Turn Loose the Dragons

by George C. Chesbro

  Scapelli looked even more stricken. “Can’t we tell her?”

  Shue hummed softly, a sign of extreme disapproval. “Vincent, we have no way of vetting the present level of her skills. If Peters even begins to suspect her of playing a double role, he’ll kill her immediately. It’s safer for her if she doesn’t know.”

  “And Alexandra Finway becomes our cat’s paw,” Scapelli said in a cracked voice.

  “She’s willing to go if we confirm the task, Vincent,” Shue said in a commanding voice as he looked directly at Scapelli. “She’s a patriot who, as in the past, is willing to perform a valuable service for her country at considerable personal risk. We’ll simply be giving her that opportunity, in a different manner than she thinks. It’s the only way to root out the conspiracy and destroy it.” Shue paused, then abruptly turned to look at Geoffrey Whistle. “Sir? The decision is yours.”

  The CIA Director’s response was to rise and walk quickly from the room. It meant, Harry thought, that Whistle had never been at the meeting. Harley Shue had pulled it off: he’d been given tacit approval to mount an illegal covert operation that could mean the rebirth of a virtually autonomous, all-powerful Central Intelligence Agency—or its final disintegration.

  It could also bring on war with Russia, Harry thought, although he was not sure Geoffrey Whistle had seen that permutation. Harley Shue certainly had.

  “I take exception, Harley,” Vincent Scapelli said forcefully.

  Shue abruptly sat down. “Yes, Vincent; it’s noted. Give Mrs. Finway her second confirmation. Naturally, she’s not to mention anything about your meeting to Peters. Put a sharp point on that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vincent Scapelli replied in the firm, even tone of a professional who would obey an order from his superior. However, his gait was unsteady as he rose from his chair and walked slowly out of the office.

  Harley Shue waited until the door had closed behind the other man, then reached into a drawer and took out a large, black cigar that Harry thought looked suspiciously Cuban. Shue cut off the end with a pocket knife, lit it. It was a gesture of relaxed informality that Harry had never before seen the man display.

  “This spy business can be interesting, eh, Beeler? It’s not all satellite photographs and computer readouts.”

  “Not much room for error on this one, sir,” the real Harry Beeler said. “If this operation doesn’t shake out right, it could conceivably mean war.”

  If the Director of Operations recognized a caution, a warning from a subordinate, in Harry’s voice, he gave no indication of it.

  “Find out what’s going on, Beeler. Find out who’s behind Peters if you can, and stop him. Protect Alexandra Finway if you’re able, but that’s not your primary task. Understand?”

  Harry nodded. “What about documents?”

  “We don’t have the time to get you quality goods, so I guess we’ll have to see if we can’t substitute you for somebody already booked on the tour. We’ll put our best men on the documents, but you know they’re not going to hold up if there’s any kind of secondary check. Bear that in mind. Sorry we don’t have time to do better by you.”

  “It can’t be helped, sir,” Harry said he as headed toward the door.

  “Beeler?”

  Harry paused at the door, turned. “Sir?”

  “What part do you have in mind?”

  “Well, sir, since it’s a tourist group, I thought Asshole might be appropriate.”

  Shue considered Harry’s reply for a few seconds, then nodded approvingly. “Asshole seems right.” He started to wave his cigar in dismissal, then added, “You’ve been looking a little peaked lately, Beeler, but I have to send you on this one. You’re the best man I’ve got. I’ll hate to lose you, but you’ve got your Administration post after this one. So don’t fuck up.”

  POMONA, NEW YORK

  Wednesday, January 16; 9:45 A.M.

  Alexandra

  Alexandra started when she heard the front doorbell ring. She set aside her reading glasses and look off her shoes. Staying clear of the windows, she glided silently in her stocking feet through the kitchen to the front of the house. At the entrance she stood against the doorframe, gripped the molding and stretched her body across the door to slide open the peephole and look through it. She was startled to see John standing outside. Her husband was holding a single red rose and a large stuffed bear, tokens of love that to Alexandra suddenly appeared as threatening as sticks of dynamite.

  Alexandra frowned and breathed deeply in an effort to compose herself. She had to wait until she stopped trembling, she thought, then realized that she could wait all morning without decreasing the turmoil that John’s presence caused her. She set her mouth in a firm line, straightened her shoulders, and opened the door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Finway,” John said quietly.

  “Good morning, John.” She sounded too cold and mechanical, Alexandra thought, but staying at a distance was the only way she could be sure of keeping herself under control.

  John’s gray eyes seemed unusually large and liquid, clearly mirroring his feelings; Alexandra watched with growing discomfort as rippling shadows of hurt, regret, and supplication passed in rapid succession across their moist surface.

  “May I come in, Alexandra?”

  “Of course you may come in,” Alexandra said, trying earnestly but in vain to put some warmth into her tone. It was as if, having locked her emotional thermostat at the level necessary for blocking out her personal turmoil and carrying out the Sierran task she had accepted, she could not quickly change it back, even for John, without risking ruinous breakage. It had always been that way with her. No matter what happened now with John, she was committed to a task that could affect a great many issues. She moved aside. “This is your home.”

  John stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Alexandra felt her heart begin to hammer inside her chest as John looked down at the floor, sighed deeply, then glanced up into her eyes. Alexandra’s response was to stiffen the muscles in her face even more.

  “These are for you,” John said uneasily, offering the rose and stuffed bear.

  Alexandra started to reach for the items, then reacted with a stab of alarm when she realized that she was still holding a pamphlet on Tamara Castle in her hand. She deliberately set the pamphlet face down on a nearby table, then took John’s gifts and placed them on top of it. “Thank you,” she said evenly.

  John shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and hunched his shoulders. He sighed again, then raised his eyes and stared at a section of wall just above Alexandra’s head. “How are the kids?”

  “You know; you talk to them regularly.”

  “Yes. We talk, but we don’t talk. I think you understand what I mean. The kids and I don’t communicate very well any longer.”

  “Kara and Kristen are very sophisticated for their age, John. They put up a good front, but they’re unhappy. What can I say? Naturally, they miss you. They think it’s banal that we’re apart; they say everyone does that when they have problems. Michael doesn’t really understand yet. He thinks you and I are playing some kind of game.”

  Alexandra forced herself to remain still as John’s eyes searched her face.

  “Are you all right, Alexandra?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look very strange.”

  “How do you expect me to look, John?”

  John continued to study his wife’s face for long moments, then finally looked away. “Thank you for saying this is still my home, but the fact is that I forfeited my home when I walked out of it the way I did. I forfeited a lot of things. About the only thing I can say is that I was an idiot who didn’t know what else to do about what I was feeling. I won’t ask you to forgive me now; I know it’s going to take a long time for the hurt I’ve caused to heal. What I am asking for is permission to come back and try to make it up to you.”

  “I never asked you to leave in the first place, and you don’t need my per
mission to come back. What about your girl friend?”

  “She was never my ‘girl friend,’ Alexandra.”

  “No? Is ‘mistress’ a better word?”

  She shouldn’t have said that, Alexandra thought. Under the circumstances, the words were too hard. But they had come of their own accord out of an angry core within the cold place that was her heart. She was almost certain that she would not have accepted the Sierran task if it had not been for John’s betrayal, and her reaction was ambivalent. Now she wanted to go to San Sierra, wanted to play the great game of life and death again, and she profoundly mistrusted the drive even as it hammered at her. And she would have to spend the week with a man who had always had a sexual hold, as strong as it was unexplained in her mind, over her.

  She was, Alexandra thought, enraged at John for his role in nudging her over a soft, ambiguous edge of frustration and desire into waters that she knew from experience were dark and bottomless. It was the very sea he had once unknowingly helped her escape from when she had been drowning.

  “Selma was my problem—a wound I couldn’t find a way to close,” John replied after a long pause. “She’s not a problem, or wound, any longer, and I’m not confused anymore. Something happened to my head almost the same day that I walked out of here. I found I didn’t want her anymore; I wanted you. All I felt about that relationship was shame. The pull of my love for you and the kids and everything that we’ve built together was just so strong that it finally wiped out everything else. I always knew it would, but I had to make the move I did before things fell into place.

  “I wanted to turn around and come back right then, sweetheart, but I didn’t. The reason I didn’t was because I knew that I’d torn things between us; what I’d done was shattering. Things had been broken inside me, just as I’d broken things inside you. I’d left for a reason, and I wanted to make certain that the problem was absolutely resolved before I asked to come back. I saw a great deal of Selma, Alexandra. I didn’t want to, but I did. I saw her because I wanted to make sure that I’d never be haunted by her again. Three days ago I told her it was over for good. I’ve waited these three days just to make sure I knew it was over. It is. I want your permission to come home, Alexandra. I want the chance to find my way back into your heart. Please forgive a fool. I love you so very, very much.”

  And I love you, John, but you can’t come home now. I’m not home myself: I’m far away in a place you don’t and can’t know of. You don’t know the woman you’re talking to. I must stay this person a little longer, my darling. Just a few more days, and then we can both come home again.

  “Alexandra?”

  “Would you like to take off your coat and have a cup of coffee?”

  Alexandra struggled to keep her gaze steady as John stared at her.

  “That’s all, huh?” John said at last.

  Don’t give up, darling. Please don’t give up. There is something I must do and it makes me act this way. After next week you’ll find me again, be able to touch me.

  “I’m not sure what you expect me to say, John.” She’d tried to make her voice sound reasonable, even gentle, but she knew she still sounded cold. “When you told me about that woman and then left, it was a bit of a shock to me. I guess it’s going to take me some time to recover.”

  Only a few days, sweetheart. Give them to me.

  “I can understand that,” John said tightly. “Let me stay and try to help you forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to be forgiven. You told me you had a problem. You finally shared it with me, and then you went about trying to solve it. I don’t know what else I could have asked of you. The point is that I need some time now to get my bearings.”

  “You don’t love me?”

  Leave, John! Become angry and walk out. Come back a week from Sunday and ask me then if I love you! Ask me then if I forgive you!

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I told you: I need more time to think. You tell me you’ve solved the problem of the woman, but I remember you saying that you’d broken it off before and still couldn’t forget her.”

  “This time it’s dif—”

  “I’ve already made plans to go away, John. I think we should wait until I come back before we talk about where our relationship is going.”

  Alexandra’s pulse quickened and she stiffened as John pointed to the pamphlet she had placed on the table.

  “You’re going to San Sierra?”

  “Yes,” Alexandra replied flatly. She would have preferred that John not know where she was going, but she realized that he would have found out anyway, from her parents. Her parents would be staying with the children, and she had already told them where she was going, if not why, and given them her itinerary. Her mother and father were in their seventies; in case of emergency, she wanted to be certain they could reach her.

  “Up the revolution,” John said wryly. “When are you leaving?”

  “Saturday. I’ll be back a week from Sunday. We can talk then.” She saw anger flare in her husband’s eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to leave. He didn’t. The anger abruptly melted to a moist film of disappointment, and Alexandra had to avert her own eyes. “I’m sorry, John,” she continued softly. “I need the space; you’ll give it to me if you really want things to be the way they were. I don’t want to see you until I come back. If you want to move back in, you’re welcome, but then I’ll move out.”

  Forgive me, darling! There are so many parts I must play! It’s the only way I can do this thing!

  John shrugged resignedly. “You do what you want, Alexandra. Who’s staying with the children?”

  “My parents are flying in.”

  “Then they know I left?”

  “Of course. I didn’t know I was expected to keep it a secret.”

  Once again, John stared into her eyes for a long time. “I don’t want you to go, Alexandra,” he said at last in a strained voice. “You look very strange. I’m worried about you. Let’s both spend the week together here. We’ll talk everything out.”

  Oh God, John, please just go away!

  “No, John,” she said firmly. “I’ve told you I need time and space. Please give them to me.”

  John turned, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Let me stay with the kids while you’re away,” he said quietly. “I’ll take the week off from work. I owe it to them; I have a lot to make up for.”

  “All right. I’ll call my folks.”

  “May I drive you to the airport?”

  “No,” Alexandra said curtly, her tone and words cutting her heart. “And I don’t want you to pick me up. I’ll see you here in the house a week from Sunday, but not before. That’s very important to me. By then I’ll have my feelings in order. If you’re going to stay with the kids, I’d appreciate it if you’d pick them up from school on Friday and keep them with you overnight. I’ll be out of the house early Saturday morning.”

  John bowed his head in a brief nod of resignation. “I’ll pick up the kids on Friday.” He opened the door, then stiffened. “I’ve been a terrible fool, Alexandra,” he continued quietly. “I’ve had a fever, but now it’s gone. I love you very much. I think the life we create together will always be better than anything we can create apart. I hope you’ll give that a lot of thought while you’re away.”

  Alexandra did not reply. Finally John left, closing the door behind him.

  Alexandra leaned against the door and tried desperately to get in touch with some part of herself which she knew and liked. She could not. John had been so vulnerable, she thought, and yet there had been nothing she could do or say to ease his pain. She wanted to cry to release her tension, but she could not do that either. It worried her. She remembered well how, in the past, tension and pressure and deceit and danger had twisted her into another person, almost destroying her.

  She quickly reminded herself of the fact that the previous process of personality disintegra
tion had taken years. In less than two weeks this last task would be finished and she would be free to be herself again, a person she could live with and respect, the woman her husband’s love had once rescued and nurtured.

  She was dealing now with days, she thought, not years. It was a very short time, and she could not understand why she should be experiencing so much anxiety.

  John would be waiting for her when she got back, she thought. Hoped. He had to be.

  NEW YORK CITY; JOHN F. KENNEDY AIRPORT

  Saturday, January 19; 10:45 A.M.

  Peters

  Rick Peters allowed himself the luxury of a broad grin of triumph when he saw Alexandra hurrying toward him across the vast rotunda beneath the arcing, wing-shaped ceiling of the Trans World Airlines terminal.

  The dangerous phase was yet to come, he thought, and it would require very precise timing and not a little luck. However, he felt that he now had considerable control over events. As far as he was concerned, the most difficult phase was over.

  She was dressed perfectly, Peters thought. His erect penis throbbed painfully, and he knew he was close to having an orgasm.

  “You made it,” Peters said as Alexandra ran up the steps at the rear of the rotunda and embraced him.

  Alexandra kissed him hard on the mouth, then moved back slightly. “Did you doubt that I’d be here?” she asked quietly. “You knew I’d accepted the task.”

  “Your eyes, sweetheart,” Peters said in a low voice, smiling for the benefit of anyone who might be watching them. “The rest of your act is great, but your eyes are going to give us away. They’re like ice. Loosen up; warm up. We’ve got a long way to go.”

  Alexandra nodded, smiled. “You’re right.” The hard glint in her eyes softened somewhat. “Better?”

  “Much better. Your working outfit brings back warm memories. I like it. Who knows? You might even start feeling good about this assignment.”

  Alexandra put her hand on the back of Peters’ neck, brought her head forward and nuzzled his ear. “Rick,” she whispered tensely, “you can’t imagine how difficult this is for me. I’ll do the best job I know how. I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to get the job done and get us safely out of San Sierra, but you have to help me.”