Agent Orange

by Langford, Stephen

  “Bragging, are we?” Lionel said playfully. “I’m stuck in station here until midnight. Eddy’s schedule is no better. Damned Yank.”

  “What happened to lend-lease?” Keeton asked with a laugh.

  “To hell with that,” Lionel answered. “I only want to know if the young lady has a sister.”

  “I didn’t say the acquaintance was a woman.”

  “Haverton told me, about ten minutes ago,” Lionel said with a hint of victory.

  “Haverton? Haverton is…oh.” Keeton shook his head and smiled.

  “That’s right. Why do you think we use that hotel for all of our international guests? Don’t worry, the room’s not bugged or anything. It’s simply an actual commercial hotel, except that we’ve worked Robby Haverton up to manager. Don’t try him, though, not even a wink. He won’t break cover.”

  “I won’t. As to the lady, I don’t know much about her yet. A stewardess I met on one of my overseas flights. If she does happen to have a sister, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll be back in my room by…”

  “I’m no nursemaid, Mr. Keeton,” Lionel said. “You’ve earned every stripe there is to earn, in my book. And in the Brits’. Godspeed on the mission, sir.”

  Lionel’s turn to seriousness took Keeton aback for a moment and served to remind him once again of their common cause. “Thank you, Lionel,” he said before hanging up.

  The next call he made was back down to the desk to request that his clothes be picked up for laundering in five minutes. The clerk took the call and assured Keeton that things would be “handled” to every detail. Keeton’s final request was for a ring-up at one thirty. Then he hung up the phone, crushed out the cigarette, and stripped. He wrapped a towel around his waist and waited for the porter to collect the clothing, after which he took a hot shower in the en suite bathroom. He made a last check of his watch before he drifted into a nap, with the background of noises through the open window and the drone of the electric ceiling fan overhead, at 9:10 a.m.

  ***

  “One thirty, sir, as requested.” Haverton’s voice came through the tinny earpiece of the hotel phone.

  “Thank you…Robby,” Keeton said cheekily, although he knew not to expect an overt reaction.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Keeton. All other arrangements are in place as well. Your suit and other things should arrive at any minute. Shall I have them sent up at two sharp?”

  “Perfect, thanks,” Keeton said and hung up. He pulled the sheet from over his body and stood. He was both refreshed and tired at the same time. A few minutes of mild stretching helped get the blood flowing. Ten minutes after that he rubbed his shaved face—despite their secret compartments, the shaving brush and mug were completely functional—and then finished combing his hair.

  He answered the knock at the door in his boxer undershorts and let the porter in to hang up the freshened clothes. He gave the porter two one-pound notes, thanked him for the exceptional service, and saw him to the door. At three o’clock Keeton stopped down at the front desk to exchange two hundred American dollars into British pounds. Haverton himself meticulously checked the daily rates.

  “Start at seventy-one pound, fourteen and six, but factor in the ten percent service fee, and thus it comes to…sixty-four pound, eleven and a penny.” The manager disappeared into the back office for a couple of minutes, then returned and counted it out for Keeton.

  “Thank you,” Keeton said as he pocketed the combination of notes and coins. “I think I’ll stop in the restaurant for a coffee and a quick read of the newspaper.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Keeton. Oh, here is the information about the place I’ve booked for you. I’ll alert you as soon as your taxi arrives, and leave it to me to pass this on to the driver as well.” He handed Keeton a note containing the name and address of the restaurant, in neat block letters. “I do hope you can read my writing, sir.”

  Keeton polished off two full cups of very strong coffee before Haverton had his waiter give him the notice. Outside the cabbie welcomed Keeton back and urged him to settle in for the ride back to Hounslow. They talked causally, and Keeton nearly convinced himself that the cabbie—Lewis by name—was another of the Brit’s agents. He wasn’t.

  They arrived at Lynette’s building a few minutes early. Keeton had him circle the block three times before finally pulling up to the curb. Lewis let Keeton out, and the agent walked into the foyer of the building and pressed the button marked l. crest.

  “Hello, Andrew,” Lynette’s voice returned through the intercom system. “I’m nearly ready. You may come up if you’d like.” The lock on the inner door clicked open, and Keeton walked up to her flat. Just as he got to the door, she opened it and appeared in front of him. He was stunned.

  The BOAC uniform, exciting as it was in its elegant appeal, paled against the light pink-on-white sundress with matching hat and heels. The demur style of the sleeves and hose of the stewardess uniform gave way to the natural suppleness of her bare arms and legs in the dress. The common denominator between the girl he had dropped off that morning and the creature greeting him now was the pretty face adorned with flashing blue eyes and a broad smile, framed by strawberry-blond hair.

  “You’re beautiful,” he uttered impulsively.

  “That is a good start to the evening,” she answered with her light laugh. “Come in, please. It’ll only be a minute. I hope the taxi doesn’t run off.”

  “I think Lewis will wait for us,” he said, stepping into the small flat. It consisted of a medium-size room that included a kitchenette, adjoined by a small bedroom and an even smaller bathroom. “I think he’s quite taken with you, by the way.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, retrieving a small white purse from the coffee table.

  “Well, he’s not the only one,” Keeton said pointedly.

  “That’s very flattering, Andrew,” she said softly as she sidled up to him. Then she reached up with her free hand and pulled his head toward her, kissing him fully on the lips. He responded, and after a few seconds clutched her hips and brought them to his. When their mouths finally parted, she said, “I’m positively famished.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he said absently. He let his hands fall away as he regained his composure. “Shall we go let the infatuated Lewis take us to dinner?”

  “One more thing,” she said. She walked over to an oval mirror and carefully applied lipstick from the purse. “There, now I’m ready.”

  Keeton escorted her to the taxi, where Lewis was indeed awaiting them with an open door. The restaurant picked for them by Haverton was located in central London. Lewis dropped them off and bid them “a marvelous evening.” Connery’s offered extremely fine versions of classic British fare. Although they arrived early, the maître d’ quickly found a quiet corner that suited them both. Keeton ordered glasses of brut zero champagne as aperitifs.

  “Thank you for indulging me in your native cuisine,” Keeton said once they were seated. “I’ve been to London several times but never really explored the food as much as I should have.”

  “I should confess right now,” Lynette answered. “I grew up in a working-class town, and we never really dined out as such. I’ve heard of most of these dishes, of course, but we didn’t fix it this fancy.”

  “I suppose your job now takes you to exotic places beyond the hometown?” Keeton asked, then laughed. “Of course, I wouldn’t call Washington exotic.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re right, though. I’ve seen New York, Paris, Madrid, Tokyo, and even Moscow—that one was a special chartered flight; only two of us got to go. Then there was the Australian…oh, listen to me prattle on.”

  “It’s fine,” Keeton said. “I like hearing about your life of adventure. I can live vicariously through you.”

  “It’s been a fun few years,” she said. “And I suppose it does seem exciting compared to…well…”

  “An accountant?” he offered with a smile.

  “I was going to say compared to the other
girls I left behind in the old town,” she said. “You must have seen your share of fun places, being connected with a travel agency. What did you say the name of it was?”

  “I’m not sure I did—it’s Halley Travel.” He never gave out cover details freely, unless it served a mission. This date, he reminded himself, distinctly did not qualify. “In reality, I haven’t been to that many places, and then only because we have some partnerships in other countries and occasionally the books need to be examined. Sounds fun, right?”

  Their champagne arrived, and their waiter introduced himself, with menus and his sales pitch for the specials. Keeton deferred to Lynette for their appetizers, and she ordered Welsh rabbit and Scotch eggs. After some discussion about the main course, Lynette ordered a haddock in mustard sauce accompanied by a Yorkshire pudding. Keeton selected the lamb chops with Jersey Royal potatoes.

  “Our wines are going to clash,” he said after they had ordered their food.

  “By the glass is fine with me,” she answered. “Let’s see, we were talking about your background.”

  For the next hour and a half they shared stories of their respective childhoods in America and England, and then of schools and colleges and career choices. Lynette had simply wanted to get away from the dirty industrial town she grew up in—“Of course as a little girl I thought of becoming a ballet dancer or an actress”—and then one day in her second year of college she saw the advertisement for BOAC air hostess in a magazine. Keeton for his part gave her some truths, like his degree in economics and his service during the Korean conflict, sans CIA recruitment. Their meals were magnificent, although it was obvious they were paying more attention to each other than to culinary critique.

  Dessert consisted of a shared lemon tart along with brandy. Keeton was careful to watch his alcohol intake due to his imminent departure the next morning, while Lynette maintained the moderation of the girl on her first date with a man. Keeton got the attention of the maître d’ and asked for the check.

  “Oh, no, sir. The reservations were made earlier, to be placed on your company’s account.”

  The company. What a damned job, he thought. “I see. Well then.” He stood and handed the maître d’ a ten-pound note and asked for a taxi. The man gave a curt nod of thanks as Keeton pulled Lynette’s chair out for them to leave. Lynette excused herself to the powder room, and Keeton walked to the front of the restaurant to wait. It was at that moment, by sheer chance, that he noticed a man watching him.

  The curious round face flashed for just a moment as Keeton passed a mirror mounted to the wall near the entrance. The man was suited but with his tie loose at the neck and the top button of his shirt undone. He was sitting at the restaurant’s small bar with a tumbler of whiskey in front of him. After years of training, Keeton knew the signs of a tail.

  Still, maybe he’s just jealous of my date. Or maybe he’s just been fired and is mad at the whole world and wants to glare at anyone who looks like they might be making it. Agents were trained to suspect but also to reason analytically. The world was full of shady characters, and not all of them were communist spies. The clumsy three-syllable acronym Morrison had taught him was OTTATA: Observe. Theorize. Test. Test Again. Take Action. Time for a test, he thought as Lynette walked happily up to him.

  “Shall we?” he asked her. She took his arm, and they proceeded out to the sidewalk. “You know, I could use a little after-dinner walk before we sit down in a cab again.”

  “Whatever you want,” she said agreeably. They turned west in the rush of other pedestrians, which in that neighborhood included plenty of diners and theatergoers. It was just before seven o’clock and still quite light outside.

  “May I kiss you?” he suddenly asked after they had strolled about twenty paces. “You did say we could do whatever I wanted.”

  Her arm tightened around his at the question. Then she said, “I suppose so. Yes, I’d like that.”

  Keeton turned to face her—and to face back toward Connery’s—before bending down to her. Her eyes closed, while his remained opened but shielded by the brim of his hat. Just as he felt the energy of the kiss beginning to subside, the man with the round face stepped out of the restaurant and turned toward them. When the man saw that they had stopped he abruptly changed course and feigned interest in the newsstand nearby. Keeton tensed as their lips pulled apart.

  “Let’s walk some more,” he said with a forced smile. As she took his arm once again, he began to check behind them by looking ahead at shop windows and other reflective surfaces. Near the next corner he spotted a classic red phone booth and subtly guided Lynette near it. Guess he wasn’t in for the Times of London after all, Keeton thought as he spotted the man in the reflection of the phone booth’s many glass panes. Classic tailing procedure. Test Again phase complete. At the corner Keeton turned without saying anything. Lynette followed, seemingly content to be strolling through the city with him.

  “It turned out to be a very nice night, didn’t it?” she asked happily. “A bit warm, perhaps.”

  “Beautiful,” he answered. “The summer in DC right now is twenty degrees hotter, and humid. This place is a treat.” Take Action. The alley up ahead. Go down it, give Lynette a place to meet me later, and then confront Mr. Round Face.

  “I was there too, remember?” she chided him softly. “In Washington. Yes, it was dreadful, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Don’t mind at all,” he said, mentally pacing off the distance to the alley. “I’m an American, which means I’m a rank nationalist, but I’ll gladly insult my own hometown.”

  “A what?” she asked with amusement, looking up at him. “Oh, I see what you mean. I think all of us share that sentiment.”

  Five steps ahead of them a glass storefront door opened as a patron left. Keeton sidestepped just enough to check out the reflection. Round Face was hurrying along about thirty feet back. At the corner of the alley, Keeton stopped and turned to Lynette. He knew this would force their pursuer to stop and wait, giving him a few seconds to finalize a plan.

  “Another kiss?” Lynette asked with bemusement.

  “I was just wondering what this little alley is all about,” he answered and pointed down the narrow passage dotted with little shingles advertising the myriad tiny shops along its length. One hundred yards to the other end; maybe a hundred and ten. “But I certainly won’t waste an opportunity.”

  After their next kiss, she mentioned the pride Londoners took in the history of their quaint and mysterious alleyways. He nodded, took her hand, and gently led her down the passage. He figured that Round Face would be cautious enough to keep his distance in the relatively vacant passage.

  “Walk faster,” Keeton said under his breath, pulling Lynette along. His voice had lost the congeniality of their date, of the casual gentleman courting the beautiful girl. “OK, now just listen for a moment.”

  “What…what’s wrong, Andrew?” she said, sensing the change with anxiousness.

  “Just listen, when I count to three…” Keeton was suddenly knocked sideways into the nearby brick wall. Despite his surprise, he managed to stay on his feet. He looked around to see two men, both in dark leather jackets, his attacker nearest him and a second thug with his arms around Lynette’s waist, picking her off the ground.

  “Come along, bird,” Thug Two said roughly and carried her backward through the door of an abandoned shop.

  Thug One slipped a blackjack from his belt and charged forward. Keeton caught the raised hand and initiated a judo throw. The man hit the concrete ground with a dull slap. Keeton wrenched the man over to his stomach by his arm and then bent the arm back across his body at the wrong angle. With a loud pop the shoulder completely dislocated. Amid Thug One’s screams Keeton bolted toward the abandoned shop, looking back up the alley to see Round Face just beginning to run toward them.

  The agent burst into the shop as Thug Two released Lynette and rushed him. The thug led with a roundhouse punch that missed, but his momentum c
arried him forward and the two men tumbled to the floor. They scrambled, trading punches, until Keeton got the advantage and hauled Thug Two to his feet from behind, in a full-nelson hold. Then he summarily crashed the man’s head down through a well-kept glass display case. When Keeton let go, Thug Two collapsed into a pile at his feet.

  “You OK?” Keeton asked Lynette, who was curled up against the wall nearest where she had been dropped. She nodded softly and was about to speak when Round Face stepped into the shop, a long knife at his right side.

  Round Face regarded Keeton with a smirk. He was shorter than Keeton, but stouter. He was already winded and sweating from the exertion of getting down the alley. Out of shape, Keeton thought. Doesn’t have a gun, or he probably would’ve pulled it by now. Round Face shook his head grimly. The scars around his nose and eyes suggested the tough background of the experienced street brawler. Confident, a professional. No time to wait. Keeton saw a rectangle of wooden shelving leaning against the case he’d just ruined and picked it up. Round Face bounded forward with the knife in a hammer-style grip and lunged.

  Keeton’s wooden shield blocked the knife, but the blade penetrated it. Round Face pushed the handle forward as Keeton resisted with both arms. The tip of the blade was getting close to Keeton’s midsection as he was forced back against another piece of furniture.

  Keeton suddenly redirected the embedded knife upward, exposing Round Face’s right side, and executed a knee strike to the body that was accompanied by the crack of bone, stunning him and causing him to utter a single “scheiße!” The shelf and knife went flying. Round Face recovered and jabbed Keeton twice, but missed with the follow-up hook. Keeton closed the gap and used two quick elbows to the temple to stun Round Face, who was now laboring to breathe with broken ribs. Keeton launched himself forward off of one foot, driving the opposite knee into Round Face’s torso just under his sternum. The blow ended the fight as Round Face fell back onto the floor, knocked out from the thump to his heart.