by Neil Maresca
“And now?”
“I don’t know. It’s odd. He doesn’t talk about him, and if I mention his name, He goes quiet.”
“OK Peter. I think that’s enough for now. Why don’t you get on back to your classes. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”
Peter recognized when he had been dismissed, so he said his goodbyes to the two men and left, feeling much lower than when he had entered.
The two men sat in silence, Strickland tapping his fingers on the arm of a chair, De Groot blowing larger and larger smoke rings. When they felt confident that Peter had left the building, De Groot opened the conversation by pointing out that he had been uncharacteristically harsh with Peter.
“Yes, I suppose I was,” Strickland replied, “but I received a report this morning that has set my teeth on edge.”
“And what was in that report? Anything I need to know?”
“Yes. Actually, there were two reports this morning, both will be of interest to you. The first was from our man inside the FBI, alerting us of the imminent arrest of soviet agents Myra and John Soble.”
“You have agents inside your own FBI?”
“How else will we know what is going on. Those guys treat us like we are the enemy. They tell us nothing.”
De Groot shook his head in disbelief. “This report upset you because….” He asked.
‘First of all, we, that is, the CIA tipped them off about the Sobles’ activities in Germany, and they didn’t even think to notify us of the upcoming arrest—we had to intercept the message to find out. But that’s not what’s got my goat. Along with the message about the Sobles was a list of their acquaintances who were also under suspicion—and Professor Washburn is on that list! And what makes it worse, is that Washburn recommended both Peter Cameron and Lucas Hamilton.”
“And now you fear that you cannot trust either one of them, and that your entire organization may have been compromised.”
“Exactly.”
“And the second message?”
“From our agents in Moscow—the commies are going to set off an atomic bomb in the atmosphere sometime in the next couple of days.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with our upcoming operation?”
“No idea. Could have. I’ve been told very little.”
“In light of this new information, do you still plan to use Peter?”
“Have to. It’s too late to change now, and I have no one else that I can trust any more than I can trust Peter.”
“So, it’s Peter then.”
“Yes, it’s Peter.”
Chapter 36
February 3, 1957
A Coffee Shop
Leiden, Netherlands
Lucas sat at a table by the window in a coffee shop on the pedestrian-only Rapenburg street overlooking the placid Steenschuur canal, marveling at the tranquility of a scene marred only occasionally by the chugging of a barge as it made its slow pilgrimage along the waterway. Neat townhouses lined the opposite bank, the trees barren now in winter, but stubbornly hoarding the life-giving sap, holding out against winter’s chill a promise of the spring to come.
Even in 1957, 12 years after the War, there lingered in Leiden a whisper of what the city had suffered under the Germans during the war years. Lucas felt it, saw it in the now-leafless trees—the same quiet strength of the Dutch people, patiently waiting through their German winter for the return of spring.
It brought his thoughts back to Budapest, to his earliest memories, which, he now realized were mainly dominated by fear and suspicion. He tried in vain to recall moments when he was happy, and outside of the few days he spent in the company of Ambrose, and vague memories of youthful days on the estate, he could not do it. Leiden depressed him.
His mood lightened with the arrival of a cup of hot chocolate and pastry, cheerily delivered by a buxom waitress who smiled broadly at the handsome young American. The appearance of food and drink stirred Lucas’ senses, and returned his thoughts to the present.
He returned the young woman’s smile, and cupped the hot chocolate in both hands, inhaling its rich aroma and trying to decide between eating the large dollop of whipped cream crowning the cup, and swirling it into the drink. He did neither. He took a sip, managing to get whipped cream on the tip of his nose as he did so. He placed the cup back down on the table, enjoying the feeling of the warm liquid as it coursed through his body.
Lucas smiled. As much as he disliked Leiden, he had to admit that its cafes and pastries were first-rate. He picked up the napkin from the table to wipe the whipped cream off his nose, but before he could do so, he was interrupted by Kate Porter, who had entered the café unnoticed, and was now standing in front of Lucas.
“Don’t wipe it off,” she said, “It’s adorable.”
He looked up, surprised and happy to see Kate.
“Hi,” he said. “What a coincidence. What brings you to Leiden?”
“It’s not a coincidence,” she replied. “It’s my job. And you bring me here, or more precisely, you and Peter.”
“Me and Peter?”
“Yes, part of my job is to be a den mother for all of the Student Ambassadors in Sector One. I’m supposed to go around and make sure you are all behaving yourselves, and being good little ambassadors.”
Lucas liked Kate. He liked her open, California-girl friendliness and good humor—and he had witnessed her embarrassment, an emotion he was only too familiar with. He felt comfortable around her, and for the first time since he had arrived in Leiden, he relaxed.
The first two weeks had been something of a madhouse. Between having to acclimate to a new country, become part of a new family, meet new teachers, learn a new language, and correspond almost daily with his over-anxious mother, Lucas hadn’t had any time to himself. Even when he went to bed at night, he was not alone. The image of Anke followed him everywhere, and was nowhere more insistent than when he was trying in vain to fall asleep. He had gotten used to scouring the quad for her every day, and thinking he saw her in one place or another, only to be disappointed to find out that it was some other girl and not Anke that he had seen. But there was no mistaking her at night. She haunted his dreams. Over and over again, he saw her turn away from Peter and look at him. Over and over again, he felt her hand, warm in his, and heard her murmur, “Call me Anke,” as she turned her eyes away and blushed slightly. But always as he reached to embrace her, the image of Peter Cameron intervened, and Lucas awoke, aroused and enraged.
As each day passed, Lucas became more and more convinced that Peter was sleeping with Anke. He had no proof of this. He had seen neither Anke nor Peter since the first day’s reception, but his jealousy needed no proof, only suspicion, and his own sense of inadequacy when it came to Peter. He couldn’t blame Anke for choosing Peter over him. In his mind, it was a foregone conclusion. No woman would do otherwise.
“Lucas? Earth to Lucas. Come in please.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about how crazy these last two weeks have been.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. Is there anything I can do to ease the burden?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“How are things going with your host family?”
“Couldn’t be better. They are very nice, and they’ve gone out of their way to make me feel at home. In fact, they are a bit over-nice, if you know what I mean. They lost a son in the war, and they have more or less adopted me. It puts a little extra pressure on me at times, but I know what it is to lose someone you love, so I try to be understanding.”
“I’ll have to talk to them. Do you have any problem with that?”
“None at all.”
“Good. Then if you don’t mind, I’ll just have a cup of coffee. You’re not waiting for anyone are you?”
“No. I’ll be happy for the company. It will be good to speak English again.”
Kate ordered a coffee from the buxom waitress who smiled less broadly for her than she had for Lucas. She fidgeted a bit, wa
nting to ask about Peter, but afraid to do so without some logical opening. Lucas wasn’t helping. He was always quiet, and now when she was hoping he would talk, provide her with some excuse for asking about Peter, he had reverted to form, apparently content to sit and drink his chocolate in silence. He said he wanted company, she thought, what did he want it for, if all he is going to do is sit there?
After drinking half of her coffee, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So,” she said as casually as she could manage, “have you been in touch with Peter?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since the reception.”
“Oh,” was all Kate could manage to say.
Like Lucas, she had seen the way Anke was playing up to Peter during the reception, and she had reached the same conclusion as Lukas about the inevitable outcome of their relationship. However, where Lucas saw Peter as the seducer, Kate saw Anke. Little tramp, she thought, throwing herself at Peter like that!
Kate and Lucas sat for some time, she drinking her coffee and thinking about Peter, and he, drinking his chocolate and thinking about Anke, both thoroughly miserable.
“Well,” Kate said when she had finished her drink. “I have to complete my rounds. I’m off to see the Janssons next.”
“Watch out. Mrs. Jansson will probably insist that you stay for dinner.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since I left California. Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. Strickland wants you to attend a meeting on the 5th in Professor De Groot’s office. Eleven a.m. sharp. He stressed that it’s mandatory—no excuses.”
“What’s it about?”
“No idea, but be warned. He’s been on a tear the last week. I’ve never seen him so angry. Wear body armor if you have any.”
Kate left Peter in the café. It was useless talking to him. He hardly ever said anything. She knew that he and Peter had become friends, but she couldn’t understand how or why. She couldn’t think of two people more unlike ach other than Peter and Lucas.
It was a good thing that she didn’t really need to gather a lot of information from Lucas. She hadn’t mentioned it to him, but she had already spoken to most of his professors, who reported no problems. She was sure the Janssons would also have good things to say about him. He was kind, polite, well-mannered—just extraordinarily quiet.
Chapter 37
February 3, 1957
Home of Pietr Roosa
Leiden, the Netherlands
Ever since his meeting with Strickland and De Groot, Peter had been trying to avoid being left alone with Anke, but today he was trapped. Roosa had not come home for dinner—a dinner which Anke had prepared and placed, steaming hot, on the table.
“Shouldn’t we wait for your father?” Peter asked.
“He’s not coming,” Anke answered.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, there is nothing wrong. He’s just not coming home.”
“Not coming home? You mean he left! Like your mother?”
“No, he’s just not coming home tonight.”
Peter didn’t know whether to feel relieved or threatened. On the one hand, he was glad that Roosa hadn’t abandoned the girl completely. On the other hand, it was obvious that he was throwing his daughter at him in the most obvious way.
Anke’s attitude toward Peter had changed since that first morning when she had ambushed him in the hallway. She had avoided conversation and direct eye contact, and seemed uncomfortable in his presence. Peter couldn’t tell whether this was the result of anger or embarrassment, but he got the distinct impression that Anke was as interested in seducing him as he was her. Her father wanted it to happen; Strickland wanted it to happen. It seemed that everyone wanted it to happen except the two of them. If they were free to do as they wished, they could simply refuse; but things weren’t that simple. Peter had taken an oath when he joined the CIA—nobody had twisted his arm, and he knew that the job would require him to make difficult decisions, but he had always envisioned those decisions would be clear-cut matters of national security. He was ready to die for America, or kill for it, if it came to that, but this was different. This required him to violate his morals without any commensurate benefit. America’s security was not at risk from Anke Roosa, or even her father, a low-level communist party member who knew nothing of value. Seducing Anke, as Peter saw it, served no useful purpose. He felt like he was being used by Strickland, just as Anke was being used by her father, and he didn’t like the feeling. And then, of course, there was the question of Kate. She confused and bothered Peter, and he was not used to being either confused or bothered. It upset his equilibrium. He found that he couldn’t think straight anymore because Kate kept intruding herself into his thoughts.
Peter took his place at the table, murmured a “looks delicious,” and kept his eyes focused on the food, avoiding contact with Anke, who sat down across from him.
The two ate in a silence so profound that Peter could hear his jaw clicking as he chewed. Neither looked at the other. Neither spoke.
After a time that seemed interminable to Peter, Anke put down her fork, placed her hands in her lap, and stared across the table. Despite the fact that Peter was intensely studying the food on his plate, he could not help but be aware of Anke’s movement.
He imitated her action, placing his fork carefully on the table alongside his plate and looking up at Anke, dreading what was to come.
“Do you want me?” she asked, simply and not quite as seductively as she had hoped, a slight tremor in her voice destroying her attempt at a sophistication she lacked.
It was a simple question, requiring only a yes or no answer, but it completely unmanned Peter. The normally cool, confident, suave Peter Cameron was completely at sea. Under normal conditions—if it hadn’t been for Kate, if Anke were older, if he believed she really wanted this—he would have acted decisively, but these weren’t normal conditions, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. Tell the truth? Say ‘No’? Or play the spy game and pretend to be infatuated so he could use Anke as Strickland had ordered.
Peter decided. He rose from the table and walked toward Anke. As he reached her chair, she rose to meet him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the smallness of her body, and the slight tremble that rippled through it. She raised her eyes to his, and turned her head upward to accept his kiss.
He pulled her close, held her tight, and whispered “Anke” in her ear.
Anke heard her name, felt the strength of his embrace, and surrendered to the inevitable. She wasn’t afraid, wasn’t a virgin. She had slipped out of the house one night when she was fifteen, and to spite her father, had sex with the first boy she found. She hadn’t bothered to repeat the experience, and she still hated herself for doing it. And she hated herself now. It wasn’t that she disliked this American. He was nice, clean, good-looking, but she felt nothing for him. Sex with him might even be nice, but not like this. She had a sudden urge to run away, but he was holding her too tight.
“Anke,” he repeated, as softly and gently as he could, and she knew the futility of struggling against him.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” he murmured into her ear. “It’s Ok. You don’t have to.”
She almost sank to the floor, might have, if Peter hadn’t guided her back into her chair before moving back around the table to sit, facing her across a half-eaten dinner.
They sat for a while, as silent as before until Peter asked, “Can I help you clean up? I don’t seem to have much of an appetite tonight.”
Anke mumbled a “thank you,” then added, “What will I tell my father?”
“I hope,” Peter said, his customary smile returning, “you’ll tell him I was very good in bed.”
Chapter 38
February 4, 1957
Home of Pietr Roosa
Leiden, the Netherlands
The following morning, Peter dressed quickly in order to avoid having to meet Anke’s father when he returned home, and even though he
heard Anke preparing breakfast in the kitchen, he merely shouted a good-bye and stepped quickly out the door, feeling very much like a man set free after being arrested for a crime he did not commit. He had gone only a few steps from the house when he heard Anke calling his name. He turned to find her walking quickly toward him. She approached, took his hands in hers, and reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and turned back into the house. Peter turned toward the university, wondering how he was going to explain the situation to Strickland without losing his position in the Agency.
Earlier that same morning, Kate Porter had made up her mind to put her apprehensions behind her, and conduct the required interviews with Peter and his host family. She had spoken to his professors, and, as expected, had heard nothing but raves about his character and work. He seemed to be adjusting nicely at school, and she had no doubt that she would hear the same from Pietr Roosa. It was the presence of Anke that worried her, and had kept her from going to meet with the family sooner, but she finally convinced herself that it was her jealousy that was the problem, and not Anke, about whom she knew nothing.
This morning she hummed as she dressed, happy that she was going to see Peter. She chose her clothes carefully, had rehearsed what she would say, and how she would act in front of this man that she loved so desperately. She had to be careful not to fall into the role of the spurned lover, angry and accusing. On the other hand, they had slept together, and that was worth something. She didn’t want him to think that it meant nothing to her, and yet she didn’t want make a fuss about it. The meeting with Peter would be difficult. If it went badly, she could kiss good-bye to any chance of a future relationship, and so she had fretted over it, thought about it, and played it out over and over again her mind until she felt confident.
She was still thinking about it when she rounded the corner onto Caeciliastraat and saw Peter stepping out of a doorway halfway down the block. She started to call out to him, but stopped, when she heard another voice calling his name and saw a young woman rush out of the doorway and kiss him. They exchanged only a few words before parting, but Kate had seen enough. She turned away from Caeciliastraat. Her interviews with Peter and the Roosa family would have to wait for another day.
