“Then you are right, my friend,” Pierre replied. “I have no reason to complain about anything.”
Jake took a step back as another tidal wave of relatives and friends and villagers whooshed through the house’s back doors and enveloped his friend. Pierre composed his mobile features into proper lines, bowed, endured multiple lipstick stains, held his peace as he was crushed to one over-ample bosom after another. He nodded and murmured as the matrons in their ballooning dresses and unsteady hats and clinking jewelry fluttered about him like a flock of giant pigeons.
From the relative safety of the veranda’s far corner, Jake looked out over the vast back garden. Pierre’s entire family, down to the ninth cousin twice removed, had been enlisted into taming the former jungle. Now the acreage of grass was respectably cropped for the first time since the beginning of the war, and great trestle tables were spread out beneath the ancient fruit trees. From where Jake stood, it looked as though the region’s entire population, from the oldest living inhabitant to the youngest squalling newborn, had turned out for Pierre and Jasmyn’s wedding.
The house was decorated with flowers and plates of hors d’oeuvres. But the real action was there in the back garden. The tables literally groaned under their burden of food. Tiered trays loaded with steamed mussels and shrimp. Onion tarts big as tractor tires. Boat-sized tureens of bouillabaisse and potato casseroles that matched them in size. Mountains of home-baked bread. Garlic sausages thick as Jake’s thigh. And three lambs roasting on spits by the back wall. Not to mention two entire tables given over to desserts. And a bedroom stuffed with reserves, in case any of the guests began to feel peckish after the main dining was over and the dancing began.
Jake looked down to where Sally sat alongside Pierre’s twin brother Patrique and across from Pierre’s mother and father at the central table. Both of the old people looked bemused, tired, and glowing with unbelievable happiness. Two impossibles had come to life, two miracles blazed across the heavens, and everyone was here to share in their joy. One son, for whom the funeral service had long since been said, sat across from them, alive and smiling and growing stronger with each passing day. The other had returned from Africa with the woman both considered the daughter they had never had, the woman he had sworn was rejected from his life forever but today had taken as his wife.
Sally caught his eye, motioned toward the empty seat to her right. From her other side, Theo Travers gave a mighty grin as he toasted Jake with a brimming glass. Pierre’s parents remained vague on exactly why Jake and Sally had arrived with this stranger in tow, but had latched on to the single word, hero, and used that as the introduction to all who were brought around.
Jake nodded toward them, raised one finger. Strange that he could find this moment of calm and isolation in the midst of such a celebration. He looked down at his wife with love and thanksgiving, knowing he was here today in large part because of her bravery. But he was not ready to give up his moment of quiet just yet.
The five days since their return to Berlin had swept by in a flurry. As soon as the scientists had been safely stowed aboard one of the departing planes, Jake and Sally had hopped on another. Theo Travers had insisted on using his connections at Wiesbaden, their arrival point in the American sector, to round up travel passes and train tickets. Jake had shown his gratitude by inviting him to the wedding.
Jake had no intention of hurrying back to England. He had nothing waiting for him there except the job of packing. He had forwarded his own resignation by military courier. The last thing he wanted was to give somebody a chance to involve him in the inevitable enquiry over Sally’s actions. There was too great a risk that whoever tried to criticize her would find themselves dining on their own teeth.
“Jake.” Jasmyn passed through the great French doors and floated over. Her ballet-length white silk dress was unadorned, save for a white lace mantilla pinned with pearls to her dark hair and a matching string of pearls doubled about her neck. She glowed with the calm, self-possessed beauty of a princess. “What are my two favorite men doing up here away from the celebration?”
“Waiting for you,” Jake replied.
She smiled and shook her head. “This is one day when neither you nor Pierre will be permitted to remain apart and aloof and alone.”
Before he could object, she placed a hand on his arm and said, “There is a man inside who wishes to speak with you away from the guests.”
“Who is it?”
“He did not say. But whoever it is, you must promise not to remain away for too long. The place of the best man is beside the groom.” She dimpled. “Except, that is, when he is dancing with the bride.”
Jake walked through the wide-open doors and had to stop to adjust to the sudden lack of sunlight. Then he tensed as a stumpy figure separated itself from an alcove and came limping toward him. “I suppose I should be quite angry with you for disappearing like that.”
“Harry?”
“Having seen the bride, however,” Harry Grisholm went on, “not to mention the food, I suppose you can be forgiven.” He offered his hand. “How are you, Jake?”
“Surprised,” Jake said numbly. “How did you find me?”
“What good is twenty years experience in the spy business if I can’t track down a friend,” Harry replied, grasping Jake’s arm and leading him through an open doorway. “Let us see if we can find ourselves a relatively quiet corner. I have something I’d like to speak with you about.”
They walked through the kitchen and entered the back alcove which Pierre’s father used as his study. Before they were even seated, Jake warned, “If you’re here to get us back before some review, forget it. I’ve already resigned my commission.”
Harry tsk-tsked and replied, “That letter was unfortunately mislaid before anyone besides myself and Commander Randolf had an opportunity to read it.”
“Then I’ll send another,” Jake responded stubbornly.
“You may wish to wait until after you’ve heard what I have to say.” Harry gave Jake his patented smile, the one which did not need to descend from his eyes. “You have heard about the success of our operation in Berlin?”
Jake nodded. “I found a Times yesterday. Three days old, though.”
“The Berlin Airlift, they’re calling it,” Harry went on. “Four thousand tons of supplies each and every day. The Americans are flying from Wiesbaden into Templehof airport. The Brits are using the Gatow airfield. Even the French are managing to bring in a few supplies to Tegel and opening up their unused landing slots to us. All in all, a most satisfactory show of power and determination, all without firing a shot. The results are already evident, I am happy to say. Stalin has begun quietly pulling his troops back from the border.”
“Say, that’s good news.”
“Indeed it is. What makes it even better is that General Clay has seen fit to include your name in virtually every dispatch he has sent back to Washington.” The eyes twinkled merrily. “Which makes it most difficult for anyone else to condemn your actions.”
Jake felt the first ray of hope. “What about Sally?”
“Ah. Well, as it so happens, both of our scientists were fulsome in their praise of the two of you. Again, the powers that be have decided that given the chaotic state of our organization, Sally’s fast action might very well have saved our collective necks.”
“You caught the spy?”
“Indeed we did,” Harry proclaimed, the glint taking on a steely tone. “He happened to be Quentin Helmsley’s very own number two. This unfortunately has left Helmsley himself in a rather precarious position, and unable to criticize anyone’s actions at the moment.”
Jake found he did not mind that news in the least. “The passport, the travel documents,” he pressed. “Sally’s absence without leave, what about all that?”
“I beg your pardon,” came the merry reply. “What about all what?”
Jake studied the little man, observed, “You’re not finished.”
�
��With you? I should say not. I did not go to all this trouble, first to clear both your good names and then to track you down, just to enjoy a wedding feast.” Harry’s face grew somber. “Stalin’s threat has not been ended, Jake. It has merely been deflected. Churchill gave a speech the other day. He told the world that an iron curtain had descended, blocking all of Eastern Europe from view.”
An iron curtain. For some reason, the words brought a chill to Jake’s mind.
“What is more, Stalin has begun pressing forward with aggression farther south. He wants an empire which runs from the Arctic Circle to the Indian Ocean, and it is only with diligence and fortitude that we shall be able to halt his onslaught. Are you with us?”
“I’ll have to talk with Sally,” Jake replied. He did not need to think it over. All such future steps would be taken together, or not at all.
“Of course you will. This involves you both.” Harry leaned forward, his voice quieted. “I have been asked to take a field position, heading up a major new operation. I want you to come in as my number two. I will put you in as a senior diplomat, but your primary role will be to run operatives throughout the region and gather intelligence. This we will feed directly back to Washington, as well as to NATO headquarters. It may also interest you to know that Major Servais is going to be offered a similar position, so that if you accept, you two might be able to work together once more.”
Jake felt the prickle of excitement race through him. “Where will we be based?”
“Did I not say? Forgive me.” The merry twinkle returned. “My dear Colonel Burnes, I would very much like for you to be my man in Istanbul.”
DAVIS BUNN, a professional novelist for over twenty years, is the author of numerous national bestsellers with sales totaling more than six million copies. His work has been published in sixteen languages, and his critical acclaim includes three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction. Formerly an international business executive working in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, Bunn is now a lecturer in creative writing and Writer in Residence at Regent’s Park College, Oxford University. He and his wife, Isabella, divide their time between the English countryside and the coast of Florida.
Books by Davis Bunn
* * *
The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter
Lion of Babylon
Rare Earth
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep
Acts of Faith*
The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way
Song of Acadia*
The Meeting Place • The Sacred Shore
The Birthright • The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
Heirs of Acadia†
The Solitary Envoy • The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive • The Night Angel
Falconer’s Quest
*with Janette Oke †with Isabella Bunn
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