Maggie rifled through her clutch until she found her pack of Lucky Strikes. Looking carefully, she chose a real one and put it to her lips, then made as though she was looking through her clutch once more.
She looked up at the man across from her and smiled. It felt like she was acting out the lines from a movie. “I’m sorry. Do you have a light?”
Maggie started to make the now-universal gesture of flicking a lighter, though she wasn’t quite sure why, but the Soviet simply nodded, reaching into his pocket. “Of course,” he said in accented English.
She got up and walked the three steps over to his bench, because that seemed like the right thing to do, sitting down next to him. She drew in closer to light her cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling out the side of her mouth like she imagined Jane Greer might. “Thank you,” she added, because he hadn’t said anything else and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. “I can’t imagine where I misplaced mine.”
The officer closed the lighter with a snap. “Of course, miss.” He then turned back toward the courtyard, watching the other people smoke or mill about randomly.
The last thing he’s expecting is a contact who’s a woman, Maggie realized. To anyone else, he might have looked cool and calm, but this close, she could sense that he was nervous inside. Not intensely frightened, but definitely on edge. He was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, black hair graying at the temples, lean and strong. She knew Yushchenko had been at Stalingrad in ’43, so there was no doubt he was a tough customer.
“You remind me of someone,” Maggie said as firmly as she could manage. “Have we met?”
A flicker of annoyance pushed through the soft blanket of tension in his mind. “I would remember, I think,” he said with a charming smile. “But I don’t think so, miss.”
Maggie fumbled for her next words, ashing her cigarette awkwardly.
“I think it might have been in Poland,” she finally said. “I attended a diplomatic soiree there a few months ago. With Mr. Parrish.”
There you go, Maggie thought as tension and fear suddenly gripped the man’s heart. Parrish was one of the Warsaw station chief’s cover names.
“I might, yes,” the man replied slowly. “I was there as well, though I do not remember a, how you say, ‘soiree’ of any kind. But I seem to remember your Mr. Parrish.”
“He sends his regards, Comrade Colonel,” Maggie said quietly, reaching out ever so slightly with her Enhancement to smooth over any anxious nerves. “He recommended that you and I meet.”
Maggie didn’t need her ability to note the surprise on Yushchenko’s face. “Well… that is very kind of him, and you are a beautiful woman,” he said. “I am surprised he had the time to meet someone like you. He works very hard.”
I’m your goddamn contact, Maggie thought. What the hell are you talking about?
Yushchenko nodded, as if he had just made up his mind, and stood up. “Please give him my regards, miss,” he said as Maggie scrambled to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It has been a pleasure.”
Maggie was about to protest when the Soviet officer turned around again, his hand outstretched. “Here. I have another. Don’t lose this one.”
Smiling, Maggie took his lighter, feeling the small piece of paper pressed up against the side of it. Not a bad bit of tradecraft, that. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” she smiled. “Have a wonderful evening, Colonel.”
She sat back down and opened her clutch, her cigarette dangling from her lips as she deposited the lighter and glimpsed at the note. It was in Russian. Dammit. She took a long drag, then placed it at the edge of the bench next to her, balancing it so it wouldn’t fall. After that, she opened her compact, subtly keying the side of it as she grabbed the powder puff inside and gazed into the small mirror.
“Got a note. I need Frank to translate,” she said quietly. “And somebody else should follow our guy.”
A moment later, she heard a faint static pop as the line opened up; thankfully, she had the volume turned far down and there wasn’t anyone in earshot. “I got him. On his tail,” Cal replied. “I’ll send Frank along.”
Maggie snapped her case shut, just in time to see Yushchenko leave through a corridor at the far western side of the courtyard, Cal in his Air Force uniform following shortly after. So, that was taken care of. She picked up her cigarette again and took a long drag — she’d grown a little too attached to smoking over the past several months of living at military bases. Frank arrived a minute later.
“Got a light?” he said with a little gleam in his eye.
Maggie passed it over along with the note, just as Yushchenko had. “For you, darling, anything.”
Frank lit his own cigarette and handed the lighter back, keeping the note. He unfolded it with one hand — it was about an inch around, all told — and began reading. His smile faded quickly.
“Key the talkie. Bail out.”
Maggie immediately reached back into her purse and began keying a single long buzz, over and over. “What is it?”
Frank read from the note. “‘One of Them here. Many eyes on us. Dangerous. Get out now. Prague, soon.’”
“Shit,” Maggie said, dropping her cigarette to the ground and grinding it into the stones of the courtyard with her shoe. “One of them? Who?”
“The ‘T’ in ‘Them’ is capitalized,” Frank said. “Intentionally. You don’t suppose…”
Maggie’s heart sank as she watched Ellis enter the courtyard and saunter toward them as they sat there. He was an excellent actor, and she knew this because underneath his laid-back exterior, he was a nervous wreck. If the Russians had their own Variants…
“Either of you got a cigarette?” Ellis asked quietly. “I’m plumb out. The general went and smoked all mine.” Vandenberg wants a report.
Frank offered one of his. “Gonna have to chase down a new pack. Hate to be one short.” Cal followed the target. He’s out of contact.
Ellis grimaced as he lit up. “Just the one? Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you back later, friend.” Fuck Cal. Let’s go.
Frank smiled and stood. “You know, I think I’m gonna look for another pack. I think it’s gonna be a long night. Lots of people smoking the place up here. And I hear our hosts may have a surprise or two later.” Fuck you, Ellis. We’re looking for Cal. And we may have company. Variants.
As Ellis’s eyes widened, Maggie nodded toward where she’d seen Cal follow Yushchenko out of the courtyard. “I thought I saw them selling some by one of the coat checks over there,” Maggie said sweetly. “I can show you.”
Frank gestured toward the exit. “Lead the way, miss.”
Maggie quickly walked off toward the corridor with Frank close behind. She could feel Ellis’s anger as they left.
“Wait up,” he finally called out, barely concealing his concern. “I might as well get a pack too.”
Frank turned and smiled. “Why don’t you go see if the general wants some?” Report to Vandenberg. “I’ll get you some smokes, and you can pay me back later.”
“Mighty kind of you. All right, then,” Ellis said curtly, veering off back toward the party. Neither Frank nor Maggie needed code words or Enhancements to get that he was pissed and scared.
19
Ellis was looking for General Vandenberg, scanning the room for that impressive-looking blue/black formal uniform. Ellis liked this party. He liked the people he was surrounded by. They were smart, witty, a good crowd. Not like the damn fools he used to sell Chevrolets to, or the folks down at the country club in Mobile… who were also the people he sold Cadillacs to. There were real things going down in this room. Important things. Sure, it was all about the Jews and whether they got their own country. Whatever. He didn’t give a damn about that.