Nightshade

by M. L. Huie

  Kostin pulled the Dodge over to a curb in front of a used-car lot. Row after row of big automobiles lined up. American flag streamers hung at all four corners of the business. Livy guessed it to be nearly three AM. The night felt desolate and empty, like the street.

  The Russian put his hand on her cheek. His eyes scanned the bruise. She wondered if he was about to kiss her, but then he pulled away.

  “You need to put ice on your cheek. Tonight, yes? Then, sleep. Try to rest. Eat. Then, come to Ford’s Theatre tomorrow at three. We can talk then,” he said. “You are a very strong woman, Livy, but I will take care of you. Whatever you need. I know I can trust you now.”

  Livy smiled, and everything about it was real. She had his trust; she knew it even beyond his admission. The time would come soon when she could ask him about Margot. Soon now—she could feel it. She had him. Not long now and this job would be over, and she’d be done with all of this.

  Kostin put her in a cab. She got back to The Statler around four. The night doorman took one look at the bruise on her face and looked away as he allowed her inside. She made the mistake of asking for messages at the front desk. There were three. The Fairfax Beauty Salon had called about an upcoming appointment.

  Upstairs she made an impromptu ice pack with a washcloth and a pile of cubes from the vending machine. She sat in a hot bath and held it to her swollen cheek.

  Livy fell asleep, still wearing the towel from the bath.

  * * *

  The phone rang at eight AM. The long, single bell droned on until Livy ripped the receiver up.

  “Good morning.” The voice sounded pleasant, spunky, female. “We are looking forward to seeing you at your appointment this morning at eleven at the Fairfax Beauty Salon. Don’t be late now.”

  Livy grunted something and dropped the receiver back on the base. She fell back into the soft hotel pillows. Her body needed sleep, but her mind rebelled. So she lay in bed for another hour and tried to see the way ahead. Livy knew Kostin had been shaken by Gennady’s impromptu abduction of her. The incident had brought them closer in his mind. She could tell by the way he looked at her. He’d been afraid, and that fear brought out a terrible anger. The Red Devil had protected his woman. Above all else.

  His woman, Livy thought. That mother back on the streetcar had seen it. Kostin was smitten. Livy was not only his source but also his lover, and he’d gone to dangerous lengths to protect her. None of that mattered to her, though. Livy knew the only way to end this was to use his feelings for her to get what she wanted. She was her own woman, and no one else’s.

  Half an hour later, she eased out of bed. Every inch of her body hurt, some places far worse than others. She called down to room service and ordered two scrambled eggs, toast with jam, and black coffee. While she waited, she got dressed and noticed the swelling in her cheek had gone down some, but the big Russian had left her with a juicy-looking purple bruise.

  A cute young man, probably eighteen or nineteen, in a smart burgundy uniform with epaulettes, wheeled in the food tray. His eyes widened upon seeing her bruised face, but Livy gave him twenty-five cents and sent him on his way with a playful wink.

  She drank the coffee first while spreading the strawberry preserves over her toast. The coffee tasted strong, and the jam had just the right amount of sweetness. She decided to savor this meal. With the death of Gennady, this job had reached a crisis point. From here on out, Livy knew the only way she could finish it would be by taking care of herself first.

  * * *

  “Oh my goodness, it looks so little. Are you sure it works?”

  Livy stood on one side of a glass display case in a Sears, Roebuck and Co. store on the outskirts of the District. A burly man with a military haircut grinned at her from the other side. So far he’d bought her American accent hook, line, and sinker. A Colt Detective .32 special lay on the counter between them.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’ll fit right in your purse. But if—God forbid—you have to use it, it’ll get the job done.”

  “You’re a pretty good salesman, ya know,” she said, looking up just as his gaze quickly shifted from the bruise under her eye. “Oh, it’s a beauty, don’t you think?” she said, touching her cheek.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no. Do you have kids?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, if you ever do, be careful. Their little heads can be deadly weapons. My oldest almost broke my nose with his noggin once. Number two got me last night.”

  “Well, now I see why you need that gun,” the salesman said.

  They both started to laugh.

  * * *

  Livy arrived at the safe house several minutes late. She came in through the back entrance, even though she’d spent the previous half hour making certain she’d not been followed. She couldn’t imagine that after the events of last night the Russians could put together another surveillance team this quickly, but it paid to be cautious.

  Sam Keller stood in the hallway. He had on the same suit he’d worn to the zoo, with another crisp shirt.

  “God Almighty, you had us all so damned—” He stopped, mid-sentence. “What happened to you?”

  “Do you have any of that bad coffee?”

  Keller just stood there, eyes on her face.

  “I’m all right, but coffee would help. Two sugars, though. Make that three.”

  Her quips seemed to break Keller’s trance. He nodded and turned to the kitchen.

  Two cups later, Livy finished telling Keller the story of the confrontation between the two Russians.

  The details of the meeting with Kostin this afternoon she kept to herself.

  Keller listened, barely able to mask his nervousness. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Three times he lifted his cup and put it back down on the table beside him without taking a sip. He didn’t speak for almost two minutes.

  Finally, he said, “Okay, then. Well, we gave it our best shot.”

  “What?”

  He looked at her with surprise. “You landed in the middle of a pissing contest between two Russians and nearly got yourself killed. That’s not happening on my watch. You’re done with this.”

  Livy bristled. She wouldn’t let him place the blame for this on her perceived inexperience. “Fact is, you’re overreacting, Mr. Keller. I know what I’m doing.”

  The FBI man scoffed. “Go find a mirror and look at your face. Clearly, you don’t.”

  She felt like giving his face a taste of what she’d had, but this moment called for a little more restraint.

  “Look, we can’t afford to let Yuri Kostin just disappear on us. Then all this has been for nothing.”

  “If I’d known Gennady Yakupov had been the one following you, I would have pulled you out immediately. I doubt very seriously that anyone trusts Kostin at that embassy after all this. His career is more than likely finished. The Soviets sure as hell aren’t going to hand Berlin over to him now. This is pointless. I’m ending this.”

  Livy’s face and neck throbbed. She’d been nearly killed last night in some dark backroom in the middle of Washington. Enduring Keller’s lecture was simply more than her battered soul could take.

  The hell with this.

  She stood up, looking down at Keller. “I came here to do a job, and I’m finishing it.”

  “Maybe you’re not hearing so well today, Livy. Just calm down, all right? Have a seat and let’s figure out where we go from here.”

  “Thank you for the coffee.” She spun on her heel, moving toward the door.

  “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” Keller leapt up and grabbed her elbow. She tried to shrug him off, but he had a tight grip. The next moment happened so quickly.

  He grabbed her other arm, towering over her. She put a hand on his chest to move him away, which only caused him to lean into her. Using his strength to control her. His big body on hers. She felt her back collide with the wall. Keller over her, leaning dow
n.

  She’d had enough. Livy chopped at his neck with the hard edge of her right hand.

  “Stay the hell away from me,” she yelled.

  The blow moved him back. Livy pushed away from the wall, but he came again, grabbing Livy’s arm hard, wrenching her around. She spun, throwing a right punch. Keller caught it.

  The sudden violence seemed to shock them both into a sort of paralysis.

  Keller’s breath was ragged. He regarded her differently, as if surprised by what she could and would do. But the look in his eyes indicated he had no idea what to do next. Slowly, he released her right hand and stepped back.

  The confrontation gave Livy a moment of release from the stress in her body, although her muscles still felt tight. They both stood, catching their breath.

  Keller spoke first. “Let’s just get you back to your hotel, all right? You’ve been through a helluva lot.” He withdrew further, straightened his coat, and pushed the front of his hair back into place.

  She sensed discomfort in his body language, but Livy couldn’t imagine Keller changing his mind about the assignment. He’d decided she was an amateur long ago. Well, he might not think much of her experience, but Livy knew exactly what she needed to do. She had a part to play.

  Giving him her best nervous smile, she shrugged her shoulders and glanced down. “Look, I’m tired. Every single part of me aches. I’ve had no sleep at all. Maybe we could talk later. When I’ve had—”

  “Of course”—his voice scratchy from the blow to his throat—“but I’m sending someone with you. You’re not leaving here by yourself.”

  “Look, I’ll take a cab straight to the hotel. I just need … rest.” She backed away from him, the door little more than ten feet from her.

  Keller shook his head. “I’ll make a call. Okay? I want to make sure you’re—that someone can keep an eye on you.”

  She pushed the hair away from her face, letting him see the bruise. Playing the role of the inexperienced girl agent, in way over her head, who needed the man’s help. That’s what he wanted to see, and that was the distraction Livy needed.

  Livy picked up her handbag. “Fine.”

  He turned toward the kitchen, smiling at her. “Give me a second. Just have a seat, all right?”

  Livy nodded but didn’t move.

  Keller turned his back and disappeared around the corner.

  She waited until she heard him pick up the receiver and start dialing.

  “This is Keller. Get me Hobbs. Yeah, right now.”

  Livy knew she was saying goodbye to her sanctuary. The next step would push her further into Kostin’s hands, but if she remained with Keller, then Margot might very well be lost forever.

  Keller continued to talk on the phone in the next room. She walked out of the house, leaving the door open behind her.

  * * *

  Livy didn’t go back to the hotel. She assumed the FBI would have someone there soon to watch over her. Despite the confrontation at the safe house, she knew Keller’d do whatever it took to keep her on a leash. She spent the better part of an hour making sure he hadn’t followed her after her dash out into the street.

  Livy knew she had to be on her own, completely, to have a chance of finding out where Margot might be. Keller’s operation might be over, but hers was far from it.

  Once again she found herself walking the block near Ford’s Theatre. Cloudy skies and a light breeze from the north cooled down the city.

  Livy was in place at five minutes to three and felt reasonably certain she hadn’t been followed. No sign of the FBI’s blue Packard or any other car for that matter. She’d crossed streets so many times and stopped to look in so many shop windows that if she had a tail, it had to be the Invisible Man.

  She made her way toward the wooden bench at the edge of the theatre and J.C. Harding Electrical. An old man in ballooning khakis, a tropical shirt, and cardigan took up most of the bench.

  She said, “Excuse me,” and took the seat beside him. He nodded as he used his right hand to fan himself.

  Popping the latch on her handbag, Livy pretended to search for something. The sight of the Colt gave her added security. She glanced at the old man and wondered if he planned to perch there the whole afternoon. He showed no signs of moving.

  Livy closed her bag and looked at her watch. A couple of minutes after three. She glanced up and down the street. She didn’t recognize anyone. Would it be the striking young woman again? Leaning back, she allowed herself to think the worst: Kostin bundled off to Moscow and with him, her chance of ever getting a fix on Margot’s location.

  From there her mind flew home. She found herself thinking about the smells and particular sounds of Fleming’s office on the Gray’s Inn Road. Pen Baker’s always-enticing perfumes, the clink of the cut-glass tumblers in Fleming’s office bar, and the crisp whoosh of the soundproof door to his inner office.

  She wondered if any other signals had been received since she left. Had Margot risked everything to send those few? Was she now on the receiving end of some sort of punishment for her transgressions? Livy’s two weeks in the German prison at Fresnes during the war seemed like a holiday by comparison.

  “Do you have the correct time?” she asked the old man.

  “Nope,” he said. More of a grunt, really. “Watch broke last month. Gotta get it fixed. Sometime.”

  Livy nodded and futzed with her own watch: 3:05. At that moment, a very small woman with tight gray hair, wearing one of the most colorful frocks Livy had ever seen, shuffled out of the front of the theatre toward the old man. She stood on the sidewalk and yelled, “Smithsonian,” in the direction of the bench.

  “How far?” the old man asked, hefting himself up and fairly stumbling in the direction of the small woman.

  Livy watched them walk south, side by side. She smiled and then wondered if that might ever be her one day. Her mind went to the last man who’d truly caught her fancy. Another American, Tom Vance. But they’d not seen each other in over a year. Last she heard of the handsome Southerner he’d been transferred to Vienna. It wasn’t out of the question that their paths could cross again one day, and then, who knows? Growing old with Tom Vance? The incongruity of the image almost made her laugh because at this moment that seemed to her about as possible as a trip to the moon.

  The thought vanished quickly. Livy felt the contact before seeing her. The same young woman with the violin case stood behind the bench, just to Livy’s left. She remembered the perfect cheekbones, the defiant jawline, and thick dark hair.

  “Walk behind me,” the young woman said, looking up the street. “Keep a distance.”

  She then moved off toward F Street in the opposite direction from the old couple. Livy let her take about ten steps and then followed slowly. She scanned the street as they walked. No longer did she feel like a helpless little woman at everyone’s mercy. She had protection. The Colt made her independence from Keller and the FBI seem real. No more playing Ophelia. Medea now. A woman of decisive action.

  The young woman paused at the intersection of Tenth and F along with a tightly packed crowd of pedestrians. Livy had no option but to catch up and stand beside her.

  “The cab,” the woman said. “Take it.” And she turned and headed west on F Street, leaving Livy at the intersection. Ahead of her, the traffic signal changed, and the group surged across the street. Parked on the curb across F St, in front of Saxon’s Clothiers, was a Diamond cab.

  Livy noticed the car’s light was solid. She ran around to the passenger side to speak to the driver, a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper curly hair and wearing a flat cap. The driver did not look at her.

  “We can take you where you are going,” Yuri Kostin said from the back seat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The cab dashed through midday DC traffic, flying down Pennsylvania and Constitution until it turned north on Maryland Avenue. The driver kept the windows down, so the speed of the car caused wind to whip through the automob
ile.

  Kostin only spoke twice. Once to tell Livy that she would be “safe” and the second time to say something, in Russian, to the driver. Livy reckoned it to be a joke since the driver laughed along with Kostin.

  They quickly left the downtown area, and within fifteen minutes had crossed into Maryland. The surroundings changed dramatically. One moment the concrete and stacked buildings of the city; the next, walk-up houses with manicured lawns. The cab drove past a group of children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk and at least one game of pickup baseball.

  At the end of a winding street, the cab turned onto a more recently paved road. There were fewer and bigger houses now. Up ahead, Livy could see a small lake with a single wooden pier. At its furthermost edge, half a dozen fishermen lazily dragged their lines through the water.

  They finally turned into the circular driveway of an imposing Beaux Arts–style house. The lawn had been carefully trimmed, as had the hedges that lined the facade. Kostin gave another order in Russian, and the cab turned down a drive beside the house. Following it all the way around the building, the car stopped at a back entrance covered by a stone archway.

  Kostin hopped out of the car quickly, opened Livy’s door, and ushered her inside.

  He flipped a light switch to reveal a spacious sunken den. Leather sofas encircled a metal stove in the center of the room. Tall, thick bookcases, stuffed with leather-bound volumes, lined the walls behind the sofas. It looked clean, modern, and very expensive.

  “Exactly, where the hell are we?” Livy asked.

  Kostin smirked. “This is our American dacha. We bring special guests here. Like you. A very special guest.”

  “You always bring them in through the back door?”

  The Russian ignored the quip and started up a narrow, wooden staircase. Livy followed. At the top they emerged into a formal living room furnished in a style far more decorous and European. The chairs appeared to be Queen Anne. Two twin sofas looked stiff, with ornate wooden carvings on the armrests. The draperies were, of course, closed.