by Tom Savage
Nora regarded him, thinking, Mr. Jackson. Ralph Johnson must have fielded that call, complete with pseudonym. She nodded. “Of course. We have no intention of making you a part of the story. You have my word.”
“Good.” He drained his wineglass again, then reached inside his jacket and produced a wallet and a pen. He took out a business card, wrote on the back of it, and handed it to Nora. “Here is my telephone number. Please to call me if you need my assistance.”
She glanced at the front of the card: a few lines in engraved Cyrillic. Name, rank, and serial number, probably. She put it in her purse. “Thank you, General.”
“Thank, you, Nikolai!” he said, laughing. “But enough of all this! Tell me about you, Joan—about the American television networks and the programs you are making with the famous people.”
Nora had to collect her thoughts, but she managed to go on with her performance. She launched into a detailed, thoroughly fictional account of her many journalistic exploits, regaling him with stories throughout the main course and dessert. She chattered away, and her coconspirators at the table even chimed in with details of their forthcoming televised interview. The general seemed to buy their on-the-spot fabrications. He laughed and asked questions, and gradually the rather tense mood at the table eased. But all the while, Nora was thinking of the general’s story, how different it was from Galina’s story, and of what her husband had said last night about the Russian Federation security people. She distilled everything she’d seen and heard and experienced today down to three salient points:
Galina claims that Malinkov is dangerous.
Malinkov claims that Galina is a liar.
The woman in the street today was probably a Russian agent.
Just before they rose to leave the dining room, Nora looked over at the long banquet table. Galina sat there in her red sequins, and for once she was not engaged in conversation with her tablemates. She was staring directly across the room at Nora—well, at Nora and the man beside her. The expression on her face was easy to read, even at this distance. Nora studied the actress, adding one more item to her list:
Galina Rostova is terrified.
Chapter 17
Jeffrey Baron had served in the U.S. Marines, and for nearly thirty years after that he’d been a top field operative for the CIA. He could start any vehicle without a key, and very few locked doors would keep him out. At the end of this long day of surprises, Nora was not at all surprised when she walked into her locked bedroom at Pensione Bella to find her husband stretched out on her bed, reading.
“Honey, I’m home,” she said.
He sat up, grinning. “Wow, that’s some dress! How was the party? Did you have a good time?”
“Peachy.” She looked at the typed pages he was reading as she dropped her coat on a chair, realizing what they were. She glanced over at her dressing table drawer, which now stood open. “That’s a classified document, dear, and it’s not your case; it’s mine. Ham gave it to me because he loves me more than he loves you. He even lets me call him Ham. I taped it under the top drawer of the dresser so no one would be able to find it.”
“Yes, dear, just the way I taught you. It’s quite a document—these people are fascinating. Did you get a chance to talk to Galina at the Danieli?”
“No, but I’ve had enough of the general to last me three lifetimes. We have to talk, Jeff, but first I have to get out of this dress. Unzip me, please.”
“My favorite pastime!” He rose and came over to her. She kissed him before turning around. She shrugged off the velvet gown and went into the bathroom for a hot shower. When she returned in her robe, her hair turbaned in a towel, he was propped up in bed, pouring two glasses of red wine. The dossier had vanished, and her dresser drawer was shut.
She slid in beside him and got right down to business. “Where did you go this afternoon? Why weren’t you at the convent? Mother Agnes said you were called away just before I got there, and I finally heard your message.”
He nodded. “Yes, she told me about your visit. I’m sorry you went all the way there for nothing, especially since I went running off for nothing—it was a false alarm.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I got a call from a contact, not long after you called me from the museum. He’s been keeping an eye on our Russian friends for me. He said the techies at La Fenice were getting ready to move all the scenery onto barges, that it looked like they were leaving town before tomorrow night’s performance and heading for Paris a day early. I went racing to the opera house to see what was going on, but there weren’t any barges at the loading dock. I got inside the stage entrance and looked around. Everything was there, all the scenery and props and what have you, and there was nobody around except the usual stage doorman and the people in the box office. No Russians, anywhere. False alarm. I called my contact from the opera house, and he swore he’d seen them moving the scenery with his own eyes—that’s why he’d called me. This guy isn’t an idiot, Pal—if he says he saw them, he saw them. But it seems they changed their minds before I arrived, and moved everything back in. Weird.”
“It’s about to get weirder,” Nora said. “While you were off chasing a false lead, I was being followed through the streets of Venice.”
Jeff sat straight up in the bed. “What? Why would anyone follow you? You’re a TV journalist from New York.”
“I don’t know why, but I think I know who. Last night in this very bed, you said you’d watched the Russian security crew, three men and one woman. Describe the woman.”
He thought a minute. “Big gal, tall, pale skin, short dark hair, future heavyweight champion of the world.”
“The very same.”
“This woman followed you to Santa Maria Magdalena?” Jeff asked.
“No, I’m sure she didn’t. And she wasn’t following me in the vaporetto back from the convent, either. I was the last one off when I transferred at Santa Elena—the boat pulled out as soon as I was ashore. I think she was waiting for me at the San Marco Vallaresso landing. She followed me from there, but not far. As soon as I became aware of her, I figured out how to lose her.”
Jeff stared. “You shook her? Let me guess—you made her think you were going one way, and you went another.”
“Yes,” Nora said. “Just like you taught me.”
“Good girl!”
“Thank you. But why would the general have her follow me?”
“You think it was the general?”
Nora nodded. “It has to be. Those people are Russian Federation security guards, right? Who commands them? Not the theater people, certainly. Who else but the general?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Pal. You said you spent a lot of time with him tonight. What did he have to say for himself?”
She told him about the party, beginning with the stories Frances had from Vera. Then Jeff listened as Nora replayed her entire conversation with General Malinkov.
“So, he’s basically denying everything,” Jeff said when she was finished. “But you’re an actor; you observe people, you hear their tone of voice. What do you think?”
Nora sipped her wine. “I think he’s a liar. I think he has a big stash offshore, just like the rumors say. And despite his protests to the contrary, I think he’s insanely possessive and jealous. Everything he told me at dinner tonight sounded like a lie—except maybe the part about the lieutenant; I don’t know if he’d actually kill one of his own men. But he’s the type of man who’d get violent if anyone went near his property. And that’s what Galina is to him—property. I think he popped down to Venice because he thinks Galina is carrying on with Ivan, or maybe the director. I’m inclined to believe her side of things, mainly because even an actor as good as she is can’t fake that level of fear. She’s really afraid of something.”
Jeff nodded. “So, all this could be personal, a lovers’ quarrel, and nothing to do with the defection. Okay, bottom line: Is he a threat to your job tomorrow?”
<
br /> She considered this. “I don’t think so. But the woman following me today has me worried. He wanted a report on my activities, and I’m barely in Galina’s orbit. Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he thinks you’re helping her cheat on him. But you’re sure he believes you’re Joan Simmons?”
“Yes, absolutely. He’s too narcissistic to be deceptive; he wouldn’t waste his incredibly valuable time. He thinks I’m Joan, I’d swear to it. Is there some way to be sure he really goes back to Moscow tomorrow morning?”
“That’s one of my jobs. Don’t worry, Pal, I’ll know his movements tomorrow. You can relax about the general.”
Nora had a sudden horrible thought. “Oh my God, what if he thinks Joan Simmons is helping Galina defect?”
“He doesn’t, Pal.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Jeff smiled. “You just said it yourself: He’s a self-absorbed so-and-so who thinks his girlfriend is his property. Men like that never suspect the girlfriend might want to leave. Why would she leave when she has him? And he’s going back to Moscow tomorrow—he wouldn’t do that if he thought she was defecting. The idea of a defection has never occurred to him. But we’re still not talking about the elephant in the room.”
Nora nodded. “Mother Agnes—you told me she was deaf and blind, and the convent was a nightmare. Liar!”
He shook his head. “Not that elephant in the room.”
“Okay, how about this: Aldo the boatman is really an Italian agent you’ve been working with for years, just like you worked with Mother Agnes’s late husband.”
Jeff laughed. “Again with the wrong pachyderm!”
“I give up,” she said. “What elephant?”
Now his laughter faded, and he frowned. “Galina. She’s giving up everything and moving to a strange country, and all because of this information she has. What the hell is Galina’s big secret?”
Chapter 18
Hamilton Green agreed with Nora.
It was going on one o’clock in the morning in Venice, which meant it was dinnertime in New York City. Nora made the call, and when he replied she put her phone on speaker. She and Jeff sat in the bed, listening to their employer.
“I think you’re right: Malinkov is lying through his teeth. Those Russian agents are there to escort the cast and crew around Europe, but their orders come from Moscow. If one of them followed you today, I’ll bet Malinkov was behind it.”
Jeff said, “Sir, if he doesn’t fly to Moscow tomorrow morning, I think you should abort the mission. I don’t want Nora at the mercy of that man, not to mention the other civilians with her.”
“Now, wait a minute—” Nora began.
“Hush, Pal, this is nonnegotiable.”
Ham said, “I’ll ask someone I know at Marco Polo to see if he actually takes off, and—”
“Never mind that, sir,” Jeff interrupted. “I’ll be at Marco Polo tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you. I guess you’re now a part of the op. You’re not cleared for fieldwork these days, but I’ll take responsibility. If my wife were involved, I’d be doing what you’re doing.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Nora, how are your people holding up?”
“They’re doing fine,” Nora said. “They were wonderful today, start to finish. If they ever get tired of their real jobs, they’d make an excellent TV production company. Or they could all work for you. We just got back from the reception a little while ago, and by now they’re all sleeping the sleep of the just. It was a really long day.” She paused, unsure how to proceed with her next question. “Ham…”
“Yes, Nora?”
She looked at her husband. He nodded, so she bit the bullet. “I know this is above my pay grade, but can you tell me anything at all about the nature of Galina’s information? I mean, I’ve observed her up close now, and she’s terrified. Not just of the general, either—she seems to be afraid of the security people as well. At one point during the party tonight, I thought she was going to faint. We can get her out tomorrow, but it would help us—it would help me—to know what level of threat we might be facing.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Nora felt a pressure on her hand and realized that Jeff had taken it firmly in his own. She glanced over at him, and he mouthed the words, “Very good.” She shrugged and looked back at the phone on the bed between them. They waited.
At last, Hamilton Green spoke. “Nora, I’ll tell you the truth: I don’t know. I’ve been told this is a high-alert situation, and I was asked to effect the extraction. I came to you—and I’m glad I did—but whatever convinced State to set all this in motion is unknown to me. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m not sure they know, either. I asked three people in Washington what the intel was from Rostova, and all three told me to go fish. Two of those people are close friends; I honestly think they’d tell me if they knew—after thirty-six years with the Company, I’m hardly a security risk!—but they wouldn’t say a word. I don’t think anyone at our end knows exactly what goods Rostova is selling us.”
“Is that even possible?” Nora asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice. “I’ve never heard of a producer green-lighting a play or film without first seeing the script—or, at the very least, hearing a decent pitch. Why would the State Department do it?”
“They must have made an exception in this case. Rostova is the mistress of a highly placed military man, and, as such, she would have extraordinary access.”
Nora froze, staring at the phone. She’d been wondering what to do, how to learn Galina’s secret, and now Ham Green had said the magic word: Access. She squeezed her husband’s hand and winked at him.
“Well, thank you, Ham,” she said. “We’re meeting Galina and her people at three o’clock tomorrow, and the getaway is set for four o’clock. The next time I speak to you will be from the boat or the car, and I promise I’ll have Galina with me.”
“Excellent,” their employer said. “Now get some sleep, you two; tomorrow’s the big day. Good night.”
“Good night, Ham.” She ended the call and turned to Jeff. “I need a computer.”
He stared. “What, now? It’s one-thirty in the morning! I know that look on your face and that gleam in your eye, Pal, but you’re gonna have to drop it for a while. Whatever you’re planning can be done later. Let’s get some rest.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, and she kissed him. She dropped the phone on the night table, switched off the lamp, and settled down in the bed. Jeff rolled onto his side and pressed his face against her bare shoulder. She thought she’d lie awake, working on her new idea, but it wasn’t to be—the long, stressful day finally caught up with her. In moments, she was asleep.
Chapter 19
The day of the defection did not dawn bright and fair; quite the opposite. If Nora believed in signs and portents, she might have canceled the operation the moment she looked outside that Friday morning. The drop in temperature and the gathering of dark clouds above Venice that she’d noticed the day before had intensified overnight. Freezing rain would begin later in the afternoon, and by sundown the rain would turn to snow, light at first but heavier throughout the evening. Not that it mattered to Nora’s mission; by then, the damage was already done.
Nora woke on Friday to find that she was alone in the bed. The space beside her was still warm; she must have just missed his departure. Jeff was on his way to the airport, and she had work to do. She jumped up from the bed and hurried through her morning rituals, dressing in record time. At exactly eight o’clock, she placed a call on her cellphone and left the room, arriving in the dining room behind the lobby just as Pia Fortuna, née Luchese, arrived there with a tray of coffee, tea, and orange juice.
There were six tables in the room, and one of them was occupied by two elderly ladies from the neighborhood who apparently met here for breakfast every morning; they’d been here yesterday, too. Nora smiled at the ladies, who smile
d back, and took her seat at the big round table in the corner. By the time she’d been served eggs, sausage, fruit, and an impressive array of freshly baked breads and pastries from the panetteria at the other end of the alley, the rest of her team had joined her.
Her phone call had been to Patch, who brought a laptop he’d borrowed from Pia’s husband, Tony, as she’d requested. She chatted through the meal with the others; they seemed excited at the prospect of today’s activity. Three more tables were taken by locals—this dining room was popular with the neighbors. Nora’s group lingered with coffee, going over the plan, and then Frances and the two Italians left for various destinations, the men to visit the pregnant Lili and Frances to explore the shops and stalls of the Rialto Market.
“Okay, what do you need?” Patch said as soon as he and Nora were alone. He set up Tony Fortuna’s laptop on the table.
“Let’s try Facebook,” Nora said. “Galina Rostova.”
She watched as he logged on and searched, envying his easy dexterity with the social network. She’d thought of it last night, when Ham Green had mentioned access. That was one of her daughter’s favorite words: Dana was forever going on about “accessing information” and “Internet access,” and last night that had steered Nora to the obvious means of learning more about Galina. Nora taught acting to young adults, and Dana was twenty-one, so she was surrounded by people who lived online, mainly on Facebook and Twitter. Nora had steadfastly refused to join them; she was not of the generation that insisted on constant contact with others, and she’d never understood the fascination. But Galina was a young person, and Facebook was everywhere these days, even in Russia.
“Here we go,” Patch said. “She has a public page and a private page. Which one do we want?”
