A Bodyguard of Lies

by Donna Del Oro

  The tiny transmitter he’d snagged into Mary Snider’s coat days ago was no longer working. Jake suspected the Le Blancs had discovered and removed it. If the new guys had a mike directed their way, Jake couldn’t see it. Then he spied something. The feather and ribbon contraption on the hatband of one of the men’s hats concealed a small mike, he’d bet. Which reminded him…

  He fingered the GPS transmitter he’d taken from his bag of tricks that morning. If the Le Blancs were planning on whisking Meg and her grandmother off to Germany, the tiny transponder might be the ticket.

  From Meg’s tense posture, Jake knew something was wrong. Her grandmother, looking spaced out, was staring vacantly at Meg. As though she didn’t have a care in the world. Not so for the Le Blancs, who were communicating intense displeasure.

  Madeleine Le Blanc was speaking nonstop to Meg while she held one of Meg’s arms in a viselike grip. He knew Meg; she’d never tolerate that kind of manhandling from anyone. He glanced to his right. Pierre was just returning from the men’s room, a thoughtful expression plastered on his smooth-shaven face. Beads of sweat trickled down his bald pate.

  The effete man glanced over at Jake, nodded a greeting, squared his fedora and continued on his way.

  Had Pierre just called the skinheads and changed his plan? Some kind of confrontation was going down, Jake knew. Though he wanted to, for Meg’s sake, he couldn’t approach their table. The Le Blancs would be spooked and God knows what they’d do. He had to be patient and let things play out. Let the Le Blancs and Mary Snider make the next move.

  He’d be watching and waiting.

  Hank and the two New Jersey sisters called him over to join them for lunch. Unfortunately, their table was situated at the other end of the dining area. The tables near Meg were all taken.

  Okay, today’s trap was a bust. Maybe later.

  Twenty minutes to go and they’d be boarding the motor coach. The fog was even soupier now it had been an hour ago. The coach passengers were finishing lunch and some were already stirring in their seats. God help him, he’d never sat in one place so long in his life as during this tour. Even at his desk at work, he was up and about once every hour. This sedentary coach tour was making his butt itch.

  Of course, having Meg close by and unable to touch her made another part of him itch. His previous undercover assignments, when one of his duties was to schmooze a woman in order to get intel, were a kind of playacting. Playing the role of womanizing seducer. A ladies’ man, or player.

  It was a job. If you had a certain look and background that fit the job, you were expected to do your duty. Typecasting, maybe, but he’d been rewarded with promotions as a result. Grandpa Nate had said once, right after Jake had joined the FBI, “You haf gifts, Yakov, you use dem. Yust like anybody else.”

  This time, however, he wasn’t acting. His mind was crowded with thoughts of her, yearnings to hold her, talk to her, even just to sit next to her and feel her thigh rubbing against his. Thoughts of her crowded his mind, filled his every waking moment. Juggling his emotions and loyalty to Meg with his duty and loyalty to the FBI was—well, he hated to admit it but it was driving him to distraction.

  The FBI might fire him for insubordination if MI5 got wind he’d alerted Meg to MI5’s arrest warrant. Major Temple and his team would throw him to the dogs.

  And rightly so.

  He watched her get up and head for the ladies’ room. “Excuse me, I need to walk around,” he told Hank and the two sisters. One of the girls offered to join him but he waved her off in what he hoped was a polite dismissal.

  Jake went out of the entrance after first nodding an okay to the MI5 guys at the bar. Pierce and Badgely were relaxing now that the Audi was gone. Frankly, Jake was, too. Maybe he was too relaxed.

  It paid to case a building before entering it, and that’s exactly what Jake had done when the coach passengers had disembarked. As a precautionary tactic, he’d skirted the building, noting where the door to the Ballinskelligs Inn was located—the west side of the building, opposite to the restaurant and pub’s entrance. Outside the Inn’s exterior door was a pathway leading to a wooden stairway down the side of the rocky cliff to a little secluded beach below.

  Having scouted the inn’s office room, he knew a door on the far side of the office opened directly into the restaurant’s kitchen. It was a shortcut for the servers on their room service runs. It was through this door that Jake went despite the mild objection of the teenage clerk behind the Inn’s check-in counter.

  He took a circuitous path through the kitchen, gesturing to some of the cooks with a thumbs-up and throwing everyone a friendly smile. People responded to smiles like butter on pancakes; probably thought him a half-soused tourist who’d gotten lost.

  Another door took him to the alcove where the restrooms hid modestly behind a curtain. He stood there until Meg emerged from the ladies’ room. Surprised, her pretty mouth gaped open. She looked perplexed as he took her hand and retraced his steps through the kitchen and office.

  “How much for a room?” Jake asked the teenage clerk.

  “Fifty Euros.”

  “Fine.” He threw down a bill and grabbed the key.

  “What are you doing?” Meg finally asked, overcoming her shock.

  He hushed her with a finger to her lips. Up the creaky wooden stairs, he led her to a room midway down a dimly lit hallway. Eighty bucks for this dump, Jake thought; there should be a law against soaking the tourists!

  Inside the tiny room, the double bed beckoned but he ignored it. At least, the damn place had picture windows facing the sea, which, of course, were useless that day. It must be damn cold at night, too. No private bathroom, either, just a sink with thin, cotton towels.

  Oh well, they weren’t staying long.

  “Jacob Bernstein, what are you doing? Are you thinking—” Meg stood there, her arms akimbo. “We don’t have time, not that I’d ever have sex with you again, anyway.”

  He shot her a fulminating glance. “Actually, that’s not my plan…” he said. He took a round, electronic device the size of a quarter and a half-inch thick out of his jacket pocket. “It’s a little bulky, I know, but it’ll transmit within two miles. One of our latest toys. A limited range but it’s all I brought with me.”

  She squinted at it and touched the smooth outer surface. It was metallic on one side, plastic on the other.

  “What is it? What does it transmit?” she asked, wild-eyed.

  That got a small grin out of him. Civilians, he thought, if they only knew what electronic miracles were out there.

  “Location, Meg, within a two-mile radius. What you said this morning about photo shoots in Berlin and Hannover got me thinking. It sounds like the Le Blancs are planning a detour for you and your grandmother. Maybe it will be at the end of the tour, maybe sooner. Did you tell them about MI5’s plan to arrest your grandmother in Dublin tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I thought I might need their help in getting away tonight. Without MI5 following us.”

  “And me? Did you think I’d renege and prevent you from leaving?” He stood stock still, wanting to hear it from her own lips. She didn’t trust him and here he was, risking his career for her.

  Her deep blue eyes looked at his and their gazes locked. The tilt of her head conveyed her indignation.

  “I trust you to keep your word to me, Jake. You wouldn’t have told me they were going to pick us up tomorrow if you didn’t want us to get away tonight.”

  He inhaled deeply and exhaled in relief. The GPS beacon he held in his hand was for her and her grandmother’s benefit. By giving it to Meg for safekeeping and concealment, he was officially in collusion with their escape plan.

  Another line he was stepping over.

  He could almost hear Grandpa Nate shaking his head and muttering, “Vat’re you doing, Yakov?”

  If MI5 discovered Meg with the transponder, Jake’s career was toast, no more By-the-book Bernstein.

  Jake was finding him
self breaking all the rules in the Field Manual. Strangely enough, instead of feeling uneasy and guilty, he felt justified. His bosses wouldn’t see it that way, however. Not unless by monitoring their whereabouts, he was keeping Commander Snider’s mother and niece relatively safe. Keeping his targets safe and available for further investigation trumped premature prosecution. At least, it did for his conscience. That’s what he’d told his supervisor that morning. Terry had agreed but reminded him that MI5 wouldn’t. Now they were both sticking their necks out.

  “Okay, good. I’m glad you trust me.”

  “I do, Jake.” She glanced at the GPS device in his hand. “I don’t trust the Le Blancs. They know MI5 is following us. Those two guys from the ferry and now two more. So far they think you’re a private detective hired by the British. The Le Blancs are planning something and they’re feeding Grandma a lot of bullshit.”

  “What do you think they’re planning?”

  “Some kind of promotional photo shoot for their neo-Nazi group.” She frowned up at him. “In Berlin and Hannover, I think. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”

  “Photo shoots with your grandmother as the poster girl. A successful, never-caught Nazi spy from World War II. Wow, what clever propaganda.”

  “Oh, my God!” Meg sat down on the bed, astounded. “If Grandma does this, then what? What will they do to her? To us?”

  Ignoring her questions, he looked for places to conceal the GPS transmitter. His portable receiver with the LED screen was safely pocketed in his carryon. The Le Blancs had most likely searched and found the tiny transmitting mike he’d placed on Mary Snider’s coat lapel days before. They’d be looking for an obvious place.

  Meg was staring at the object in his palm like it was a repulsive tarantula.

  “Meg, this GPS beacon’ll help me track your location. In case the Le Blancs take you some place you don’t want to go. Or they take away your cell phone and you can’t call me.” He pulled her up, unbuttoned her jacket, surveyed her clothes.

  “But then MI5’ll know where we’ve gone,” she protested. She let Jake lift up her sweater, then drop it. He gazed down her snug jeans to her sneakers. No place there for the beacon. Her pants were too tight and the beacon, too bulky. He stared at her curves for a moment.

  “No, this is for my information only. I won’t let MI5 see my tracker. I promise you.” He scowled. “Okay, Meg, do me a favor. Take off everything. Down to your underwear.”

  “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed but did as he asked, even kicking off her sneakers.

  Jake examined each article of clothing—the shoes, jeans, sweater, jacket—before gazing up at her beret. She took it off and handed it to him, sitting there in just a black bra and matching bikini panties.

  Her beautiful body was a powerful magnet, and after realizing the beret’s inside hem wouldn’t be strong or wide enough to support the transmitter, he tossed the hat on the bed. Then he looked at her, standing there in just her underwear, her eyes brimming with trust…and something else.

  She was giving him a speculative survey, her eyes resting on the tenting bulge in his crotch, his sweat pants stretching and making room. A small moan of regret escaped her.

  “Wish things were different for us.”

  “I know, this is a helluva way to court a woman,” he conceded apologetically. His eyes roamed over every muscle and curve of her body. He savored all the touching, stroking, fondling of their one night together. Relished the feel of her skin, warm and silky. Her citrusy, flowery scent. He couldn’t count the second night with her—he’d been practically comatose.

  Cold, dumpy room, scaring her half to death with intel toys…God, Bernstein, you sure know how to make a woman fall in love with you.

  “Since when are you courting me?” She sat back on the bed, leaning back on her hands, her elbows cocked. Still in her underwear, her breasts thrusting half out of her bra.

  “Since the first time I saw you.” He smiled with irony, admitting to himself that he was lost from the first moment he set eyes on her.

  You lovesick fool.

  Your career’s about to crash and burn.

  What Meg did next surprised even him. Suddenly, she reached up. Her hands seized his hips and pulled him closer to the bed. With alacrity, Jake began stripping off his clothes. Off flew his windbreaker and sweatshirt, followed by a more gingerly unstrapping of his shoulder holster. He laid them on the floor, then untied the waistband of his sweat pants.

  He stopped, his hands frozen at his waist. A quickie in this dump? What a memory to leave her…

  “Jake Bernstein, are you courting me? Yes or no?” she repeated, her voice dripping with sass.

  “Doing a half-ass job of it, but yeah,” he said, smiling.

  “Well, let me be the judge of that.”

  Her eyes sparkling with humor, she pulled down his trousers and briefs, exposing his huge erection. She scooted back on the bed and shimmied out of her panties at the same time. She glanced at her watch. “C’mon, cowboy, we have only ten minutes!”

  No time for recriminations, he thought.

  Screw this dump. Screw this case. Screw my career.

  In reply, he bent over her, his knees on the creaky bed. The kisses he smothered her in were deep, wet, hot. Her long legs encircled him, her heels digging into the small of his back. She locked her arms around his neck and her legs around his back, encouraging him to ride her. He growled and thrust into her. He pumped hard several times, caught up in the moment, each one more deeply than the one before.

  No more thinking. Just out-of-this-world, rocketing pleasure. He was ready and so was she. When she moaned his name, he thrust one last time. He felt her spasm at the same time of his release.

  Damn, so in tune to each other…it was uncanny.

  “Strange courtship,” she murmured, pulling his head down for another deep kiss.

  He smiled down into her beautiful face, it was so open and relaxed. Her fears had momentarily vanished and for that, he was glad. If making love with Meg Larsen banished all her boogeymen, then he’d be happy to oblige…every day of their lives.

  “Yeah, damn strange,” he affirmed. “No romantic dates, no flowers or champagne—it’s been crazy. Surreal.”

  “With you, surreal is okay. I’d like those romantic dates…some day. On the bright side, Jacob Bernstein, you’re anything but dull.”

  He shot her a rueful smile, stood up and handed her a towel. “I’m sorry it has to be like this but I promise you…I’ll move heaven and earth to give you those romantic dates.”

  “Don’t know how, with you in Virginia and me in Texas.”

  “At least we’re in the same country. I promise you, I’ll make it happen.”

  “Good. I’m counting on you, big boy,” she reminded him, a wry smile animating her flushed face. “Now, give me that GPS thing. I’ll find a place to hide it. Just make sure no one can track me except you.”

  “Trust me, Meg,” he said. He looked down at the gauze wrapping on his thigh. A little blood had oozed through to the top layer of the gauzy dressing. Meg noticed it, too.

  “You’re going to need it looked at again,” she urged, frowning as she began to shrug on her panties and sweater.

  “Yeah, I know. In Dublin,” he reassured her. After pulling up his pants, he bent down and kissed her. His way of thanking her for her concern but cutting off further debate. There were more pressing matters at hand.

  She shimmied into her jeans and was fully dressed as he was lacing up his sneakers. He placed the transmitter in the palm of her hand. Promptly, she hid it inside her bra cup. Under her heavy sweater, it was undetectable.

  “If you end up somewhere in Berlin and Hannover, I want to be able to find you. This couple’s ruthless, Meg. Don’t think they’re not. Their looks might fool you but I think they control a gang of skinheads here in Ireland. Maybe their influence extends to Germany, I don’t know. Just be careful. Don’t provoke them to violence, okay? Pretend to go along. I
’ll find you. Use your cell phone whenever you can, but in case MI5 is monitoring mine after you and your grandmother leave, speak in code.”

  Her expression grew serious once more. He hated to see her worried. Hated the idea that Meg and her grandmother were falling under that couple’s control. Hated even more the possibility he might never see her again after today.

  “Code? Like what?”

  “You said they were talking about photo shoots in Berlin and Hannover. If they take you there…for Berlin, tell me your plane had to stop in Boston on the way back to Texas. B for B. If it’s Hannover, your plane stopped in…”

  “Houston. I get it. I’ll improvise.”

  “Good, you’re a quick study. If they take your phone away, well, I’ll have to assume it’s Berlin first, then Hannover. MI5 will think you’ve gone home but they’ll expect you to get in touch with me, so my cell phone might be monitored. At least, for the first twenty-four hours after you leave. Enough of a delay for me to get to Germany and the right city.”

  Meg looked uncertain. “You’ll ditch the MI5 agents?”

  “You bet. I’m following you.”

  “Good, I’m glad. I don’t trust those people. You won’t believe this, Jake.” Meg was preceding him down the inn’s narrow, wooden stairway. “They’ve been speaking German to Grandma, calling her Clare. Madeleine’s even calling her, mother. And Grandma’s so zonked out, she believes them! I’m so confused, I’m half believing them myself.”

  “Meg, we think your grandmother is Clare Hillenbrand Eberhard from Hannover. She was a gifted foreign language teacher and amateur actress until her husband, Horst Eberhard, recruited her to join him in the Abwehr. He was her handler during the war. Both of them were moles, spied for the Abwehr and then later the SS. Horst was killed during the war, sometime in early 1945 during the German retreat from Italy. Your grandmother…well, she hooked up with your grandfather, Captain John Snider of the Army Air Corps, married him and, you might say, got out of Dodge as soon as she could.”