won’t be aware of. We’ve uncovered some troubling information. We’re going to have to play things very close to the chest from here on in, I’m afraid.”

  “Close to the chest? In so far as the cousins are concerned, do you mean?”

  “Exactly so. Tell me, have they still got you liaising with that Frank Tucker fellow over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He’s an old Soviet section head, ex-Navy. I understand he’s the Director’s handpicked choice to head up this security detail. The Yanks are also playing this very close to the chest. They’re terrified of press play.”

  “And this Tucker is the only one assigned to you?”

  “There’s one other full-time operative, sir, a young woman by the name of Tengwall. Very young, actually. Turns out her mum and dad were both CIA ops people, though, so I guess she gets the nod for that.”

  “Yes, well…” The tone of the MI-6 chief on the other end of the secure Transatlantic line suggested he or someone in the room with him was doing some checking. Huxley thought he could hear a keyboard tapping in the background, but he couldn’t be certain if it was a keyboard or just static on the line. Eventually C came back, however. “We know about this Tucker fellow. He got in a spot of trouble a while back, it seems.”

  “Trouble, sir?”

  “Personal stuff, but nearly washed out over it, it seems. Been on the back burner ever since. First time he’d really been brought out to play, oddly enough. How do you find him? Think he’s dodgy at all?”

  “Not that I’ve picked up, sir, but it’s difficult to say.”

  “Well, there’s been very little action from that end these past few months, which is not a good sign. Not good at all. It might mean someone wants us to do nothing but spin our wheels. As for the woman…your Miss Tengwall—”

  “Not my Miss Tengwall, sir.”

  “No, of course. Any case, we don’t seem to have anything on her. We’re looking into it, though.”

  “What’s this about, then?”

  “We’ve finally got a lead on the shooter at the American Embassy last April. Russian fellow—Georgian, actually. Name of Markov. Sergei Markov. I’m having a dossier secure-faxed over for you to take a look at as we speak. Greenwood should have it for you at that end by the time we’re done our call. This Markov is a contract assassin known to be associated with the Zurich broker who’s been burning our joes. He was engaged here in London to take o
ut Carrie MacNeil, just as we suspected. Killed the cabbie, stole the cab, did the job—but botched it, took down the student instead of Mrs. MacNeil—then ditched the cab and went to ground.”

  “Have we got him in custody?”

  “Unfortunately, not. In fact, it looks like he’s over on your side of the pond at the moment. Our people spotted him coming into JFK but didn’t realize until too late that he was a ‘person of interest,’ as the American cousins like to say. As of today, however, we’ve traced his movements to the Washington area. He may be over there to finish the job he botched last April, or he may have another mission planned. Frankly, we’re just not sure.”

  Huxley sank into the chair. The job Markov had botched—murdering Carrie. “Have we alerted the U.S. authorities?”

  “Well, that’s the ‘close to the chest’ part, I’m afraid. We don’t think it’s a good idea to let the cousins know we’re on to this Markov. There’s a distinct possibility this entire operation has been compromised.”

  “I’m not following you, sir.”

  “Let me back up and explain. But the main thing you need to remember, Huxley, is that at this point, none of your CIA contacts should be considered secure.”

  “None of them?”

  “For the moment, until we figure out how far this infection has spread inside the Agency—no, not one of them.”

  Huxley sat on the edge of the chair, feeling the blood drain from his face as the MI-6 chief outlined the dilemma in which they suddenly found themselves.

  Georgetown

  7:42 p.m.

  Carrie was in the kitchen, cleaning up from supper, when she heard the front door open. Tengwall was helping her load dishes into the dishwasher, but at the sound in the front hall, her face passed through a comical progression that Carrie, in spite of weariness and the tension compressing her skull like a vice, found hilarious. Tengwall’s split-second facial contortion encompassed joy, relief, and guilt before settling back into the blank mask of alert officialdom.

  “Gee, Brianne,” Carrie said, chuckling. “Why do I get the sense there are places you’d rather be than babysitting us?”

  Blush washed out freckles as the younger woman grimaced. “It’s that obvious?”

  “Oh, yeah, most definitely,” Carrie said, nodding. “So, is he cute, I hope?”

  “I think so.”

  “You go, girl. No, really, I mean it,” Carrie added, as the young woman kept loading dishes into the machine. She gave her a soapy backhand, scattering detergent bubbles across the kitchen tile. “You go, girl. Get outta here.”

  Tengwall hesitated. “Well…I’ll see if it’s okay. Thanks, Carrie. I mean, not thanks, but….”

  “Yeah, I know. You don’t answer to me. Look, just have a good time, all right?”

  “I will. See you tomorrow.”

  “You betcha.”

  Tengwall walked out the swinging door into the front hall. Carrie heard her talking, and then Huxley’s unmistakable Yorkshire lilt in response. They spoke quietly for a few minutes before the front door opened and closed once more. Carrie waited, expecting Huxley to come through to the kitchen, but there was only silence. Finally, curiosity got the better of her and she went into the front hall.

  Nothing.

  She frowned. She could hear water splashing upstairs where Jonah was taking a bath. She was just about to sprint up the stairs when she heard a thump from the direction of the library. When she walked in, she saw Huxley slumped in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, staring glumly into the cold hearth.

  “Hi,’ she said.

  He glanced up, startled. “Hi.”

  “You’re back.”

  “Uh-huh.” His weathered face looked more lined and wearier than ever, Carrie thought, like someone who had lost his best friend or a really great poker hand. Physical exhaustion. She glanced around the library, taking in the gleaming golden bookcases.

  “The shelves look fabulous,” she told him. “You did a great job on them. The Overturfs are going to be really pleased.”

  He looked up, confused, as if he’d forgotten what bookshelves she was talking about. Then he glanced at them and nodded. “Right. Good, then.”

  “Are you hungry?” Carrie asked.

  “I’m all right.”

  “I only ask because I reheated the lasagna I made yesterday, but Jonah and I were still too full from lunch to eat much and Brianne was holding out for a better offer. There’s still plenty left and if you don’t eat it, it’ll probably just end up going to waste.”

  “Oh. Well, all right then, I guess I could eat a little. Don’t go to too much trouble, though.”

  Carrie arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning to go to any trouble at all. It’s in the fridge, along with some leftover salad. The lasagna’s probably still warm, but if not, you can throw it in the microwave for a minute. There’s some bread in the bread box, too. Help yourself. I’m going upstairs to check on Jonah.”

  “Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  She’d already turned back toward the door.

  “Carrie?”

  “What?”

  “Are you angry? Did I do something wrong?”

  She watched him for a moment, as if wrestling with herself. “Yes, I’m angry, but with myself, not with you. Why would I be angry with you? You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re just doing a job here. If a little boy spends a couple of hours with his nose pressed to the window because someone promised to play soccer with him when he got home, that’s certainly not your fault.”

  Huxley winced. “Oh, bloody hell, that’s right. I’m sorry. I got tied up.”

  “Yes, at your embassy, I heard. Well, no problem. That’s who you answer to, of course. Jonah’s not your concern, he’s mine, and I’ve handled it badly. I’ve let him get attached to you, which is a stupid, stupid thing for me to have done. He doesn’t need one more person in his life to disappoint him. He’s had quite enough of that already. My mistake was standing by and letting it happen. So, no, Huxley, your conscience is clear. You’ve done nothing wrong. So just go away and do your job and I’ll try to do mine a little better than I’ve been doing, all right?”

  “Can I tell him I’m sorry? I’d planned to be here, but I got called away and it took longer than I expected.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Kicking a soccer ball with a six-year-old doesn’t fall within your job description, I’m sure.” She then exhaled heavily. “Look, just go ahead and get your food and forget it, all right? I need to go upstairs and make sure he’s finished his bath. He’ll be down shortly for a bedtime snack. But, Huxley?” she warned. “Don’t make him any more promises, will you?”

  “No, no more promises. But, I like him a lot, Carrie. I mean that. He’s a good little fellow. He really is.”

  “Good God. Don’t you think I know that? Why do you think it pisses me off so much to see his feelings trampled on?”

  He had the grace to look contrite, she thought as she turned on her heel and walked out the door and up the stairs. Fat lot of good contrition did.

  But when push came to shove, it was right, what she’d told him. This was her fault, not Huxley’s. What kind of mother let a stranger—a spy, for God’s sake, the most lying, conniving, unreliable of human beings—move in on her life and earn her son’s trust? Was she a total idiot?

  And yet, and yet…. After a while, as she’d gotten to know him a little better, Huxley had seemed so different. Straightforward. Uncomplicated. Trustworthy. Trust—worthy.

  Ha. You really are an idiot, girl.

  Jonah was still in the bathtub, making water geysers between his cupped hands. Carrie rapped on the door frame, then walked in, flipped down the toilet seat and settled beside him. His hair was wet, soapy ringlets clinging to the nape of his neck.

  “Hey, buddy. You washed your hair?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I think you missed a little soap when you rinsed. Can I pour some water over your head to get it out? Otherwis
e it’s going to be all sticky in the morning.” When he nodded and lifted his knees, resting his elbows on them while he covered his eyes, she took a plastic bucket from the side of the tub and poured a couple of loads over the spots he’d missed. “Okay, I think that’s it.” Taking the soapy cloth he’d left on the side of the tub, she rubbed his back gently.

  “I heard Mark downstairs,” Jonah said finally.

  “Yeah, he came. He got called into his office, it seems, and couldn’t get away.”

  Jonah nodded.

  “I think he wants to talk to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to play with me.”

  “I think he wanted to, though. He’s sorry.”

  “Like Daddy,” Jonah said quietly.

  Carrie was still rubbing his back gently, but she paused. “Are you missing Daddy, honey?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sort of, I guess. Not really.”

  “Are you mad at him?” When he didn’t answer, Carrie rinsed off his back, then said, “Because it’s okay if you are a little mad at him. You know what? I’m kind of mad at him myself.”

  His enormous gray-green eyes rose to meet hers. “I thought you wanted him to go away. That’s what Nana said.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She sighed. “You know, I love you more than anything or anyone in the whole, wide world. And Daddy loves you, too. None of this is your fault. I really don’t know why Daddy went away the way he did. But as much as he and I love you, we probably don’t love each other as much as we’d like. Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s done what he has. I’m sorry he did it without telling us, though. I hope he comes back soon so the three of us can talk this over and stop being mad. It makes my stomach hurt. How about you?”

  Jonah nodded. “Am I gonna stay with you, Mom?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want to do.”

  She dropped onto her knees beside the tub and put her arms around him. “Then that’s exactly what’s going to happen. You and I are stuck like glue, kiddo.”